Chapter Five
‘SO NOW WHAT?’
Vito’s cool question sliced through the air, shattering Flora’s tranquil mood.
She had been basking in a surprising contentment which had somehow crept up on her, defying her gloomy expectations.
Despite being marooned in the snow with her grouchy boss, the evening had progressed more satisfactorily than she would have imagined.
Vito had suggested opening one of the bottles of red wine reposing in the hamper and she had agreed.
Halfway through her first glass she had told him truthfully it was the best wine she’d ever drunk, and he had smiled in a way which made her wonder if he thought her naive.
Probably. Because she was, wasn’t she? Certainly compared to a sophisticated man of the world like him.
And now they were sitting on the floor in front of the blazing fire with the gorgeous dark green tree glowing in the corner, while snow continued to fall outside the mullioned windows.
It looked—and felt—perfect, but one look at his hard and shadowed features told her that Vito Monticello wasn’t sharing the vibe.
He was clearly restless, and it was a long time until bedtime.
She shifted her bottom on the rug.
Hours, in fact.
‘There’s not a lot on offer.’ Shaking off her lethargy and morphing into her usual practical self, she shot a glance towards the window. ‘We can’t go outside—obviously. There’s no telly or radio, and we can’t even watch a film on our phones because there’s no signal.’
‘I never watch films on my phone,’ he informed her repressively.
‘Well, that’s one thing you won’t miss, then, isn’t it?’ she remarked cheerfully. ‘I had a good look around while you were asleep and the good news is that I discovered two brand new toothbrushes and some strawberry toothpaste.’
‘Strawberry toothpaste?’ he demanded, with a shudder of distaste.
‘It’s obviously been bought for the children, but it’s better than nothing.’ She brushed a fleck of dust from her skirt. ‘But unfortunately, I couldn’t find any board games.’
‘I’d rather not get any more bored than I already am,’ he growled.
‘I meant B-O-A-R-D, not B-O-R-E-D,’ she spelt out laboriously, until she realised from the faint glint in his eyes that his English was easily as good as hers and he was teasing her.
And she wanted to tell him not to do that.
Not to do anything else which was going to make this spuriously intimate scene any more appealing than it already was.
Because how long was it since she’d been in a one-to-one situation with a man like this?
Too long. And never with a man like this.
The firelight playing on his aristocratic features and handmade suit seemed completely incompatible with the rustic setting—reminding her that neither of them had a change of clothes.
Not even a pair of pants, she thought worriedly.
Flora swallowed. No wonder she was feeling out of her depth.
‘That’s hilarious, Vito. Maybe you should try a career in comedy,’ she said flippantly before shrugging her shoulders. ‘Well, what do you suggest we do instead?’
No other woman in this situation would have asked such a guileless question, Vito thought impatiently.
Not unless they were hoping to escalate the sexual tension which was already sizzing between them.
Was she? He leaned back against the armchair to study her, wondering if she had any idea of her current allure.
He thought not. She might have totally transformed her appearance but there remained a peculiarly modest air about her, and since modesty was another quality he was unfamiliar with, it inevitably intrigued him.
Just like he was intrigued by her particular blend of diffidence and boldness, meaning he was never sure which side of her would emerge.
Even when she was being appropriately subservient, there was often a trace of defiance on her lips which left him feeling there was more to Flora Greening than met the eye.
His gaze swept over her and some of his habitual cynicism leeched away.
She had removed her boots so he could see the outline of her slender feet and as she wriggled her toes, he wondered how on earth she could make a pair of thick black tights seem so erotic.
Or was it just the powerful rush of his long-neglected hormones—reminding him of the sweet torment of desire and the way she’d responded to him when she’d bumped into him upstairs.
Did she still want him to kiss her? he wondered achingly, remembering the darkened look of appeal in her extraordinary eyes, before pushing the thought firmly from his mind.
She was a complication he didn’t need. A temptation which was strictly out of bounds.
So why not endure some more tedious small talk until he could reasonably send her upstairs, while he tossed and turned on the sofa and prayed that morning would come quickly.
‘Where were you supposed to be tonight?’ he said.
‘At home.’
‘Partying?’
‘Gosh, no.’ She gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘Doing last-minute prep for Christmas with my sister and her fiancé.’
