Chapter Seven
AFTER A DAY of slinking around, trying to avoid Massimo in her own house, Catarina gave up.
Her breaking point was the scent of garlic, olive oil and spices that seeped under her door and swirled in the air.
Was Massimo…cooking? It was an image she couldn’t quite conjure in her mind, and yet, as she rounded the corner to the kitchen, she found Massimo in front of the oven looking as if he belonged there.
He was wearing a new T-shirt that fit in all the right places, and the sweatpants sat temptingly low on his hips.
In one hand he held a dish with an oven mitt, and with the other, he squeezed a lemon in his large, capable hand.
Dark, wavy locks of hair hung over his forehead as he worked, obscuring the bandaged cut.
Catarina found her gaze pulled back to the way the muscles on his forearm flexed as he held the pan.
He looked focused on the task in front of him, shockingly at home in the kitchen in a way that she herself had never been. The scene was captivating.
Catarina didn’t realize he was aware of her presence until he turned and gave her a smile dazzling enough to momentarily stun her. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I thought Alessandro was the charming one,” she said. “Did you do some sort of twin switch with your brother?”
“I contain multitudes of layers, Catarina.” He said it with his usual self-important seriousness, but followed the statement with a wry smile. Was he laughing at his own intensity level? “I hope you like fish.”
“Much better than my plan for shrimp, mayonnaise, dill and cucumber sandwiches.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”
His tone suggested he was glad he knew how to cook.
“It’s a Norwegian tradition that reminds me of summer.” Summers with her mother.
He nodded. “Then that’s understandable.”
“How gracious of you to say so,” she said with mock sincerity. “The country is grateful for your approval.”
His eyes danced with humor, and she had the same off-kilter feeling she’d had a moment before.
He was so much more approachable all of a sudden, as if he wanted to please her.
This was enough of a change to make her suspicious.
Or maybe she was just irritated by the fact that he had taken over her kitchen.
“Please…” he said, then gestured to the table.
“Make myself at home?” She flashed him a wry smile. “Thank you.”
Catarina turned to the dining room area and noted what she had somehow missed in her dazed walk from the stairs to the kitchen: The table had been transformed.
Massimo had pulled out one of the many linens her grandmother had monogrammed and laid it across the far side of the long table, creating a more intimate space.
On it, he had placed candles at the center that he had gathered from various shelves.
Two places were set, facing each other, using her grandmother’s silver, and to the side of the candles was a chilling bucket for wine.
Catarina eyed the platter of olives, figs, olive-oil-soaked goat cheese and a selection of crisp crackers, some of which she didn’t even know she had, and she wanted to make another comment along the lines of making himself at home, but the voice stuck in her throat.
The table was beautiful, and he had somehow transformed the emptiness of this house, with its ghost that still lingered, into something inviting.
She approached the table and sat in one of the tall-backed chairs where her former life had played out, bracing herself for the familiar rush of sadness.
But instead, Catarina felt a small burst of something else. Was it hope?
The thought made her want to retreat to her room, and maybe she would have if she hadn’t been so incredibly hungry and if the scent of the food he had prepared hadn’t been so intoxicating.
That’s not the only reason, said a voice somewhere deep inside.
She felt Massimo behind her, stirring the heat that seemed to grow stronger each time he was near.
“I hope you approve,” he said.
“It’s lovely,” she acknowledged softly, hoping her voice didn’t betray a hint of the wistfulness she was trying to tamp down.
But Massimo’s words from her father’s library returned, mocking this optimism. I was given to understand that you were clear about the nature of our agreement. She absolutely shouldn’t pin hopes on this man. He had made that perfectly clear.
He set another plate on the table, this one a grilled antipasto platter of zucchini, carrots and red onions with a creamy dip that gave off hints of garlic.
She had been entranced by this man from the moment she walked toward him in the family library.
His raw sexuality was overwhelming. But this Massimo Carandini, who’d created a multi-course meal from the ingredients Signe had brought and no recipe?
