Secret Prince's Christmas Seduction. Carol Marinelli

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      ‘Thank you.’

      Antonietta put down the list that she always worked from and immediately started stripping the vast walnut bed. She worked quickly, but the exertion was less out of necessity and more to match her heartbeat, which had tripped into a rapid rhythm at the sight of him semi-naked. And when he came into the bedroom to collect his trainers she had to force herself not to look—or rather not to stand there and simply gape.

      ‘You work in the Oratory?’ he checked. ‘So you are a therapist?’

      His voice caught her unawares; for she had not expected the terse gentleman she had met a few days ago to initiate a conversation.

      ‘I’m training to be one,’ Antonietta said, and glanced up from the bed.

      And then it ceased being a glance, for she met his eyes and the world and its problems seemed for a moment to disappear.

      ‘You look better,’ she commented, when usually she would not, but the words had just tumbled out.

      ‘I’m feeling a lot better,’ he agreed. ‘Although I still look as if I’ve been paint-bombed.’

      She couldn’t help but smile, for indeed he did. Those bruises were a riot of colour now, from blue to brown right through to a vivid pink, and they were spread across the left side of his torso and down to his shoulder and arm, and there were savage lines across his shoulder. Rafe’s left eye looked as if he was wearing violet eyeshadow.

      Yet he wore it well.

      In fact, paint-bombed or not, Rafe looked stunning.

      And as her eyes briefly travelled over his body, to take in his comment, she found that they wanted to linger on the long, yet muscular arms, and on his broad chest with just a smattering of black hair. More, she found that they lingered on his flat stomach. It was not bruised, so there was no real reason to look there. But Antonietta just found that she did, and a glimpse of that line of black hair had her already hot cheeks reddening as if scalded.

      She wanted to ask, What happened to you?

      Were those bruises from a fight? Or had he been in an accident? For once she wanted to know more, and yet it was not her place to ask.

      ‘I shan’t be long,’ Rafe said, though usually he did not explain himself to maids, or even particularly notice that they were near.

      Crossing the room, he took a seat by the bed she was making and bent over to lace his trainers.

      Antonietta did her best to ignore him and not to look at his powerful back and the stretch of his trapezius muscles as he leant forward. Never had her fingers ached to touch so. To reach out with her newly trained therapist’s fingers and relax the taut flesh beneath. Only she was self-aware enough to know that that kind of desire had precisely nothing to do with her line of work. He was so very male, and she was so very aware of that fact in a way she had never been until now.

      Confused by this new feeling he aroused, Antonietta hurriedly looked away and resumed making the bed. But as she was fitting a sheet he must have caught the scent, and he made a comment.

      ‘The sheets smell of summer.’

      Antonietta nodded as she tucked it in. ‘They smell of the Silibri sun. All the linen here is line-dried.’

      ‘What about when it rains?’

      ‘The stocks are plentiful—you have to make hay when the sun shines,’ Antonietta said. ‘Nico, the owner—’

      ‘I know Nico.’

      Rafe’s interruption said a lot. Nico was prominent, and Rafe had not said I know of Nico, or I have heard of him. And then he elaborated more. ‘It was he who suggested that I come to Silibri to recover.’

      That admission made her a little more open to revealing something of herself. ‘Aurora, his wife, is my best friend.’

      ‘You are chalk and cheese.’

      ‘Yes...’ Antonietta smiled. ‘I am drab in comparison.’

      ‘Drab?’

      ‘Sorry,’ she said, assuming he didn’t know that word. ‘I meant...’

      ‘I know what you meant—and, no, you are not.’

      Rafe met a lot of people, and had an innate skill that enabled him to sum them up quickly and succinctly.

      Yesterday’s maid: slovenly.

      The concierge, Pino, who had this morning suggested a running route: wise.

      His assessments were rapid, and seldom wrong, and as he looked over to the maid he recalled asking her name that first morning. That morning he had not been able to sum her up in one word.

      Admittedly, he had been concussed, and not at his best, but today he was much better. So he looked at those sad eyes, and, no, he still could not isolate that word.

      Their conversation paused, and yet it did not end, for instead of heading out of the balcony and down the private steps to the grounds below he watched as, having made the bed, she headed to an occasional table, where she picked up her notepad and ticked off her list.

      ‘So you are training as a therapist?’

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Although I’m not allowed to be let loose unsupervised on the guests yet. Well, I can give manicures, but that is all.’

      ‘I loathe manicures.’

      There were two types of men who had manicures, Antonietta had learnt. Those who chose to and those who had been born to. He had been born to, she was quite, quite sure.

      She resisted the urge to walk over and examine his hands, but instead looked down at them... Yes, they were exquisite, long-fingered, with very neat, beautifully manicured nails.

      ‘I find sitting there boring.’

      ‘Then why bother?’ Antonietta asked, and then pulled back the conversation. ‘I’m sorry—that was personal.’

      ‘Not at all,’ Rafe said. ‘I ask myself the same thing.’

      ‘You could always listen to a podcast while your nails are being done,’ Antonietta suggested.

      ‘Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to speak with you.’

      It was a silly little joke but she smiled.

      The girl with the saddest eyes smiled, and when she did she looked glorious, Rafe thought. Her black eyes sparkled and her full red lips revealed very white teeth. She had a beautiful mouth, Rafe thought, and watched it as she responded to his light jest.

      ‘I would not be allowed to treat a guest in the August Suite.’

      He was about to say What a pity, but he rather sensed that that would have her scuttling behind the wall she had erected, which was just starting to inch down.

      She СКАЧАТЬ