She looked at him from between narrowed eyes, as if gauging the suitability of continuing and since he was—literally—a captive audience, he gave her a brief nod of encouragement.
‘She’s getting married in the New Year. To a doctor, actually, and then they’re…they’re going off to live in Australia.’
He absorbed this, heard her pride and her pain, and surprised himself by asking, ‘You will miss her, I think?’
‘Of course I will miss her,’ she said instantly. ‘What about you? Do you have any siblings?’
There was a pause. ‘A brother,’ he said flatly and then forced himself to say it, to try to wrap his head around what he still couldn’t quite believe, even after this last long year. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh, Vito. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise—’
‘It’s okay,’ he said roughly and took another mouthful of wine.
She was looking at him expectantly but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask him to.
And something about her consideration made him contemplate the unthinkable.
Should he tell her that Alessandro had died, by his own hand?
Should he share the unbearable weight of his brother’s suicide with her?
And then what?
Pain and the inevitable guilt lanced through his heart. Sit back and wait for the rush of meaningless sympathy? Because sympathy could be a double-edged sword. It could make the person expressing it feel as if they were especially close to you and Vito had chosen never to be close to anyone.
Did she sense his sudden unease? Was that why she began to fill the silence with a nervous rush of words and complete change of subject?
‘These are my sister’s clothes,’ she informed him chattily, gesturing towards the red-and-green skirt which had captured so much of his unwilling attention today. ‘She certainly won’t need them in Brisbane.’
Relieved to be distracted from the painful stab of his thoughts by such a delightful subject, Vito narrowed his eyes. ‘Hence the sudden and rather surprising transformation,’ he observed slowly.
‘Well, you were the one who suggested I smarten up before our trip here!’
‘So I did,’ he agreed. ‘I just wasn’t expecting something quite so…’
‘So what?’ she questioned, sounding even more defensive now. ‘Go on, Vito—you can speak freely.’
‘Dramatic,’ he concluded.
‘I don’t know what that actually means. Is it a euphemism for me looking like mutton dressed up as lamb?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Excuse me?’
‘A woman who’s wearing clothes which are too young for her,’ she explained, self-consciously tucking one glossy wave of hair behind her ear. ‘You strike me as a man of the world—’
‘Is that what you think of me?’ he said mockingly.
She shrugged. ‘Kind of. So if you think my outfit is too revealing, or I’m too old to carry off a skirt like this, it might be helpful to know.’
Aware that he was now entering dangerous territory, Vito didn’t answer immediately, because a woman who was seeking reassurance was often seeking something else.
But suddenly he found himself wanting to wipe all that doubt and uncertainty from her lovely face.
‘I think you look hot,’ he informed her frankly.
‘Hot?’ she questioned in alarm.
Had something been lost in translation? he wondered. ‘Like a young woman in the very bloom of her life,’ he elaborated, seeing her look of surprise. ‘Which makes me wonder why you usually dress as if you’re trying to hide from something,’ he concluded softly.
Something? Flora thought dazedly. Or someone?
Still reeling from his lavish praise, she considered his question.
She wanted to tell him it was none of his business—which was true—but the reason she was reluctant to answer was more damning than that.
She remembered the way Liam had rounded on her, had called her frigid and unimaginative, and no way was she admitting to that.
‘I had a bad experience,’ she said evasively.
‘A man?’ he guessed.
Flora nodded, and something about the perception gleaming from his eyes made her ask tentatively. ‘How did you guess?’
‘It’s not exactly rocket science,’ he said bitterly. ‘Men and women have a habit of trying to destroy each other.’
Perhaps it was the bleakness in his voice which made Flora realise he wasn’t entirely immune to pain himself. Was that why she started to confide in him—Vito Monticello, of all people? ‘He kind of wrecked my confidence when I said I didn’t want to marry him,’ she said slowly.
‘You shouldn’t have let him have that power over you,’ he observed.
‘You think?’ Flora gave a short laugh. ‘Sometimes that’s easier said than done. I’m not much of a game-player,’ she admitted. ‘So I decided that life was easier without the complications of men and I got into the habit of dressing in such a way that made it clear I wasn’t putting myself out there.’