Автор: GINA WILKINS
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781474069069
isbn:
‘No,’ Leo agreed. ‘You’re not exactly skinny.’
A surprised laugh erupted from her. ‘Thank you, Leo. Music to every girl’s ears!’
‘That wasn’t an insult. I’m a chef—I like to see people eating.’
‘In that case, stick with me and you’ll be in a permanent state of ecstasy.’
And there it was—wham!—in his head. The image of her licking the glaceé off her spoon. Ecstasy.
He swallowed—hard. ‘You could take a cooking class.’
‘I think the cooking gene was bored out of me by the time I left the commune.’
‘The commune? So not only are your parents hippies but you lived on a commune?’
‘And it was not cool, if that’s what you’re thinking. Less of the free love, dope-smoking and contemplating our navels, and more of the sharing of space and chores and vehicles. Scream-inducing. If you have any desire for even a modicum of privacy do not join a commune.’ She did the twinkle thing. ‘And, really, way too much hemp clothing. Not that I have anything against hemp—I mean, did you know the hemp industry is about ten thousand years old? Well, probably you didn’t know and don’t care. But you have to admit that’s remarkable.’ Stop. Breathe. ‘However, let’s just say that I don’t want to wear it every day.’
Oddly enough, Leo could see her wearing hemp. On weekends, down at the edge of the surf, with her hair blowing all over her face and her polish-free toes in the water.
It must have been the mention of the commune, because that was not a good-time girl Sunshine Smart image.
Enough already! ‘Let’s move on,’ Leo said.
‘What about plates, cutlery, glasses, serving dishes? You’re sure everything will be here in time?’
‘Yes, it will all be here. And it is all brand-new, top-quality, custom-designed.’
‘Not that I have any intention of telling you how to stock your restaurant...’ She bit her lip. ‘But can you send me photos?’
Leo sighed heavily. ‘Yes, I can send you photos.’
‘Excellent. And can I see the bathrooms?’
She took his arm again, and he didn’t quite control a flinch. Thankfully Sunshine seemed oblivious, although he was starting to believe she was oblivious to approximately nothing.
Escorting her into the men’s and women’s restrooms as though they were out for an arm-in-arm stroll along the Champs-Elysées felt surreal, but Leo knew better than to argue. He wouldn’t put it past her to start imparting strange-but-true facts about the toilet habits of some ancient African tribe if he did, and his nerves couldn’t take it.
At least she looked suitably dazzled by what she found. Ocean-view glass walls on the escarpment side, with the other walls painted in shifting shades of dreamy blue. Floors that were works of art: murals made of tiny mosaic tiles, depicting waves along the coast. And everything else stark white.
‘I could live in here—it’s so beautiful!’ Sunshine marvelled.
‘And I will, of course, send you a photo of the toilet paper we’re using,’ Leo deadpanned as they walked back to the dining area.
Sunshine looked at him, struck, lips pursing. Leo could almost see the cogs turning.
‘You know,’ she said slowly, ‘I read something somewhere about a pop star who has red toilet paper provided when she’s on tour, so do you think—?’
‘No, I do not,’ he interrupted. ‘Forget the red toilet paper.’
The nose was wrinkling. ‘Well obviously not red. I was going to suggest a beautiful ocean-blue. Or sea-green.’
‘No blue. Or green. You’ll have to content yourself with your victory over my growing hair.’
Sunshine laughed, giving up. ‘It’s coming along very nicely.’
She ran her hand over the stubble on his head and his whole body went rigid.
Leo stepped away from her, forcing that hand to drop and simultaneously dislodging her other hand from his arm. ‘And so are your eyes,’ he said, just for something to say—and didn’t that sound bloody fatuous? How could eyes come along? They were just there—from birth!
Although...hmm...something about them wasn’t right. Her pupils were a little bigger than they should be, given all the light streaming into the room.
Why were they standing so close that he could see her damned pupils anyway? It wasn’t a crowded nightclub. They were the only two people in a big, furniture-free space. There was nothing to bump into. No reason for them to occupy the same square foot of floor. He took another step back from her.
She was considering him with a blinking, slightly dazed look that worried him on a level he didn’t want to acknowledge.
And there went that tic beside his mouth.
‘I saw my parents yesterday,’ she said, and her voice sounded kind of...breathy. ‘They like the new natural look—as you could imagine. Mum talked about sending you a thank-you card, so brace yourself for some homemade paper and a haiku poem. Apologies in advance for the haiku!’ Stop. Little laugh. ‘But strangers are doing a double-take when they look at my eyes now, which makes me feel a bit naked.’
‘Don’t knock naked. I’ve had some of my best moments naked,’ Leo said, and wondered what the hell was happening to his brain. Disordered. That was what it was. You didn’t go from talking about hair to eyes to nakedness. At least he didn’t.
In fact there was altogether too much talk of underwear, orgasms and sex between them as it was, without tossing naked around.
He took yet another step back. Tried to think of something to say about homemade paper instead, because he sure knew nothing about haiku poetry. But Sunshine was giving him that dazed, blinking look, and he couldn’t seem to form a word.
‘Yeah, me too,’ she said.
Leo had a sudden vision of Sunshine naked, lying on his bed. The almost translucent white skin, the long chocolate hair. Voluptuous. Luscious. Steamy hot. Smiling at him, sea-eyes sparkling.
He shook his head, trying to get the image out of his head.
And then Sunshine shook her head. ‘So! Tables!’ she said, and took hold of his arm again—and this time it seemed to hit him straight in the groin.
Leo, looking everywhere except at Sunshine, had never enthused so happily about inanimate objects in his life. The choice of wood for the chairs; the elegant curved backs; the crisp white tablecloths and napkins; the bar’s marble top and designer stools. And still his bloody erection СКАЧАТЬ