Chapter One #2
She gaped again. What?
‘Let’s get you checked out and fed properly.’ He cupped her face with his hand. ‘Please, I feel terrible about what has happened.’
His touch, his words, stilled her, slicing deep. ‘So this is all about making you feel better?’ she asked huskily.
His eyes narrowed slightly and he released her. ‘Is it always hard for you to accept help from anyone?’
Her friends accused her of exactly that. But she managed alone very well. She’d had to and she was proud of herself for not needing anyone. ‘I like my independence.’
‘As do I. But I’m not averse to accepting the advice of experts when necessary. I’ll take you to your cottage right away after.’
She’d been in a dream state when they’d collided. She was possibly in another now. Because she didn’t say no, even though she should have. And as the truck climbed to the top of the hill and turned, she saw what awaited. A long cypress lined driveway. A castle-like collection of terracotta-coloured buildings at the top. Phoebe just stared. She’d had a beautiful week in her cottage but she’d not had access to a vehicle. She’d only walked into the village—in the opposite direction to this estate—while her one other excursion had been a vineyard tour earlier in the week and the property appearing before her now was enormous compared to that. Hundreds of vines stretched in beautifully combed rows over much of the hill, though an immaculate orchard filled one block, and as they neared she saw terraced gardens cascading from the buildings—topiary, flowers, lawn. It would have to take a bunch of staff to maintain such pristine, pretty perfection.
‘You work here?’
He followed the direction of her gaze and briefly hesitated before answering. ‘Yes.’
‘With those guys.’ Tanned, fit, dangerous, they didn’t look like vineyard workers but then she really had no clue what workers ‘should’ look like.
The truck rolled to a slow stop. He rose and slung another volley of Italian over the side but she didn’t see who he was speaking to. Then he turned back to her with a fiercely intent expression.
‘You really don’t need to carry me,’ she said even though she knew it was pointless.
‘But it bothers you so delightfully.’ He grinned.
‘Because I’m embarrassed,’ she murmured as he scooped her up. ‘You’re a complete stranger.’
And was he not embarrassed by his near nudity? Clearly not. He was definitely able to revel in his physicality and good for him—he had a million muscular reasons to.
‘I thought I was an angel,’ he countered.
Oh, hell. So she had said that aloud? ‘I was confused,’ she mumbled.
‘Which is why I’m worried you might be concussed.’ He carried her round the back of the building into a huge private courtyard.
Phoebe gaped at the azure pool that came into view. ‘I didn’t black out.’
‘No? You were pretty woozy when you were on the ground.’
He didn’t take her into the main building, but a smaller one on the far side of that stunning pool. The glass doors were wide open. The room was cool with its marble tiles and he set her down in a chair, draped a soft throw across her shoulders, then crouched beside her. ‘So do you mind if I check?’
‘Check what?’
‘Your head.’
Oh. Right. It wasn’t the fall making her brainless. It was all him. She couldn’t tear her focus from the rising warmth in his brown eyes. A slight pressure on her chin made her turn slightly. She dropped her gaze but encountered his chest. Broad, tanned shoulders framed all kinds of muscles she didn’t know the names of but, oh, boy, they were there, they were defined, they were delicious. He really was a stunning example of masculine strength. She had to close her eyes—which only made it worse.
‘Tell me if it hurts anywhere,’ he muttered and began gently pressing over her scalp.
It didn’t hurt, it felt far too nice. She held her breath and tried to stop the fantasies, but it was impossible.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked huskily.
She opened her eyes but couldn’t answer. He was so close, so intently focused on her, seeming to study her every feature. Spellbinding her in the process.
‘What day of the week is it?’
‘Friday,’ she breathed.
Surely he wasn’t really thinking of kissing her. Surely it was pure wishful thinking on her part. But she reacted anyway. Her breathing shortened, her body heated, her mouth tingled. She dropped her gaze to his lips.
‘Right.’ Those lips curved. ‘But you can’t remember your name. Definitely took a knock to the head.’
‘It’s Phoebe. My name is Phoebe,’ she muttered.
