‘That’s very kind, but no, thank you,’ she replied, trying to hold on to some sanity.
Naturally, however, her stomach chose that exact moment to rumble with volume and vigour. She stared into his eyes as her stomach growled on. No way could he not hear the thunder of her disloyal digestive system. Would nothing go right? Could she not even manage a simple escape from him and be left with even a snippet of dignity?
‘I thought you were always honest?’ he teased softly.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘I didn’t say I’m not hungry. I just can’t stay for breakfast. I need to get going.’
‘You’re trying to get away from me?’
‘It’s not just you,’ she corrected dryly. ‘I have to get to work.’
His smile was a devastating combination of smug and boyishly cute. ‘But I make you uncomfortable.’
‘I’m embarrassed,’ she corrected. ‘I fell asleep in your car. For all I know, I was drooling when you carried me into your house—again. And I’m not a featherweight. It’s a wonder you didn’t put your back out.’
‘There was no drooling. No snoring. And I liked carrying you. You were very sweet and snuggly.’
That blush burned every inch of her skin again.
‘Very difficult to walk away from,’ he added softly.
Her breath stalled in her lungs. She didn’t want to think about him putting her on that massive bed—he’d have held her so closely, he’d have been bent over her...
‘And now here you are, stealing roses, like Beauty.’
‘Does that make you the Beast?’ she asked, pulling her brain back from those unhelpful visions and trying to put some distance between them.
He inclined his head and his gaze lowered, focusing on a spot just behind her. ‘I don’t think your Alex will be pleased to see you’ve mangled his prize rose bush.’
She turned, guiltily regarding the way that rose was now dangling half-torn from the branch. ‘I thought it would snap off easily.’
‘They’re for looking at,’ he said. ‘Not destroying.’
‘I wanted to take one to Alex,’ she confessed, sending him an apologetic look, ‘so he’d see how well they were doing and would stop worrying.’
Rafael glanced at her again, his expression veiled. In the ensuing moment of silence he slowly reached and took her hand again. Gracie hoped he hadn’t felt her tiny shiver at the moment of connection.
He said nothing, just dropped his gaze to study the trail of red snaking across her skin. ‘I really think you need a plaster.’
She couldn’t be ungracious again, not when that trickle of blood had turned into a bit of a stream and she didn’t want to come across as petty or rude. He didn’t deserve that. ‘I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble.’
‘Are you?’ His lashes swiftly lifted, amusement flashing in his eyes. ‘Yet you think I’m a beast?’
She eyed him suspiciously at the mournfulness in his tone. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’
‘I always need compliments this early in the morning.’
‘You’re not so bad, I suppose,’ she said slowly, but realised, as she said it, that it was true. She huffed out a breath and tried again. ‘Well, actually, you’re really honourable.’ She couldn’t meet his gaze as she walked back to the villa, focusing intently on not slipping over again. The guy had women falling at his feet, she literally couldn’t do that again. ‘I was in a vulnerable position last night and I appreciate you taking care of me. Thank you.’
He didn’t immediately reply and she snuck a look at him. A smile had transformed his face from handsome to heart-stopping and she had to look away again.
‘It was my pleasure,’ he eventually replied. ‘You know, I’ve never had a woman fall asleep...’ he paused meaningfully as he opened the door and waited for her to walk inside ahead of him ‘...in my Ferrari before.’
Oh, he was being Mr Provocative again?
‘You mean in your scintillating company?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You really are a conceited creature.’
‘I did wonder if you’d hit your head, not your knee.’ He laughed, unabashed, and led her through to that glorious kitchen again.
‘So you thought I must have been concussed and that you needed to keep an eye on me?’ Not that she’d been dead tired, hungry and had basically passed out from that one glass of champagne.
‘It seemed the logical conclusion.’ He shrugged with a helpless gesture. But he was so not helpless, he was so very powerful. ‘You fell asleep before I could get your address from you,’ he added. ‘Though I tried to wake you.’
‘Oh?’ She tried to act cool by casually perching on one of the kitchen stools and avoiding eye contact again. ‘How did you try?’
Had it been with a kiss?
Well, duh, of course not. If he’d kissed her again, she’d definitely have woken. And if he’d kissed her again...? Her mind tracked back to that moment by the lake last night. That sensation rushed in, curling her toes, cooking her from the inside out. But she drew a sharp breath. She wasn’t going to mention it. Not to him. Not to anyone. She was only going to remember it when she was all by herself and she’d never admit that she was going to treasure it always. While she’d vowed to be honest, there were some things he didn’t need to know. He was already arrogant enough.
But then she looked at him and her belly flipped.
He knew anyway, didn’t he? He was watching her, his eyes darkening with that wicked gleam of intent. He knew what she was thinking about and he knew how much he affected her. She’d even bet he knew just how much she wanted him to kiss her again. Right now.
Rafe studied Grace for another moment, waiting for her to fill the silence the way any other woman would have already. Was she really going to walk out of here without addressing that kiss? Even when it was clear from her expression that she wanted another?
