‘A mallet,’ she said through gritted teeth, and stalked out of the room before she gave in to temptation and hit him over the head with the pewter vase.
After Sophie had gone Nicolo switched off the bedside lamp and stared into the darkness, trying to clear his mind of the remnants of his dream. His nightmares were not so frequent now, unlike the months and years following the fire when he had suffered almost nightly flashbacks.
Sophie had been right to guess that his injuries had been agonising. It was impossible to explain the intense pain of third-degree burns that turned flesh into raw, weeping wounds, or the gut-wrenching agony of surgical dressings being changed. He had been in hospital for months and had undergone several skin grafts. Even after he had been allowed home he’d had to wear compression bandages and take high doses of antibiotics to prevent his burns becoming infected, as had happened to his friend Michael.
Nicolo closed his eyes and pictured the smiling face of the young man who had been a fellow patient at the specialist burns unit. Michael Morris had been amazingly cheerful, despite having suffered burns to eighty per cent of his body. He had been Nicolo’s inspiration. But Michael had developed an infection and septicaemia and his sudden, shocking death had plunged the thirteen-year-old Nicolo into the depths of despair. He had cried like a baby when one of the nurses had told him that Michael had died.
Muttering a curse, Nicolo sat up, switched the lamp back on and picked up a book from the bedside table. Goddamn Sophie Ashdown, he thought grimly. Her arrival had unsettled him and her curiosity about the fire had opened a door in his mind that he usually kept bolted shut.
At least she had not been wearing the Chatsfield signature scent tonight. While he had still been half asleep and disorientated he had pulled her down onto the bed and inhaled a fresh, citrus fragrance on her skin. Now the scent of her perfume lingered in his bedroom, a reminder of her enticingly curvaceous body that had not been adequately concealed by her nightgown. He imagined sliding his hands over the slip of peach silk and exploring her tantalising contours that promised to be even more sensual if she were naked.
Frowning grimly at the direction his thoughts were taking, Nicolo opened the book and forced himself to concentrate on the tale of political intrigue.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOPHIE LEANED BACK in the chair and massaged her stiff neck. She had spent the morning in Gene Chatsfield’s office in the west wing of the house, sorting through piles of paperwork and old files and searching for the documents Christos had asked her to find. But after three hours of solid work, she had not found anything relating to a property in Italy. Gene had not been the tidiest or most organised of men and his filing system had been chaotic, she thought ruefully.
The glorious sunshine outside the window was a temptation she could no longer ignore. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break. She decided to make a sandwich and eat it while she explored the grounds. Christos had mentioned there was a swimming pool and she was keen to find it.
As she crossed the hall she heard Nicolo’s voice from behind the door of his study and guessed he was speaking on the phone. He hadn’t appeared at breakfast and she wondered if he would tear himself away from his computer at any point during the day. He seemed to be obsessed with making money but less interested in spending it, at least on maintaining Chatsfield House.
Twenty minutes later, when Sophie found the swimming pool, she told herself she should not be disappointed that it was unusable. The secluded area of the garden where the pool was situated looked like a wilderness and the pool was full of stagnant brown water and covered by a thick layer of green weed and algae. Weeds were growing between the tiles on the terrace that surrounded the pool and, like the house, there was an air of abandonment about the place.
What a pity Nicolo did not look after his family’s home, Sophie thought. She knelt down by the edge of the pool and peered into the murky depths. It was possible that pond creatures had taken up residence beneath the dead leaves floating on the surface. Just as the thought came into her head something jumped out of the water and she gave a startled scream when a frog landed in her lap. Having lived in a town all her life, Sophie preferred to admire nature’s wildlife from a distance. Gingerly she tried to flip the frog off her leg but it jumped and she gave another scream, terrified that it had become tangled in her hair.
The sound of laughter made her spin round to see Nicolo surveying the scene with amused eyes.
‘Stop flapping your arms,’ he drawled as he came closer. ‘The poor frog is more scared of you than you are of it.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Sophie muttered. ‘Stop laughing, damn you.’
