Summer At Villa Rosa Collection. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ year and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, but he ran every day and the muscles on his back rippled in the sunlight. She knew how they felt beneath her fingers, the silk of his skin, the scent of his body unmasked by the aftershaves or colognes worn by most men. No scent of any kind was worn by flight crew. Every moment of the night they spent together was imprinted on her memory and she turned away before he saw all that betrayed in her face.

      ‘Will you hold the ladder, Miranda? I’m coming down.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have gone up without someone holding it,’ she said as she grasped the ladder, watching as his jeans-hugged backside descended until it was on a level with her eyes. ‘Next time, call me.’

      ‘Always.’ He turned to look down at her and for a moment there was nothing in the world but his gaze holding her and she was melting into the cobbles. ‘It’s okay, Miranda. I’ve got it now.’

      He’d got it, she’d had it...

      She moved aside and he stepped down from the ladder giving her an unimpeded view of wide shoulders tapering to narrow hips, his chest sprinkled with dark hair that arrowed down in a straight line to disappear beneath his zip.

      ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

      She jumped, felt a hot guilty blush sweep across her cheeks, then realised it wasn’t an accusation but a question.

      ‘Oh, um, I’ve battled my way through the cobwebs, made it upstairs and now I’m sorting out the bedrooms.’

      ‘Don’t overdo it,’ he said, frowning as he touched his fingers to her cheek. ‘You look a bit flushed.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said quickly. ‘The ones on the far side of the villa, away from the kitchen, aren’t too bad. Just dust and—’ She came to an abrupt halt. Did he expect to sleep with her?

      What had happened between them had been one of those spontaneous moments; there had been no conscious thought, no need for words, but this was going to be so different. Awkward.

      Forget expect.

      Would he want to sleep with her? Really want to? Not just sex, which she knew from experience would be hot, but in his heart...

      ‘Cobwebs?’ he prompted.

      ‘And dust.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat. ‘They sound like a couple of fairies in a Cinderella pantomime.’

      He grinned. ‘If they aren’t they ought to be.’ When she didn’t answer he said, ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Miranda. I’m perfectly capable of cleaning a room and making my own bed.’

      Was that little ping somewhere in the region of her heart disappointment? Despair? She’d left him sleeping to avoid the awkward morning-after encounter. It was going to be nothing compared to the evening before. A wedding night in which the groom was marrying out of duty...

      ‘I’ve cleaned the rooms but the mattresses and bed linen still needs airing.’ Desperate to get away from the subject of beds, she said, ‘If you’re up for a close encounter with a pair of Marigolds I’d far rather you tackled the upstairs bathroom.’

      ‘I’ll give it a thorough bottoming when we get back. Is it okay to take a shower in your bathroom for now?’

      ‘It’s not my bathroom, it’s Sofia’s. I couldn’t sleep in there. I’ve put my things in the room I used to share with Immi.’

      ‘Right. Well, I’ll put the ladder away, get cleaned up and then we’ll walk down into the village. If you’re still up for it? We could get a taxi for the uphill return?’

      ‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘Cleve...’ They were going to have to talk about this.

      ‘Hang on.’

      She waited as he folded up the ladder but when he turned around she lost her nerve.

      ‘I just wanted to say thank you. For the roof.’

      ‘Hadn’t you heard? Working holidays are all the rage.’ His hand brushed her shoulder, lingered for a moment, as he passed. ‘I won’t be long.’

      ‘I’ll shut the French doors.’

      * * *

      Cleve put the ladder away in the garage. Alberto had kept it pristine. Everything shelved, labelled, tools cleaned, oiled and hung in clips, the layer of dust lending a Sleeping Beauty air to the place. Clearly the cars were his Beauties and Cleve made a note to buy a new hasp and padlock for the door while they were out.

      He took clean clothes from his grip and tossed them on the king-size bed in which a king had once slept with his mistress. Having just had a fairly heavy hint that Miranda did not intend to follow Sofia’s example, he let the water run cold.

      Twenty minutes later, following the unmistakable sound of a scooter engine, he found Miranda riding around the courtyard, wearing a smile as wide as a barn door.

      She pulled up beside him.

      ‘You managed to start it.’

      ‘It was as clean as a whistle. I pumped some air into the tyres and put the battery on charge earlier. The tyres stayed pumped and the engine started first time. If you open the gate we can go.’

      ‘When was the last time you rode one of these things?’ he asked as he hauled open one of the gates and fastened it back.

      ‘Years, but it’s like riding a bike. Don’t worry, I won’t pitch you into a ditch.’

      ‘If you say so.’

      A dozen things went through his mind, not least the fact that they should be wearing helmets. He wanted to wrap Miranda in cotton wool, keep her safe, but that was his problem, not hers and he threw his leg over the saddle.

      ‘Hold on.’

      He needed no encouraging to wrap his arms around her waist as she shot through the gate and onto the road. He took full advantage of the opportunity to hold her close so that her back was close up against his chest, his cheek resting against her hair, which still smelled faintly of smoke, taking the curves as if they were one. His only problem was that they reached the edge of the village and the DIY warehouse far too soon.

      Half an hour later, roofing supplies ordered with the promise that they would be delivered that afternoon, they were sitting outside the blue painted café, wine and water on the table, a waiter listing what was on the menu for lunch.

      Miranda ordered a swordfish steak with a salad.

      ‘You seem to have regained your appetite,’ he said as he ordered the same with a side order of fries.

      ‘Sunshine, fresh air...’ She shook her head. ‘The truth is that I was stressing over how to tell you about the baby.’

      ‘Why would you do that?’

      She looked at him helplessly. ‘Cleve...’

      ‘Stupid question.’ She was stressing because she thought he was screwed up with grief but СКАЧАТЬ