‘Welcome back Phoebe’s memory. My name is Edo.’ His smile deepened and it shot right into her. He stilled, his eyes widening.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked shakily after a heart-stalled moment.
‘Perfect.’ He nodded. ‘Just flawless.’
He dropped his gaze and crouched down to slide her sandal off, now taking the time to probe her ankle. His handling was desperately gentle yet she tensed.
He immediately paused. ‘It hurts?’
Mute, she shook her head.
‘Liar,’ he said softly, then moved his fingers even more gently across her bruised skin.
This was not an intimate act. This was him being all wannabe paramedic and her body didn’t need to act as if this was foreplay. Except that’s exactly what was happening—her blood simmered and secret parts of her responded in a deeply physical way.
‘Where’s the professional you promised?’ She tried to haul herself back together. ‘Or are you telling me you’re a doctor?’
‘Not a doctor, sorry to disappoint.’ His upward glance held devilish amusement. ‘But I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was a—’
‘ What? ’ She fired up, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m not an animal.’ She pulled her ankle from his hold and waggled it carefully. ‘I’m the health and safety officer at my work—’
‘Are you now,’ he muttered with a soft smile.
‘With a current first aid certificate,’ she nodded, fully ignoring his amusement. ‘Which makes me more qualified than you. This is merely a sprain. Some ice, elevation and rest will sort it. I’ve got paracetamol in my bag—’
‘Can you wriggle your toes?’ He took hold of her again and with careful intensity rotated her foot from side to side then looked back up to her with a now limpid expression. ‘It’s just a sprain.’
‘Like I said,’ she drawled. ‘Twenty minutes ago.’
‘Some ice, elevation and rest will sort it,’ he added, the corner of his mouth quirking.
Okay, she couldn’t not laugh.
He inhaled a deep breath and suddenly stood. ‘I’m going for the ice, you can freshen up in here. Help yourself to anything you need.’
His quick departure stunned her. She blinked then took several seconds to stare about the place. The ‘pool house’ was fancier than any home she’d entered—all cool marble, floor-to-ceiling glass, stylish furniture. She couldn’t work out if the interior was more stunning than the view of the large pool, spa or the verdant vineyard beyond.
Then she caught her reflection in one of the mirrors and reality hit. Flawless? She was a mess. Her dress was dusty, so was her face, her hair was mussed and her pupils were abnormally large. She hobbled through the room and found a gleaming bathroom. She sponged her face and her dress, super-glad she had her bag. She dug out the small comb and lip balm she kept in the front pocket and did what she could, then went back to the lounge area just as Edo appeared in the open doorway.
He must have taken a very quick shower because his short hair was still damp. He was clothed now—the tee-shirt and low-slung jeans emphasised his tan and fitted the frame she knew very well was ripped. She grasped the back of the chair, her body weakening again because even fully dressed he was still the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
He leaned against the door jamb and smiled, as if he could read her mind. ‘Thirsty?’
‘I can walk,’ she croaked.
‘Why should you have to when you have me to carry you?’
He was too much but the wink softened the impact—until she was in his arms again and then everything was hot and hard to control all over again.
She glanced around as he carried her poolside. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Of course.’
Yeah, but where was the owner? Surely a place like this was owned by one of those almost royal Italian family dynasties.
‘This is…’ She trailed off as she took in the stunningly decorated outdoor dining table. ‘Is all this just for us?’
Edo put her in the nearest of the two chairs beside which there was a stool topped with a cushion. He lifted her foot onto it and deftly secured an ice pack around her ankle. Truthfully, she didn’t need the ice there .
She glanced away from him, taking in the crystal glasses and silverware that sparkled in the sunlight. And the food. There was so much food. ‘Is this all just for us?’
He chuckled. ‘Wine? Juice?’
‘Coffee?’ she asked. She needed the caffeine hit to sharpen up her brain.
‘Certainly.’ He lifted the waiting cafetière. ‘How do you prefer it?’
‘Black, one sugar.’ She fished in her bag and pulled out the small coin purse she used to store emergency medical supplies and popped two paracetamol. ‘I’m guessing you don’t need that plaster for your knee now.’