Infuriated that he clearly found the situation funny, she pushed him. He gave a grunt of surprise as he was caught off balance. His feet slid on the slippery, algae-covered tiles and he plunged into the water.
Sophie stared in shock as ripples spread across the pool. She’d hardly touched him and hadn’t expected him to actually fall in. Feeling guilty, she waited by the edge of the pool for him to reappear, but as seconds ticked past and his head did not emerge through the layer of green scum she grew anxious and knelt down to try and spot him.
‘That’s just brilliant, Sophie,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You’ve killed him.’
She leaned forward, frantically scanning the pool for a sign of him. A hand suddenly shot through the surface and caught hold of her arm. She had no time to do more than let out a startled squeak as she was dragged down into the stagnant water.
‘Oh, God, that tastes foul!’ Sophie resurfaced, coughing and spluttering. Disturbing the water had produced a stench like rotten eggs and she gagged as she swam to the edge of the pool. Nicolo had already climbed out and was standing on the pool side. Leaning down, he extended a hand and pulled her up beside him.
‘I’ve got weed in my hair—’ she shuddered ‘—and maybe tadpoles. Ooh, that water is disgusting. My clothes are ruined.’ Her pale blue silk shirt dress and her beloved nude suede kitten heels would never recover, she thought regretfully.
She gave Nicolo a rueful look and silently acknowledged that, dripping wet, he looked unbelievably sexy. His sodden shirt moulded his torso so that she could clearly see the outline of his abdominal muscles, and his wet trousers clung to his powerful thighs and left little to her imagination.
She sighed. ‘I guess I deserved that.’
Nicolo surveyed her through narrowed eyes. He regretted losing his temper and pulling her into the pool. But as he had helped her climb back out it had occurred to him that a dunking in the disgusting water might persuade her to give up her quest and go home. To his astonishment she did not seem about to leave Chatsfield House in high dudgeon. Nicolo was beginning to realise that Sophie Ashdown was not a quitter.
‘Please accept my apology for pulling you in,’ he said gruffly. A wry smile curved his lips. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried out some tae kwon do moves on me.’
‘I’d probably injure you, and dent your ego,’ Sophie told him coolly.
‘Why, you …’ He frowned, but then his lips twitched and he threw back his head and laughed, breaking the tension between them. ‘You are something else, Miss Ashdown,’ he murmured with a note of genuine admiration in his voice.
Sophie felt a shaft of pleasure. She had told herself she did not care that Nicolo clearly resented her presence in his home, but the fact that his granite-like features had softened and he was actually smiling at her sent a tingle right down to her toes.
Maybe the tingle had more to do with the way he was looking at her, she conceded as she glanced down and discovered that her wet clothes were clinging to her body. She flushed when she saw her nipples were clearly visible beneath her dress and seamless bra. Nicolo gave her a sardonic look when she shivered theatrically and murmured, ‘I’m cold.’
‘In that case you had better go back to the house and get under a hot shower,’ he said drily. ‘I’ll reimburse you for your clothes as your unplanned swim was
my fault.’
They walked across the garden in silence. Sophie was acutely aware of him and almost wished that they were still in a state of warfare, because a friendlier Nicolo was dangerous to her peace of mind. He could be charming when he chose to be, and she sensed it would be easy to be bewitched by his charisma.
They reached the kitchen door and he stood to one side to usher her through. Sophie brushed past him in the narrow space and as her breasts grazed his chest she could not control the tremor that ran through her.
‘The water in the pool was rank. You don’t smell too sweet,’ he drawled.
She flashed him an angry glance. ‘Neither do you.’
Too late she realised he had been goading her. He trapped her gaze and her breath left her in a rush as she stared at his hard-boned features. There was something innately sensual about his chiselled cheekbones, resolute jaw and stern mouth. Her stomach dipped as he lifted his hand and brushed strands of wet hair back from her face. Time seemed to stand still and Sophie’s breathing was suddenly uneven as Nicolo stared into her eyes.
