Her Mediterranean Playboy (12 page)

A girl like you…What did you expect?

A girl like you.
The same words Leandro had used. The same condemnation. The judgement had hurt then, and she wasn’t about to let herself feel that again. She refused to be used by a man who had too much power and wealth for anyone’s good.

Even if he looked amazing in just a towel.

Still a little shaky, Zoe turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a thick towel around her, and another to cover her hair. Safely swaddled, she stepped out of the bathroom, glancing instinctively for Leandro, but he was gone.

And she felt disappointed.

Leandro raked his hands through his hair, his heart beating fast and erratically. He felt every latent instinct tightening into need at just seeing the vague outline of Zoe’s delectable body.

From outside his bedroom he heard the bathroom door open and close, and cursed himself for hiding in here—away from her, away from temptation.

For he
was
so unbearably tempted. In that brief moment of seeing her fogged shape behind the shower glass he’d wanted her. He’d wanted to slide the door open and step under the spray, pulling Zoe’s wet naked length against his, feeling her—feeling the smoothness of her skin against his palms, the sweetness of her lips against his. He’d wanted that touch, both the thrill and the comfort of a body close—joined—with his.

It would be so easy. The desire was there between them, stretch
ing, simmering. Why not take advantage of it? Why not enjoy it and let Zoe enjoy it? He could be discreet; perhaps so could she?

Why not?

Such enticing, enchanting little whispers, stroking his conscience to sleep. He didn’t use women. He didn’t discard them as his father had, time and time again. He didn’t let them enslave him, wrapping him around their little fingers, cheapening himself, his name, his family.

He wouldn’t be that man.

It’s not the same…You’re in control. No one would know. There could be no scandal, no shame. Just mutual pleasure…Surely you can see that?

Leandro cursed aloud. Had his father had such thoughts? Been led astray by such damning whispers?

You’ve been without a woman for so long…what are you trying to prove?

Nothing. Everything.

Resolutely Leandro turned away from the door, away from the image of Zoe imprinted on his brain—away from the desire coursing through his body, convincing his mind just how easy—and wonderful—it could be.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Zoe pushed the memory of Leandro’s intrusion into the bathroom firmly from her thoughts. It wasn’t as easy as she would have liked.

She found herself becoming cross, banging pots and cupboard doors as she assembled the ingredients for a simple pasta dish.

She should just get Leandro Filametti out of her mind, she told herself. Maybe giving in to temptation would do the trick…For a moment she imagined it.

What would Leandro be like as a lover? How would he kiss? Would his lips be soft? She remembered the brief touch of them against her fingers and knew they would be. Soft lips for a hard man.

She exhaled loudly, forcing the treacherous images away. She wanted to be sensible. She was
going
to be sensible. She’d learned her lesson with Steve. She shook her head in self-disgust.
At least she’d
thought
she’d learned her lesson. Steve had been the first man she’d let close, and look what had happened. She might not have loved him—she wasn’t
that
stupid—but she’d let herself care.

And she’d learned her lesson. Don’t care. Not about anyone. Certainly not about a man like Leandro, who treated
girls like her
with careless contempt.

She turned her attention to the meal, determined to enjoy the simple pleasure of slicing ripe red tomatoes, the fragrant aroma of basil wafting through the kitchen. The sounds and scents of a home. While the sauce was simmering she went out to the garden and picked a bunch of soft pink oleanders, holding them to her nose to inhale their sweet fragrance.

She was overwhelmed for a moment by the simple pleasures of food and flowers. The large, dank space of the kitchen was somehow transformed by the bubbling pots on the stove, by the sense of space being used and enjoyed.

She was being silly, she knew, silly and romantic. But she couldn’t help it. Somehow this decrepit old villa was growing on her, winding its way around her heart.

She didn’t even notice Leandro come into the kitchen, and when he spoke from the doorway she gave a little jump, nearly dropping the flowers.

‘That smells good.’

‘Thank you.’ Zoe busied herself with putting the flowers in an old glass jar.

‘It looks much better in here too,’ Leandro added.