Yes, it seemed she was. She’d tried to sneak out without saying goodbye—a walking mess of embarrassment. There was no way that kiss was going to be the only one they shared. But he whirled away from her and snatched up a few tissues to press to the wound on her hand. He’d give her time and draw her in.
‘How’s your knee this morning?’ he asked, hiding the fact he felt more invigorated than he’d felt in far too long.
‘A bit sore and bruised but it’s fine.’
He nodded. ‘Hold this and give me a moment, I need to find the first-aid kit.’ He began opening cupboards in the butler’s kitchen. ‘I’m still finding my way around.’
‘You bought the place furnished?’ She appeared in the open doorway and looked at the working pantry with wide eyes.
‘There was some furniture, I believe. Then one of my staff fitted it out with a few essentials after the restoration work was completed.’ He’d deliberately not come to see it before the work was done. He’d wanted it perfect.
‘A few essentials?’ She marvelled with a soft laugh as she studied the chrome coffee machine that wouldn’t look out of place in a restaurant. She walked over and ran a finger along the smooth, gleaming machine and pinned him with that wide, expressive gaze. ‘Do you even know how to use it?’
There was no hiding the edge of judgement in her query.
‘You’d be amazed by the number of things I know how to use,’ he drawled, not telling her he’d already made himself a coffee over an hour ago while he’d been pacing the place, waiting for her to wake up. Opening another cupboard, he pounced on a red box with the words ‘First Aid’ emblazoned across the top. Perfect.
‘I can’t imagine buying a house without having seen it. Do you do that often?’
He glanced at her and saw the amusement dancing in her eyes. He turned back to sift through the selection of plasters. ‘I have a number of properties.’
‘Properties?’ She faced him, that unrepentantly joyous laugh
ter in her voice again. ‘They’re hardly the same as a home.’
He had no need for a home. He needed only space and comfort and a decent bed, and frankly he could get that anywhere. Ideally a hotel with all those extra features, like food on call. Properties, on the other hand, were business. A way to build his empire and the security and success he enjoyed.
‘How many properties do you have?’ he asked acidly.
‘I own none as yet, but I only want one home. Definitely only need one. I have no desire to trot around the globe.’
‘No? Not even in a private jet?’ He played up to her pious little performance. ‘Maybe you should try it sometime. You might find it’s not so bad.’
‘And isolate myself completely from the rest of the world?’ She shook her head. ‘I actually want to know my neighbours. Not keep them out with my fancy gates and scary beeping security system and private transport.’
‘You want to know them?’ He shuddered theatrically and fished a tube of antiseptic ointment from the box as well as a plaster.
She waggled her finger at him and laughed softly. ‘You make out you want your space and privacy but you chose to go to that party last night.’
‘I needed to promote my interests—namely this villa—and I might have learned something interesting.’
She blinked at him. ‘You didn’t talk to any of them to learn anything.’
‘That’s because I was distracted.’ He was distracted again now—by her eyes, her lips and the raging desire that had meant he’d hardly slept.
‘You wanted to be distracted. That’s why you took me with you. You used me to avoid everyone else. What I still don’t understand is why you wanted to go in the first place.’
The truth was banal. ‘Because I could.’ He smiled. He hadn’t been allowed here years ago. Now there was no stopping him. ‘And you used me to get an up-close look at the palazzo. I say we’re even,’ he said firmly. ‘Now, be quiet and let me fix this.’
He carefully cleaned her wound and dabbed on the antiseptic ointment but her question had opened up that old wound and the memories scurried.
All his childhood he’d been told of the beautiful Villa Rosetta, the holiday home his father lived in for a few months each year. But by the time Rafe had arrived, his father was too ill to visit. When he’d died, it had been ruled out altogether. His half-brother, his nephew held all the power. Leonard and Maurice had laughed at him when he’d asked if he could visit Italy. They’d said no, just as they’d said no to all his most personal requests.
Including the ones to see his mother.
As a youngster he’d done everything they’d asked of him. His academic achievements had been outstanding, as had his sporting ones. He’d done everything and anything he could to win their attention, to earn the visit from his mother that they’d promised.
It had never happened. And by the time he’d been old enough to make the journey himself, it had been too late.
But in the end he’d learned that winning had some benefits. He garnered attention from others—those who sought his advice, strove to emulate his success, trusted him with their assets and made his business even more successful. And it brought him women. Women liked men with money, men who were fit, men who were winners. Once he’d begun winning, he’d won more—a snowball of success after success after success.
But he knew that without the success, without the money, the properties, the physique...they wouldn’t want to know him. Just as they hadn’t wanted to know him before he’d acquired all those things. So he didn’t allow people to get close. He didn’t trust anyone and he’d never give a person a chance to reject him, or to betray him, again. He’d had enough of that for a lifetime.
‘You’re looking very stern. You think it’s fatal?’ Grace said quietly.
He glanced up into those melted-caramel eyes and forgot to breathe. The hard knot tightening his chest softened—while another part of him altogether hardened to the point of pain. ‘I’m resisting the urge to kiss it better,’ he replied bluntly.