Why was he allowing this annoying woman to turn his pleasant, calm existence into chaos? Nicolo asked himself. He had spent a restless night, but he knew his inability to sleep had been the result of Sophie’s visit to his bedroom rather than any lingering effects from his nightmare.
This morning he had decided that she would have to leave Chatsfield House. She was a distraction and he did not want her around. But while he had been working at his computer he had caught sight of her through the study window and his concentration had been shot to pieces. As he had watched her, a light wind had tugged on her dress and moulded the silky material to her firm breasts and slender thighs. Her honey-blonde hair rippling halfway down her back had lifted in the breeze. Reluctantly Nicolo had admitted that he was intrigued by her and, cursing his own stupidity, had followed the route she had taken through the garden.
Now he could not drag his eyes from her delicate features. His gaze lingered on her soft mouth and he felt a sharp tug in his groin.
‘Curious,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve never been tempted to kiss a woman covered in green slime before.’
Beneath Nicolo’s teasing tone Sophie heard something that made her heart jolt. The gleam in his eyes was blatantly sexual.
She swallowed. ‘Are you suggesting that you’re tempted to kiss me?’
‘Do you want me to?’
Nicolo’s voice was as rich and deep as crushed velvet. Sophie had never felt so intensely aware of a man, or of her own sensuality. Her mouth felt dry and she could not formulate a reply. She could hear her blood thundering in her ears, echoing the painful thud of her heart. Her brain told her she would be mad to say yes to the question, but her body was sending out a different message.
He moved his hand away from her face and Sophie’s eyes were drawn to his mottled and scarred skin. She sensed he would always be haunted by the memories of that fateful night. He had been barely more than a boy at the time, a boy who had been in desperate need of his mother’s love and care. It was little wonder that as an adult he was so self-contained, she thought, feeling a flare of compassion for him.
Nicolo’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sophie’s expressive face. He was sure he saw revulsion in her eyes when she looked at his scarred flesh.
He dropped his hand to his side and gave a grim laugh. ‘Of course you don’t. Why would Beauty want to kiss the beast?’ Abruptly he walked past her and strode across the kitchen to the door leading to the hall.
‘I don’t think of you as a beast …’ Her shaky voice made Nicolo pause and swing round to face her.
‘I wouldn’t blame you for doing so. For a long time I could not bear to look at my reflection in a mirror and when I did finally look I was appalled by my appearance. Don’t worry about it, Sophie,’ he said, his tone softening when he saw her stricken expression. ‘I’ve come to terms with my injuries, and I’m comfortable in my own skin.’ He glanced down at his wet clothes. ‘I’m going to take a shower and I suggest you do the same.’
Sophie had to scrub her hair to get rid of the smell of the stagnant pool water. Although she left her suede shoes to soak she did not hold out much hope that she would be able to wear them again. But her sense of fairness reminded her that she only had herself to blame. Nicolo had not invited her to Chatsfield House and since she’d arrived she had done nothing but annoy him. If she was to stand any chance of persuading him to attend the shareholders’ meeting she would have to change her strategy.
These thoughts were running through her mind when she returned to the kitchen and took the bread dough she had made earlier from the bottom shelf of the range where she had left it to prove. Knocking the air back out of the dough was therapeutic. As she placed the loaf in the oven to cook, an elderly woman entered the kitchen through the back door.
‘Mary at the village store said that Mr Nicolo had taken on a new cook,’ the woman said to Sophie. ‘I’m Betty. I dust and hoover the downstairs rooms. I can’t manage more than that with my bad knees.’
‘I’m sure you do a wonderful job,’ Sophie assured the cleaner. Deciding not to give a complicated explanation of the reason she was at Chatsfield House, she smiled at Betty. ‘When did Mr Nicolo’s previous cook leave?’
‘The Pearsons retired six months ago. Elsie was the cook, and Stan was the gardener.’ Betty shook her head. ‘The lawn was Stan’s pride and joy. He’d be horrified if he saw the mess the place is in now. The Pearsons worked at Chatsfield for years, ever since the family moved here. I’ve been here almost as long. Mrs Chatsfield took me on when Mr Nicolo was a baby. Mind you, there were a lot more staff then. The house and grounds were beautifully kept.’