Zoe dug a pair of ancient black scissors out of a drawer and snipped the ends off the flowers.

‘That’s my job.’ She glanced at Leandro, her heart giving a now-customary lurch, and saw his hair was damp, brushed away from his forehead, curling along the nape of his neck. He was dressed simply in a white tee shirt and faded jeans that hugged his long muscular legs. Zoe swallowed and looked away. ‘I thought we could eat on the terrace,’ she said, turning to needlessly stir the sauce bubbling on the range top. ‘It’s so hot in here.’

‘Fine.’ Leandro was silent for a long moment, and Zoe kept her focus on the pans bubbling away on the stove. ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he finally said. ‘I’ll install a lock on the door.’

‘Or just listen for the sound of running water?’ Zoe returned, her voice somewhere between a scold and a joke.

Leandro was silent again, and Zoe almost looked around. Almost.

‘I did,’ he finally said, and she whirled around in surprise. He was gone.

By the time the meal was ready, the sun had set and the first stars were twinkling on the horizon. Zoe had laid the small wrought-iron table outside for two, conscious of the intimacy of the gesture. The soft night air swirled around her. The lights from a few boats glittered on the smooth surface of the lake, competing with the stars above.

Zoe gazed at the table and wondered if Leandro even expected her to join him. Perhaps he wanted to eat alone? In other circumstances she would never have presumed to share a meal with her employer. Unless he asked.

Why don’t you join me?
Steve again, reminding her of how pointless and pathetic getting involved with her employer was—how false this situation really was.

‘Ready?’ His voice, like a low hum, seemed to creep right into her bones and swirl around her soul. Zoe turned with a bright, fixed smile.

‘Yes, I’ll just bring it out.’

A few minutes later she came out onto the terrace with a large steaming bowl of pasta, returning to add salad, bread and a jug of water.

Leandro surveyed the spread with the barest flicker of a smile. ‘I haven’t eaten this well in weeks.’

‘Takeaways and coffee aren’t exactly a healthy diet,’ Zoe agreed, and he glanced at her as she sat down.

‘I imagine you survive on the same,’ he said. ‘Or similar. Am I right?’

Discomfited, she shrugged. It was no more than the truth, but
she didn’t want to be reminded of it now. ‘I like cooking when I get the chance.’

‘And when is that?’ He’d placed a napkin on his lap and now began to serve them both pasta.

‘When there’s more than just me, I suppose.’

Leandro glanced up at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and sensuously speculative. ‘And is there often more than just you?’

‘You’d probably assume there was,’ Zoe replied, a bit crossly. ‘But, no, actually, there isn’t.’ She didn’t let anyone get close enough. Or else she wasn’t given the chance.

Leandro’s smile widened briefly before he took a bite of pasta. ‘This is delicious. Is it from a recipe?’

‘I just made it up,’ Zoe admitted, absurdly pleased by his casual compliment. ‘I put in all the things I liked.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’

She should be annoyed by his assumptions, Zoe supposed, but somehow she couldn’t be. Not when the night air was as soft as silk, and the stars glittered like tiny diamonds strewn on a velvet cloth above them. Not when Leandro looked at her with that lazy sensuality that made her toes curl and her heart hammer and her mind go wonderfully blank.

And he was attracted to her, too. She could feel it—sense it the way you sensed a storm coming, when the atmosphere grew heavy and an energy snapped and buzzed through the air. She became achingly aware of everything: the cool heaviness of her fork—sterling silver, undoubtedly—the cool water sliding down her throat, the distant lap of the lake against the jetty.

Did Leandro feel it too? Was he wondering, as she was, what might happen after dinner? What
would
?

For suddenly there seemed a wonderful and frightening inevitability to their coming together. All her sensible self-warnings melted into nothing as the delicious tension stretched agonisingly, achingly between them.

They hardly spoke for the rest of the meal. Yet even so, as Zoe cleared the plates, she almost expected Leandro to come up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist. She was waiting for his touch, needing it, caution thrown to the winds, senses scattered.

