‘Right,’ he said, watching the dust trail thrown up by their car as they drove away. ‘I need to do some food shopping. There’s a market on where we went the other day. Want to come?’
‘Sure.’ She flashed him a cheeky smile. ‘I can defend you from all the old women who want to grope you.’
He chuckled and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, Amy, how would I cope without you?’ he said softly.
‘Well, aren’t you lucky you don’t have to?’ she quipped straight back at him, and turned away so he didn’t see the yearning in her eyes.
* * *
Ella fell asleep in the car, so he put her carefully in the buggy and plundered the produce stalls while Amy followed with Ella and captured the atmosphere on her ever-present camera. He found the butcher Lydia had recommended and got into an earnest conversation, which as usual brought out his lovely Italian side that was so irresistibly sexy.
He bought a shoulder of mutton, not something readily available in England, and three racks of lamb. ‘I’m going to do lamb two ways for Sunday lunch,’ he told her when he finally got away. ‘Easy for the numbers, and tender enough for the kids to eat.’
‘Yummy.’
‘It will be. Even though you have no faith in me.’
She laughed. ‘I never said that.’
His mouth twitched but he said nothing, just hung the bag on the back of the buggy and carried on, wandering along the stalls, chatting to people and picking up this and that as they went, and she strolled along behind him with Ella in the buggy, taking photos and pretended to herself that they were a couple.
‘Right, I’m done here. Anything else you want to do before we go back?’
She shook her head, so they walked back to the car, him laden with bags, her pushing the buggy with that surreal sensation that somehow it was her place to do it. If only...
‘It’s getting hot,’ he said, tilting his head back and looking up at the sun. ‘It’ll be a scorcher later.’
‘It’s hot enough now,’ she said, happy to walk in the shade and wondering if everyone was looking at them and speculating, because everywhere they went he was recognised, and not just by women old enough to be his grandmother. She hadn’t realised his fame was so widespread in Italy, but apparently it was.
And mostly he tolerated it with good grace, but she could tell that for once he would have liked to be able to walk around without people saying something to him, or nudging each other and staring. At him, or them together? Would it spark a whole lot of media speculation about his private life? She hoped not, for his sake, and she was glad to get back to the car and away from prying eyes.
He stashed everything in the boot, strapped Ella into her seat and drove home.
No. Not home. They didn’t have a home, and there was no ‘they’, either. Just him and Ella, and her.
‘I fancy a dip,’ he announced, putting the last things away in the kitchen. ‘Want to swim, baby?’
She opened her mouth to answer and then realised he was talking to Ella. Well, of course he was! Why wouldn’t he be? He’d never called her baby. Never called her anything except Amy. And brat, on occasions, when she had been, which had been quite often all those years ago.
‘Going to join us?’
Was she? She turned her head and met his eyes. They told her nothing. ‘Do you want me to?’
He shrugged. ‘Only if you want to. It’s easier with Ella if there are two of us, but it’s not strictly necessary if you’d rather not.’
Of course. He just wanted help with the baby, and put like that it was hard to refuse. Besides, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than dive into the cool, refreshing water, so they changed and went over to the pool, and he rigged up the tilting parasol so it hung across the water and they played in the shade with Ella until it was time for her lunch.
‘Stay here a bit longer if you like. I’ll get her dressed and feed her and then I might put her down for a bit,’ he said, handing the baby to her for a moment while he vaulted out of the water, rubbed himself down roughly with a towel and then bent and took Ella from her and walked away.
She let out a long, slow, silent sigh of relief as he went up the steps and disappeared from sight onto the terrace. She’d put on the one-piece again that she’d bought on Wednesday, but she’d felt every bit as naked and as aware of him in that as she had in the bikini.
Because his hand had brushed her breast yesterday afternoon? It meant nothing, she told herself, just an accidental touch.
So why couldn’t she forget it, and why couldn’t he look at her straight in the eye any more? Or, at least, he hadn’t in the past hour or so, since she’d been wearing it.
Stupid. So, so stupid. And it was changing the dynamics of their relationship.
She kicked away from the end of the pool, gliding under the surface with her arms stretched out in front of her until her fingertips hit the other end, and then she tumble-turned and swam back again, up and down, up and down, pushing herself harder and harder until her arms and legs were shaking with the effort.
Even Leo hadn’t worked her that hard the summer he’d coached her to swim for the school relay team. And she was thinking about him again!
She swam two more lengths to get him out of her mind, then gave up and rolled onto her back and kicked lazily into the centre of the pool, floating with her face turned up to the sun and her arms and legs outstretched like a star.
It was gorgeous. The heat of the sun warmed her where the water had cooled her skin, and she felt all the tension of the last few days soaking out of her body and drifting away across the surface of the pool.
Bliss. Utter, utter bliss—
Something cold splashed onto her face, and she gave a startled shriek and jack-knifed up, frantically treading water while she looked up into Leo’s laughing eyes.
‘How long have you been there?’ she asked indignantly, righting herself and glowering at him.