‘So you watched the Chatsfield children grow up?’
Betty nodded. ‘They were a happy family at first, but things changed after Mrs Chatsfield miscarried when Mr Nicolo and Mr Franco were very young. She was devastated and was soon expecting again—too soon if you ask me! That’s when she had the twins, but she suffered what used to be called the baby blues. I believe postnatal depression is the proper name for it. She used to spend hours in her room, crying, and the older children had to take care of the younger ones.’
‘I suppose their father was away working in London,’ Sophie mused.
Betty gave a snort. ‘Maybe he was busy running his hotels, but there was talk that he had affairs with other women. Oh, he was careful. The newspapers never got wind of what he was up to, but we heard the rumours and Mrs Chatsfield must have known about them. She persuaded Mr Chatsfield to come back to live at the house. Then Miss Cara was born. After that Mrs Chatsfield just didn’t seem able to cope any more. Mr Chatsfield had gone back to London and then one day Mrs Chatsfield drove away from the house and no one ever saw her again.’
Sophie was fascinated by Betty’s memories of the Chatsfield family. ‘It must have been a terrible shock for the children to be abandoned by their mother.’
‘It was a tragedy. The older ones had to more or less become parents to their younger brothers and sister. All the children suffered, but I think Mr Nicolo was especially close to his mother and he was badly affected by her leaving. I used to hear him crying in his room sometimes. Poor boy, he was burned to a frazzle in that fire and left with horrible scars. It was such a shame when he used to be so handsome. But he only had himself to blame.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sophie frowned. ‘Nicolo saved someone from the flames. He was a hero—wasn’t he?’
Betty pursed her lips. ‘I’m not saying he wasn’t brave. But Mr Nicolo had a wild streak when he was younger and there’s more to the story of the fire than the newspapers ever knew. Heavens!’ She broke off suddenly. ‘Look at the time! I mustn’t stand here chatting all day.’ The cleaner made a show of glancing at the clock. She had clearly decided that she had said too much and hurried out of the kitchen clutching a duster and a tin of furniture polish.
Sophie gave a frustrated sigh as she pummelled a sec
ond batch of bread dough. She was tempted to go after Betty and demand an explanation, but of course she couldn’t. The cleaning lady’s words kept running through her mind. She had seemed to suggest that Nicolo was in some way to blame for the fire at the Chatsfield Hotel. It was a puzzling mystery and Sophie’s curiosity longed for answers but she did not dare ask Nicolo.
He strolled into the kitchen at that moment and her thoughts were distracted by his powerful masculinity. He was wearing a pair of his customary black trousers and a loose-fitting fine silk shirt with wide sleeves that partially hid his scarred hand. Her eyes flew to his lean face and awareness uncoiled in the pit of her stomach. Betty had described Nicolo as having been handsome before he had been injured in the fire, but in Sophie’s opinion he was the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. His face had not been burned, and apart from his hand, his clothed body bore no signs of his injuries.
Beneath his clothes it was a different matter. She had been shocked by his scars when she had seen his naked chest last night, Sophie acknowledged. But Nicolo’s description of himself as a beast was surprising. Before he had dropped out of the media spotlight he had been a notorious playboy and he must have been aware that women found him attractive.
‘I thought I could smell homemade bread. Is there no end to your talents, Sophie?’ he drawled.
She shrugged. ‘I enjoy cooking. I find it a relaxing pastime, especially now that I work for Christos. The man is practically a workaholic,’ she said with a sigh.
‘When did you start working for Giatrakos?’
‘A few months ago. Before that I was PA to the director of an international car manufacturing company that has a factory in Japan. I frequently used to visit the Far East with my then-boss.’
‘Japan is a fascinating country, isn’t it? Did any of your trips coincide with the cherry blossom season?’
‘Unfortunately not, but I’ve heard that the cherry trees in bloom are a spectacular sight.’ Sophie looked at him curiously. ‘Have you been to Japan?’
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