‘No, thank you.’ He glanced at her bag with amusement. ‘How very organised.’
‘Thank you.’ She primly ignored the fact he was mocking her and set the small purse on the table beside her.
She needed to keep what little head she had left and the only way to distract herself from his shockingly overpowering presence was to focus on the food in front of her. There so many dishes—salads, breads, pasta with glistening sauce…
‘What about everyone else?’ she breathed.
‘They’ve already eaten.’
Oh, he was smooth and clearly his friends were total allies. She understood, she would do anything for Elodie and Bethan. She ate—as did he—desperate to distract herself from the tension simmering within her. Fortunately, with every mouthful she relaxed and chatted lightly as he asked her about her holiday—admitting she’d had only the week and hadn’t made it to many of the big attractions.
‘Not Florence?’ Sounding surprised, he glanced again at the print on her purse. ‘Not Venice? Milan? Rome?’
She shrugged, she couldn’t do it all at once and more than anything she’d needed a rest. ‘I just wanted to pretend I lived here for a little while. Like a local.’
‘Because?’
Wasn’t it obvious? This was Italy. ‘Oh, you know…the art, the language, the food…’
And now the ridiculously gorgeous men.
‘Then you’ll have to come back—there’s so much you haven’t seen.’
‘I know.’ She smiled. One day, for sure.
She couldn’t resist the nibbles of cheese and tomato, the deli cuts, the salad flavoured and enhanced with fresh herbs and olives. She avoided the latter. Which he noticed.
‘You don’t like olives?’ he queried, his mock outrage growing as she shook her head.
‘These are grown here,’ he said. ‘They’re the best in the world.’
‘That may be so, but I still don’t like them.’ She chuckled.
He put down his fork and shot her a look of reproof. ‘You come to Italy and don’t appreciate our food.’
That was simply not true. This lunch was better than the restaurant meal she’d splurged on earlier in the week. ‘I appreciate everything here except olives.’
‘You can’t handle strong flavours?’ He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘What’s my name?’
‘Edo. Why?’
‘Just double checking your concussion status given your unfathomable dislike of olives,’ he purred. ‘You look dazed. I remain unconvinced you should be alone tonight.’
If she had her wits she’d dive into that pool and cool off. Instead she read sensual intent in every word he spoke. ‘Stop staring at me,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not going to faint.’
‘That’s not why I’m staring at you,’ he replied softly.
Heat built in her cheeks. He was a prime flirt but the slash of colour building in his cheeks suggested his discomfort. Which couldn’t be right.
‘You’re very beautiful,’ he cocked his head. ‘You don’t believe I’m telling the truth?’
She didn’t believe any man told the truth.
‘It’s my truth,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re beautiful to me.’
She bit the inside of her lip. Of course this would happen at the end of her holiday. Elodie and Bethan’s teasing encouragement rang in her ears. They’d told her to indulge and she had—in sunshine and good food—but this was a different kind of temptation.
Edo lifted the silver lid off the last covered dish. A very plump peach sat solo on a small board—not her bruised one that he’d discarded. A knife gleamed beside it. He picked up the blade, brandished it with a jump of his eyebrows and sliced off a bite-sized chunk. He put it on her side plate and sat back with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
She was unable to resist the offering. She savoured the flavour of paradise. It was pure nectar and she couldn’t not smile.
‘Finally, you’re pleased,’ he said.
Not quite, actually. But close enough.
‘I didn’t mean to be ungrateful,’ she murmured.
‘I didn’t think you were. I think you’re guarded.’ He cut another wedge of the peach. ‘There’s a reason people don’t like to depend on others. Usually because someone’s let them down.’
Her heart skipped and her gaze flew to his face. ‘And you know this because…’
He kept calmly slicing the peach, placing piece after piece on her plate. ‘I let someone down, so I know the impact of that kind of pain.’
She blanched. There was absolute honesty in that admission. And he’d been honest before too. ‘That’s why you feel guilty all the time.’
His expression shuttered. The shrug he offered was too considered. She almost didn’t want to know but she couldn’t ignore that raw revelation of hurt .