‘Only a moment or two. You looked so peaceful it seemed a shame to disturb you, but I’ve brought you a nice cold drink.’
‘Yes, I rather got the cold when you tipped it on me.’
‘Drizzled. Not tipped.’
‘Semantics,’ she muttered. She stood up, cupping a handful of water and hurling it at him. It hit him right in the middle of his chest, and he folded in half and backed away, laughing as he tugged the wet material away from his midriff.
Oh, for the camera...
‘I’ve only just put this shirt on!’
‘You should have thought of that before you tipped my drink all over my face. At least I threw warm water at you.’ She folded her arms on the side of the pool and grinned up at him cheekily. ‘Well, come on, then, let me have it.’
He gave a soft huff of laughter and dangled the glass just out of reach. She stretched up, and just too late she caught the mischief in his eyes.
She should have seen it coming. She knew Leo well enough to know he wouldn’t let her get away with soaking him. Even so, the icy flood down her arm and over her chest caught her by surprise, and she gave a strangled shriek and ducked back under the warm water for a second, coming up further away, out of reach.
She swiped the wet hair back off her face and tried to glare at him. ‘That was so mean!’
Leo just smiled, set the glass down on the edge of the pool and retreated to a sun lounger a safe distance away. Wise. She swam over to the half empty glass and sipped cautiously.
Gorgeous. Ice-cold sparkling water with a dash of lime. Pity it was only half a glass now, but she wasn’t going to pick a fight with him over it. She knew she’d never win. Leo always, always had the last word. She drained the glass and set it down.
‘Where’s Ella?’
‘Napping. She was pooped after the swimming so I stuck her in the travel cot the se
cond she’d finished eating and she went out like a light.’ He tipped his head on one side and eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Your shoulders have caught the sun again. Are you going to stay in there until you look like a fried prune?’ he asked mildly.
It was tempting. The alternative was to get out of the pool in front of him, and she felt curiously, ridiculously naked, even in the one-piece, but she couldn’t stay in there for ever, so she swam over to the steps where her towel was waiting, climbed out and wrapped herself in it before she turned round to face him.
‘Happy now?’
‘I was quite happy before,’ he said deadpan. ‘It was you I was worried about.’
‘You don’t need to worry about me, Leo. I’m a big girl now. I can take care of myself. And don’t worry about Ella. I’ll look after her, if you want to play in the kitchen. I could do with downloading today’s photos and sorting through them.’
Anything to keep herself out of his way.
Picking up her empty glass and the baby monitor, she headed up the stone steps to the top of the terrace and left him sitting there alone, hopefully oblivious of the trembling in her legs and her pounding heart and this crazy, absurd awareness of him, which seemed to have sprung out of nowhere in the last few days...
* * *
Leo let her go.
Not that there was anything else he could do, short of grabbing her and hanging on, and that didn’t seem like an immensely good idea right now. So he settled for watching the slight sway of her hips as she went up the steps, the beads of water on her shoulders sparkling in the sun.
His eyes tracked down to linger on those slender ankles below the smooth, gleaming curve of her calves. Her legs were browner. Even in the last few days she’d acquired a delicate tan from the glorious Tuscan weather. It was early June, hot yet still bearable, and Amy was flourishing, like a flower turning its face up to the sun.
And he was getting obsessed. He had ingredients to experiment with, the Sunday lunch menu to finalise, and he was wasting the precious time he had while Ella was asleep. He should be using that time wisely, not staring at Amy’s legs as they disappeared up the steps and behind the parapet wall and imagining them wrapped around him.
And he should so not be thinking about her like that!
He groaned. He wasn’t interested in Amy.
At all.
So why was he still watching her?
She vanished from sight and he closed his eyes and dragged his hand down over his face as if he could wipe away the image from his mind.
Not a chance. With a sigh dredged up from his boots, he picked up his glass, got to his feet and took her advice. Time to go and have a look at the vegetable garden, and then do something useful in the kitchen, instead of fantasising the day away. And from now on he was going to keep his distance and hope that also meant he could keep his sanity.
* * *
‘So, my little guinea pig, are you ready for this?’ Leo asked.
He was lolling against the kitchen cupboards, lean hips propped on the edge of the worktop, arms folded, a slight smile playing around the sides of his mouth, and he looked good enough to eat. He also looked more like the old Leo, to her relief, so she played along, trying hard not to be distracted by how downright gorgeous he looked.
Not your business! Nothing about him is your business, especially not that. Only Ella, and her care, and taking photos for his blog. Nothing else. He couldn’t have made it clearer if he’d tattooed ‘Back Off’ all over himself...
‘Are you ready for my honesty?’ she said drily.
His warm chuckle filled the kitchen and made her insides melt. ‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he teased, eyes crinkling at the corners and making her heart turn over. ‘I just fancied playing around with some ideas and I didn’t know if you were up for it.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘Leo!’ she said reproachfully, trying not to think about playing around with him or what she might be up for. ‘When have I ever said no to you?’
