The Mysterious Italian Houseguest. Scarlet Wilson

moved forward and pointed towards the rocking chair behind them. ‘Do you want to sit down? Will I get you some water?’

      He gave a nod, and stepped backwards to the chair. It creaked as he lowered himself into the wooden frame and he prayed it wouldn’t splinter and send him sprawling on the ground.

      Peaceful quiet surrounded him.

      From up here he could hear the lapping sea. Hear the rustling leaves. Hear the occasional chirrup of a bird. Tranquillity. This was what he’d come here for. This was what he’d hoped to find.

      Aldo would have loved this place. He wished he’d had the chance to bring him. He would have adored the waves crashing into the cove. At one point Aldo had fancied himself as a surfer, but the sea had had other ideas. When they were young guys, every holiday Aldo had hired a surfboard and spent hour after hour wiping out. Most of the time they’d nearly drowned laughing. His fists clenched. Why had he never taken the opportunity to bring him to Sofia’s? It spun around in his head, adding to the list of things he ‘should’ have done. Instead, time had just slipped away. Life had been too busy. There was always tomorrow.

      Until there wasn’t.

      A fact he was going to have to learn to live with.

      Too busy. Too busy filming. Too busy in meetings. Too busy to answer the phone to an old friend. He’d meant to call back that night. But after sixteen hours on set it had just slipped from his mind.

      The next call he’d received had ripped his heart out.

      That was why he’d come here. To find space. To find peace. For a reality check on the life he was living.

      Instead, he’d found Portia Marlowe. A beautiful woman, but a Hollywood reporter. It was like a romance and a horror movie both at once. He would have to manage this situation carefully.

      He closed his eyes and let the chair rock back and forth. Maybe she was due to go home in the next day or so? This might actually be okay. He only planned to stay here for a few weeks. Just enough time to give him some space. Some alone space.

      There was a tinkling noise. Portia was on her knees sweeping the broken glass up with a dustpan and brush, her face a little pink. She caught his gaze and shrugged. ‘I didn’t know who you were. You caught me unawares.’

      ‘So did you.’

      The answer came out before he had time to alter it. She looked surprised. Her dark gaze locked with his. Against the backdrop of the now purple and pink sky Portia almost looked as if she were standing inside the painted drawing room. A cameraman would wait hours for a shot like this. But right now, Javier was the only person with this view. Portia blinked, breaking their gaze and picking up the bottle of water she had next to her feet. ‘Here, it’s not too cold. The fridge seems to be a temperamental teenager right now. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t bother.’

      He nodded and took the lukewarm bottle of water, his fingers brushing against hers. A film director would have added a little twinkle and sparkling stars to match the pulses that shot up his arm.

      He pushed the feeling aside. Being attracted to Portia Marlowe wasn’t an option. Not for a second. It couldn’t go anywhere. He had enough to sort out without bringing a Hollywood reporter into the equation.

      She leaned forward, the soft curves of her breasts only inches from his hand. Her thumb brushed his forehead. ‘There’s not even a mark. I should probably be relieved.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Can you imagine the hoo-ha if I’d damaged the face of one of the world’s most famous film stars?’

      Her face paled and her hand gripped the edge of the rocker. His stomach sank. The enormity of her actions had just hit her—him too. A scar would have resulted in his agent and publicist probably having some kind of fit. In the space of a few seconds, he could see the headlines, the plastic-surgeon consultations, the juggling of schedules and the threatened lawsuits all from an action that hadn’t really been intentional. It had been reactive. Not pre-planned. When he’d feigned feeling dizzy it had only been for his own ends. He didn’t want to spend the night sleeping on the street when he’d come here uninvited. Now he felt like some kind of cad.

      He breathed in slowly, inhaling some of her rose perfume. It was tantalising. Or maybe that was just Portia. He gave his head a quick shake, trying to realign his senses. ‘I think maybe I just need to sleep. I’ve been travelling for a long time. I’m sure after a good night’s sleep I’ll feel fine.’

      He let the words hang in the air. She opened her mouth to start to speak then closed it again. He could practically see the thoughts tumbling around in her brain. Her English sensibilities and good manners were obviously bubbling underneath the surface.

      ‘I’m sure I can fix up a bed for you. One of the other bedrooms is almost cleaned. I did some laundry the other day.’ There was hesitation in her voice.

      Javier shot her his best smile. ‘That’s really kind of you. Thanks very much.’

      He closed his eyes again as he heard her walk back into the house. He rocked back and forward in the chair. This was almost therapeutic.

      And he needed that right now.

      Because his time at Villa Rosa had just changed beyond all measure.