‘Regrets are part of being human,’ she murmured. ‘And there’s not much that can’t be forgiven.’
His gaze shot to hers and his mask slipped. The heat in his eyes was now snuffed, his mouth compressed into a tight line. His pain was more than visible—it was so very real.
‘Have you forgiven the one who hurt you?’ he asked, almost belligerently.
‘One?’ she noted softly.
He inhaled sharply. ‘I’m sorry.’
She didn’t want to dwell on the past. Not her parents’ absences, not her ex-husband’s adultery. Not all those rejections .
‘Release your guilt,’ she said, pulling herself back from the verge of emotional intimacy. Of embarrassment . ‘You’ve done more than enough to balance the scales. Not that I was measuring anyway.’ She waved her hand about. ‘I’ve got to see another vineyard. An amazing villa. Eaten this…’ She gestured to the plates—the best meal of her life.
He stared at her for a long time before finally placing the last piece of peach on the plate for her to take. ‘Then here’s to enjoying the fruit when it’s in season.’
‘Right.’ She ate the morsel and licked the tips of her fingers.
He watched, moodiness darkening his eyes. ‘I suppose I ought to take you back to your cottage.’
Disappointment hit but she tried to hide it. Tried to lighten her own intensity. ‘You’re not carrying me anywhere again.’
He laughed abruptly. ‘One moment then.’
He disappeared around the corner, but a few minutes later returned to view, riding a gleaming red Vespa. A spare helmet dangled from one of the handles while her missing sandal dangled from the other. Phoebe gave up trying to stop herself from staring at him so obviously. She would never see him again and he was too stunning not to appreciate for these final moments.
He parked the moped and grabbed both her sandal and the helmet. She froze as he carefully removed the ice pack and set her sandal back on her foot as if she were Cinderella herself. She still couldn’t move as he put the helmet on her and bent to fasten the strap. The action brought him deliciously close to her again. She couldn’t resist drinking in his perfect features—that sharp bone structure, those deep-brown eyes now locked on her. He was close enough to kiss and surely he was about to—
He ran his tongue along his lower lip but stepped back to offer his hand. She took it and he drew her out of the chair, which then meant she was standing too close—once more as if they were about to dance. She really wanted to dance with him.
‘You ever ridden one of these?’ he asked softly.
Her mouth gummed so all she could do was shake her head.
Focus .
‘You need to hold tight and move with me.’
Right. Sure. That instruction was hardly helping her melting thing.
He took position on the machine and waited for her to climb behind him, his gaze simmering with challenge. Phoebe put her bag across her body and spun it so it rested on her back. She straddled the bike and gingerly put her hands on his waist but he bowed his head, firmly took her hands and repositioned them on his chest. One a little too high. One a little too low.
She inwardly shivered. So that’s how he was playing it? A spurt of defiance shot through her as he started the engine and exited the courtyard. She was leaving Italy anyway and he was daring her. So she widened her fingers, flagrantly feeling more of him. Her inner thighs encased the outside of his. Her breasts and abs were glued to his back. It was intimate and intoxicating and yes, arousing. It wasn’t even some fast, powerful motorcycle, all the vibrations hitting her were purely from him . Which was how Phoebe Copeland’s formerly perfect day became—impossibly— more perfect.
It should have taken no time at all to go back down the hill to her little cottage but she lost all track of direction and of time. She closed her eyes, no longer caring where they were going, she just didn’t want it to end. Which of course, was exactly when she heard the engine slow. She opened her eyes. They weren’t at the cottage. They weren’t even on the road. They were on a narrow track between tall trees and she saw the sparkle of water through the leaves. Edo killed the engine and kicked down the stand.
‘Why have we stopped?’ she asked.
He swiftly rose off the Vespa and turned to face her. His eyes glinted as he grabbed her arms, stopping her from moving off the seat. ‘Because, Phoebe, I think you were just feeling me up.’
She relished the challenge leaping in his eyes.
‘You think?’ She challenged right back. ‘ You put my hands where you wanted them.’
‘I did,’ he admitted shamelessly. ‘Do you want to know where I want to put mine?’