He was even more dangerous. This softer, more approachable man intrigued her, even when she knew better than to trust his motivations.
And underneath it all was still the thrum of their electric connection that sparked and sizzled inside her.
Catarina took a long breath. The kiss this morning had been a lesson, probably even a warning of what lay ahead.
That he had meant it as such had been clear.
Was he right that there was no room for freedom in a kiss like theirs?
It certainly wasn’t freedom she had felt when she’d clung to his shirt as if it was a life raft in the storm of their kiss.
She knew cages, and this didn’t feel like one.
It was something new, something that she needed to understand, especially if she were to marry Massimo.
Was she still considering this marriage?
When she fled to this mountain refuge, all she could think about was escape—from her father, from the marriage, from Massimo.
She had put aside the feeling in the library and left, and maybe she could have hardened her resolve if he hadn’t followed her.
But now she knew the way it felt when his stern gaze darkened with desire, when his solid frame pressed against hers, his soft lips coaxing hers open, his hard length between her legs, the intent unmistakable.
Everything about him preoccupied her to the point of distraction.
Maybe she could make sense of this feeling that giving in to her desire for Massimo could cost her everything.
It was their situation, this inescapable closeness, she told herself, that sparked this intense flame between them.
Through the windows, the snow continued to fall. The light from the candles reflected on the walls and warmed the hue of Massimo’s bronze skin as he opened the bottle of wine and poured her a glass. He took his seat across from her and raised his. “To unexpected pleasures.”
She raised her glass and smiled. “Pleasures like avalanches and head injuries?”
“My head is fine, but thank you for your…concern last night.” His eyes darkened, as if he was remembering the scene.
Her face flushed, but she gave him a mild smile. “I think the bare minimum of my host duty is to make sure my guest doesn’t lose consciousness.”
His laugh was deep and sensual. “You can consider your duty well-done.”
“I’ll take that as glowing praise,” she said primly, but as embarrassment heated her cheeks, she found herself smiling, too.
As Catarina took a sip of her wine, she studied Massimo, aware that he wanted something from her, even demanded it from her at their first meeting.
That day, the demand had felt too much like obedience for her to ignore it.
Was he trying a softer tactic to the same end, or was this softness an opening to another possibility between them?
Explore it, her body begged traitorously, so willing to ignore the wariness this implacable man stirred inside her.
Or maybe this flutter in her stomach was something far more tempting than wariness.
Maybe this was why her father had kept her hidden away, she thought darkly.
Because Giuseppe d’Avalos knew the power that one person could hold over another.
He lived with the loss of it every day. Had he arranged this marriage to help her avoid the same kind of devastation?
The idea was a revelation. She could see the merits of this approach, but it was not possible with Massimo.
Not when it felt as if he was a gravitational force, and she was helpless to resist the pull.
The table gave her a little space, enough to remind herself that she, too, could play Massimo’s game.
She could use this situation to better understand this man who was determined enough to pursue her that he’d ignored avalanche conditions.
Despite the fact that he had shown so little interest in her own wants and needs back in Milan.
In his bed last night he had shown a completely different side of himself, and now he had prepared a meal for her.
At the very least, a little prying could help her make a decision about their future.
“Have you visited Norway before?” she asked.
“I have stayed in Oslo for business, but I have never seen this.” His large hand indicated the windows that lined the room, all clouded in endless snow.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
Massimo looked out into the white abyss, and she wondered if he was contemplating the storm that had the power to bring even him to a halt? When he turned back to her, he gave a subtle nod in assent and took a drink of his wine.
“But I imagine you’ve traveled to plenty of other far-flung places,” she said.
“My travel is almost exclusively to cities for work.”
“But as a child…?”
“When my parents traveled, Alessandro and I did not come.” There was a flicker of a frown on his lips when he mentioned his parents, but he smoothed it over with a smile. “Though a few of our boarding schools could qualify as far-flung.”
“In Italy?”