‘Oh, now, let me think—when I tried to kiss you?’
A distant memory stirred, and she laughed. ‘I was eight!’
‘I think you were nine, actually, and I was nearly thirteen—and as I recall, you told me not to be gross.’
She bit her lips to stop the smile. ‘I remember. I also remember when I was fourteen and wanted you to try again, but you never did.’
His eyes changed, becoming curiously intent. ‘You were a child, Amy, a minor, and I was an adult by then, so, no, I never did,’ he said.
‘I’m not a child now,’ she said, her mouth on autopilot.
The soft caramel of his eyes darkened, the pupils flaring as he gave her a slow, slightly wry smile.
‘I had noticed,’ he murmured slowly, and pushed himself away from the worktop, heading towards the fridge. ‘So—are you up for this, then? I promise not to poison you.’
She let her breath ease out on a sigh. ‘You’ve tried before.’
‘I have not!’ he said indignantly, but it didn’t work because she could hear the laughter underlying it and her lips twitched.
His laughter was so infectious she gave up the struggle and joined in, the sensual moment pushed into the background as their old banter resumed. ‘Oh, all right, if you insist,’ she relented.
‘Ah, see? You still love me, really.’
Her heart crashed against her ribs. Love him? Really? She loved him? Like that?
‘In your dreams,’ she said drily, and wondered if he could see her heart pounding in her chest.
She couldn’t—could she?
Still grinning, he wandered over to her and hugged her briefly, swamping her in that brief moment with a welter of scents and sensations that sent her emotions into a tailspin, before letting go all too soon to open the fridge and examine the contents.
‘Do you fancy a glass of fizz while I cook?’
‘Now you’re trying to get me drunk and kill my taste buds,’ she said, her heart still jiggling after the hug, the word love echoing in her head like the aftermath of a thunderclap.
He just rolled his eyes and plonked a bottle down on the table. ‘Some people are never satisfied,’ he said, then set two flutes down in front of her. A quick twist, a soft pop and he filled the glasses with pale, delicately foaming Prosecco, put the bottle back in the fridge and starting pulling out ingredients.
She sat back in her chair, twiddling the glass, watching condensation bead on the outside as the bubbles rose and popped on the surface.
Did she love him? As in, in love with him?
Well, at last! You’ve taken your time to work that one out.
She ignored her inner voice, took a slurp of the Prosecco and tried not to sneeze when the bubbles went up her nose, then swivelled round to look at him, camera in hand.
‘So, what exactly are you planning to experiment with?’
He shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling and grabbing her attention. How had she never noticed them before this week? Had she been utterly blind? Evidently. But not any more. She clicked the shutter for posterity. Or her private collection, which was growing at an embarrassing rate.
‘I’m not really sure. I haven’t come up with anything concrete yet.’
‘Concrete? How about your rock buns?’ she added to get a rise out of him.
He rolled his eyes. ‘They were fine.’
‘They were rocks, and you know it.’
He sighed softly, but his eyes were brimming with laughter. ‘So they were a little over-baked. I was—what? Nine? And you’ve never let me forget it.’
‘You must have been more than that.’
‘Not much. Ten at the most. And you had trouble biting into them because you didn’t have any front teeth, I remember that.’
‘Yes, and you tea
sed me constantly about it.’
‘And you rose to the bait without fail. You always did. Still do.’ He stopped teasing her and shook his head slowly, a soft smile playing around his mouth. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘It was. It feels like another lifetime.’
‘Maybe it was.’ The smile faded, a fleeting sadness in his eyes, and he turned his attention back to the fridge, effectively changing the subject.
‘So, what are you going to kill me with tonight, then?’ she asked lightly, swirling her Prosecco in the flute and following his lead.
He shrugged away from the worktop and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, drawing her attention in a way that did nothing for her peace of mind. She captured the image. Not that she needed to. It was burned onto her brain, alongside all the others.
‘I don’t know. I just want to play around and get a feel for their oil and cheese, amongst other things. I’ve had a look at Lydia’s vegetable garden, which has given me some ideas. I think tonight’s going to be pretty tame, though, so you’re safe.’
She didn’t feel safe. She felt—confused. As if her world had slipped on its axis, even though, in reality, nothing had changed.
Nothing? You ran away from your bridegroom at the altar! This is not nothing!
But it was nothing to do with Leo.
Or was it? Was that why she hadn’t married Nick? Because of Leo?
The thought held her transfixed, and she watched him blindly while her thoughts cartwheeled in the background.
He diced an onion at the speed of light, pulled cupboards open, inspected spices and herbs, chose some, rejected others. She could almost hear him thinking on his feet. A slab of bacon appeared out of the fridge, and he cut a thick slice and diced it rapidly into lardons and tossed them into a sizzling pan with the onion.
The aroma of frying bacon began to fill the kitchen, and her mouth was watering. Rice appeared, a glug of wine, some stock—
‘Are we having risotto?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Looks like it,’ he said with a grin.
Best Friend to Wife and Mother? Page 9
