She blinked at him. ‘You didn’t talk to any of them to learn anything.’
‘That’s because I was distracted.’ He was distracted again now—by her eyes, her lips and the raging desire that had meant he’d hardly slept.
‘You wanted to be distracted. That’s why you took me with you. You used me to avoid everyone else. What I still don’t understand is why you wanted to go in the first place.’
The truth was banal. ‘Because I could.’ He smiled. He hadn’t been allowed here years ago. Now there was no stopping him. ‘And you used me to get an up-close look at the palazzo. I say we’re even,’ he said firmly. ‘Now, be quiet and let me fix this.’
He carefully cleaned her wound and dabbed on the antiseptic ointment but her question had opened up that old wound and the memories scurried.
All his childhood he’d been told of the beautiful Villa Rosetta, the holiday home his father lived in for a few months each year. But by the time Rafe had arrived, his father was too ill to visit. When he’d died, it had been ruled out altogether. His half-brother, his nephew held all the power. Leonard and Maurice had laughed at him when he’d asked if he could visit Italy. They’d said no, just as they’d said no to all his most personal requests.
Including the ones to see his mother.
As a youngster he’d done everything they’d asked of him. His academic achievements had been outstanding, as had his sporting ones. He’d done everything and anything he could to win their attention, to earn the visit from his mother that they’d promised.
It had never happened. And by the time he’d been old enough to make the journey himself, it had been too late.
But in the end he’d learned that winning had some benefits. He garnered attention from others—those who sought his advice, strove to emulate his success, trusted him with their assets and made his business even more successful. And it brought him women. Women liked men with money, men who were fit, men who were winners. Once he’d begun winning, he’d won more—a snowball of success after success after success.
But he knew that without the success, without the money, the properties, the physique...they wouldn’t want to know him. Just as they hadn’t wanted to know him before he’d acquired all those things. So he didn’t allow people to get close. He didn’t trust anyone and he’d never give a person a chance to reject him, or to betray him, again. He’d had enough of that for a lifetime.
‘You’re looking very stern. You think it’s fatal?’ Grace said quietly.
He glanced up into those melted-caramel eyes and forgot to breathe. The hard knot tightening his chest softened—while another part of him altogether hardened to the point of pain. ‘I’m resisting the urge to kiss it better,’ he replied bluntly.
Her eyes widened. Yeah, he’d win now too—here, with her. He pressed the plaster over her small wound and shot her a speaking look before turning his attention to the coffee machine she’d doubted he could master. Efficiently, ruthlessly, silently proving a point. Doing it all on his own—as always. His terms. His timelines. ‘Do you take milk?’ he asked.
‘No, thank you. I like it strong.’
He bit back the smile at her innocently uttered innuendo and handed her the cup. He watched her sip gratefully. She was clearly starving. ‘You’re sure about something to eat? I think there might be some pastries in the freezer.’
She half snorted on her next sip of coffee. ‘Freezer?’ She shook her head and coughed her way back to recovery. ‘No, thank you.’
‘You don’t love frozen pastries?’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I haven’t been into the village yet.’
‘You do your own shopping? How arduous for you,’ she teased. ‘No, thank you. I’ll eat at work—which is at the local bakery, and that’s why I need to leave. I should have left half an hour ago.’
She’d told him last night that she was a waitress. No wonder she thought she knew how to make a coffee.
A second later she put the cup on the bench and stood. ‘Thanks so much,’ she said again. ‘But I really need to go or I’ll be even more late for work.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll bike back. That’s how I got here yesterday.’
He walked with her back out to the garden and picked a couple of roses, grinning when she narrowed her eyes at how easily he snapped them from the plant. ‘It’s all in the angle,’ he explained soothingly as he held them out to her. ‘Take them to Alex.’
As she took them, she looked right at him and smiled. The pleasure and appreciation in her eyes walloped him in the solar plexus. Suddenly he didn’t want her to leave at all. But she was already walking away.
‘Thank you. Yet again. I’d better get going.’ She glanced back at the villa. ‘I guess all those models will be arriving soon?’
Hell, he’d forgotten about that. ‘I guess so.’ He walked with her up the long driveway. ‘The spread will be a good advertisement for the villa.’
‘Does it need to be advertised?’
‘It’s a high-end fashion magazine with extremely discerning readers. Readers who can afford to rent a villa for several thousand a week.’ He slowed as they neared the security gates.
‘And wear white designer dresses without worrying about spilling stuff on them.’ She nodded. ‘So you’re going to keep it as a holiday home for the super-wealthy?’
‘What else?’
‘A home,’ she said softly.
‘No one could live here permanently, they’d never get any work done,’ he scoffed, then frowned as he saw something that vaguely resembled a bicycle stashed beside one of the trees. He stepped closer to study it. ‘You ride this thing? It’s a man’s bike. Is it even roadworthy?’
‘It’s vintage.’
He frowned. ‘It sure is something.’ An old man’s bike. He felt a tightening in his chest but he couldn’t hold back his curiosity. ‘The same owner as your watch?’ Who was the old guy who gave her these things?
‘Different. Alex loaned it to me. He’s taken care of it for years and it goes like a dream. By that I mean it’s fast.’
‘You like fast?’ he jeered softly. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘I like fast. But I also like reliable. Not everyone is all about buying new things, only to discard them after using them once.’ She lifted her chin in the air.
‘Ouch.’ He pressed his hand to his heart, wincing. ‘I think the rose has thorns.’
‘Roses generally do.’ She placed the two she was holding into the pannier at the back of her bicycle. ‘Thank you for an interesting evening,’ she said awkwardly, glancing up at him when she was done.
He knew he was standing too close, too much in her way, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. ‘It was merely interesting?’
She nodded slowly, her caramel gaze not leaving his. She didn’t seem to be breathing. Her focus strayed to his lips. She was remembering—he was instinctively certain—remembering every moment of that scorching kiss. He smiled tightly at the strength of attraction flowing between them. Using an intense amount of self-control, he deliberately stepped back so he no longer blocked her path. After a tiny hesitation she mounted the bike.
‘Travel safe,’ he called gently as she wobbled her way out of the gates.
He refused to say goodbye. Because he’d have his trespassing tourist back in his villa soon enough. But next time she’d