Her eyes widened. Yeah, he’d win now too—here, with her. He pressed the plaster over her small wound and shot her a speaking look before turning his attention to the coffee machine she’d doubted he could master. Efficiently, ruthlessly, silently proving a point. Doing it all on his own—as always. His terms. His timelines. ‘Do you take milk?’ he asked.
‘No, thank you. I like it strong.’
He bit back the smile at her innocently uttered innuendo and handed her the cup. He watched her sip gratefully. She was clearly starving. ‘You’re sure about something to eat? I think there might be some pastries in the freezer.’
She half snorted on her next sip of coffee. ‘Freezer?’ She shook her head and coughed her way back to recovery. ‘No, thank you.’
‘You don’t love frozen pastries?’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I haven’t been into the village yet.’
‘You do your own shopping? How arduous for you,’ she teased. ‘No, thank you. I’ll eat at work—which is at the local bakery, and that’s why I need to leave. I should have left half an hour ago.’
She’d told him last night that she was a waitress. No wonder she thought she knew how to make a coffee.
A second later she put the cup on the bench and stood. ‘Thanks so much,’ she said again. ‘But I really need to go or I’ll be even more late for work.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll bike back. That’s how I got here yesterday.’
He walked with her back out to the garden and picked a couple of roses, grinning when she narrowed her eyes at how easily he snapped them from the plant. ‘It’s all in the angle,’ he explained soothingly as he held them out to her. ‘Take them to Alex.’
As she took them, she looked right at him and smiled. The pleasure and appreciation in her eyes walloped him in the solar plexus. Suddenly he didn’t want her to leave at all. But she was already walking away.
‘Thank you. Yet again. I’d better get going.’ She glanced back at the villa. ‘I guess all those models will be arriving soon?’
Hell, he’d forgotten about that. ‘I guess so.’ He walked with her up the long driveway. ‘The spread will be a good advertisement for the villa.’
‘Does it need to be advertised?’
‘It’s a high-end fashion magazine with extremely discerning readers. Readers who can afford to rent a villa for several thousand a week.’ He slowed as they neared the security gates.
‘And wear white designer dresses without worrying about spilling stuff on them.’ She nodded. ‘So you’re going to keep it as a holiday home for the super-wealthy?’
‘What else?’
‘A home,’ she said softly.
‘No one could live here permanently, they’d never get any work done,’ he scoffed, then frowned as he saw something that vaguely resembled a bicycle stashed beside one of the trees. He stepped closer to study it. ‘You ride this thing? It’s a man’s bike. Is it even roadworthy?’
‘It’s vintage.’
He frowned. ‘It sure is something.’ An old man’s bike. He felt a tightening in his chest but he couldn’t hold back his curiosity. ‘The same owner as your watch?’ Who was the old guy who gave her these things?
‘Different. Alex loaned it to me. He’s taken care of it for years and it goes like a dream. By that I mean it’s fast.’
‘You like fast?’ he jeered softly. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘I like fast. But I also like reliable. Not everyone is all about buying new things, only to discard them after using them once.’ She lifted her chin in the air.
‘Ouch.’ He pressed his hand to his heart, wincing. ‘I think the rose has thorns.’
‘Roses generally do.’ She placed the two she was holding into the pannier at the back of her bicycle. ‘Thank you for an interesting ev
ening,’ she said awkwardly, glancing up at him when she was done.
He knew he was standing too close, too much in her way, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. ‘It was merely interesting?’
She nodded slowly, her caramel gaze not leaving his. She didn’t seem to be breathing. Her focus strayed to his lips. She was remembering—he was instinctively certain—remembering every moment of that scorching kiss. He smiled tightly at the strength of attraction flowing between them. Using an intense amount of self-control, he deliberately stepped back so he no longer blocked her path. After a tiny hesitation she mounted the bike.
‘Travel safe,’ he called gently as she wobbled her way out of the gates.
He refused to say goodbye. Because he’d have his trespassing tourist back in his villa soon enough. But next time she’d be in his bed and wide, wide awake.
CHAPTER FIVE
GRACIE PUSHED THE fierce surge of energy from her body, pedalling so fast the usual fifteen-minute trip took only nine. She whipped upstairs to her apartment to quickly shower and change. She’d be only a few minutes late to the pasticceria, but on her way back out she nearly tripped over the elderly man checking the tires on her bike.
‘Alex.’ She smiled warmly, pleased to see him looking a bit better. But immediately she reproached him. ‘Why are you up and about so early?’
‘Your light battery is almost flat,’ he said gruffly.
‘You should still be in bed, recuperating.’
‘I wanted to see you.’ His eyes had a little of their usual sparkle back.
‘To find out about your roses?’ she teased. ‘Here.’ Gracie lifted the fresh-picked blooms from the basket. ‘They’re perfect, as you can see.’
‘I can.’ His hand shook slightly as he took them but he wasn’t studying the roses as much as he was scrutinising her.
‘You really should go back inside and rest.’ Gracie put her hands on her hips.
‘Stop fussing. Sofia was here half the night, fussing.’ He hesitated and finally looked down at the blooms in his hand. ‘You enjoyed the fireworks?’
Awakening His Innocent Cinderella Page 6