But that didn’t happen. He helped her carry the plates and bowls back into the kitchen, and then set about brewing coffee while she washed up. It was a strangely domestic and intimate scene, like that of a husband and wife. Or perhaps lovers. Zoe’s whole body seemed to tingle with awareness and expectation as she waited for—what?

What did she want Leandro to do? What did she want to happen? Zoe pushed those questions out of her mind; now wasn’t the time for thinking, it was for feeling. For waiting and wanting.

Yet as soon as the coffee was brewed Leandro took his mug and retreated to his study. Disappointment swamped her as he left, and the sudden heavy expectancy was dispelled, the storm clouds of desire blown clean away.

It was better this way, she told herself, struggling to be pragmatic. Better and safer.

It was late by the time Zoe finished with the dishes, and she prowled restlessly through the darkened rooms of the villa, taking in the swathed furniture, the paintings covered with sheets. The villa was completely furnished, she realised. Whoever had once lived here had left it suddenly, sorrowfully. Or was she letting her imagination run away with her?

Why
had it been left to decay and rot? She felt like a magician, being asked to transform the empty rooms into something liveable and clean. A fairy godmother, longing to make the decrepit villa a happy place—a home.

Yet how on earth could she accomplish such a task? She, who had never known a home? Zoe gazed at the tattered drapes at the windows, suddenly remembering her childish effort at making curtains from a cut-up dress that had no longer fitted her. They’d been ridiculous raggedy things, the hems stapled because she’d never learned to sew. Yet Zoe had been so proud of them; they’d lent something warm and alive to the sterile hotel room with its plastic shades and stained bedspread. Her mother, however, hadn’t even noticed.

Zoe sighed, the memory depressing her. Why was she thinking of such things now? Was it simply because she’d never cleaned a house—a home—before? She’d kept to hotels and restaurants, impersonal places, jobs and people you could walk away from.

And you’ll walk away from this one…in three months.

The thought only made her sad.

She let her finger trace a line through the thick dust on a windowsill and realised again that she wanted to bring this villa back to life—which was stupid, since Leandro would just be selling it on anyway. And yet for the summer it could be more than just a property.

She stood by the window and watched the moonlight shimmer on the lake, imagined the people who had once lived here. Had they loved this home? Had they laughed and danced and loved in these rooms?

She wanted to believe they had. It was important to her, and she didn’t even know why.

Isn’t it obvious?
a sly little voice mocked silently.
This is everything you never had.

And never would. Leandro’s voice echoed through her mind.
Girls like her
didn’t have homes like this. Didn’t want them or need them. She should never forget that.

A rustling from the drawing room’s chimney startled her, and she jumped back. A trapped bird? Or a rat? Suppressing a shudder, Zoe backed out of the room, wanting to escape the alarming noise—as well as her own thoughts.

She decided to go for another swim.

Leandro was still locked in his study as Zoe came down in her swimming costume, a towel over her shoulders. She picked her way through the darkened garden, the scent of roses heavy on the sultry night air.

The stone of the jetty was cool under her bare feet and she surveyed the water gleaming blackly with only a tiny bit of apprehension before she dropped her towel and dived cleanly in.

She surfaced, the cold water a pleasant shock to her senses, and swam a few lengths before turning back. She was barely aware of a shadow on the jetty before someone else dived in, and a moment later Leandro surfaced a few feet away from her, his teeth gleaming in the darkness, his hair slicked back from his face.

‘I thought I’d join you.’

Zoe’s heart rate accelerated even as she tossed her head, pushing her hair back with her hands. ‘How refreshing.’

‘I thought so.’

The expectancy was back, Zoe thought hazily. The storm was coming. In a desperate effort to clear her head, she ducked underwater and swam away from Leandro.

What was she thinking? Doing? She knew what he wanted from her, what she wanted, and yet…

She wasn’t ready to get involved again. To give her body again. She knew how little he expected from
a girl like her
. Was she willing to accept it? Was it enough?

Her lungs near to bursting, she swam to the surface—only to have Leandro grab her shoulder. She gasped aloud, and he turned her around in the water to face him.