‘You’re awake.’
‘Something woke me, then I heard the splashing. Is it sensible to swim on your own in the dark?’
He laughed softly. ‘You could always come in. Then I wouldn’t be alone.’
‘I haven’t got any swimming things.’
‘Ah. Well, that’s probably not very wise then because neither have I.’
She sucked in her breath softly, and closed her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. Amongst other things. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I’ll go away.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m finished. Just close your eyes for a second so I don’t offend you while I get out.’
She heard the laughter in his voice, then the sound of him vaulting out of the pool. Her eyes flew open, and she saw him straighten up, water sluicing off his back as he walked calmly to a sun lounger and picked up an abandoned towel. He dried himself briskly as she watched, unable to look away, mesmerised by those broad shoulders that tapered down to lean hips and powerful legs.
In the magical silver light of the moon, the taut, firm globes of his buttocks, paler than the rest of him, could have been carved from marble, like one of the statues that seemed to litter the whole of Italy. Except they’d be warm, of course, alive …
Her mouth dry, she snapped her eyes shut again and made herself breath. In, out, in, out, nice and slowly, slowing down, calmer.
‘Would you like a drink?’
She jumped and gave a tiny shriek. ‘Don’t creep up on people like that!’ she whispered fiercely, and rested her hand against the pounding heart beneath her chest.
Yikes. Her all but bare chest, in the crazily insubstantial pyjamas …
‘I’m not really dressed for entertaining,’ she mumbled, which was ridiculous because the scanty towel twisted round his hips left very little to the imagination.
His fingers, cool and damp, appeared under her chin, tilting her head up so she could see his face instead of just that tantalising towel. His eyes were laughing.
‘That makes two of us. I tell you what, I’ll go and put the kettle on and pull on my clothes, and you go and find something a little less …’
‘Revealing?’
His smile grew crooked. ‘I was going to say alluring.’
Alluring. Right.
‘I’ll get dressed,’ she said hastily, and limped rather faster than was sensible back towards her room, shutting the doors firmly behind her.
He watched her hobble away, his eyes tracking her progress across the terrace in the skimpiest of pyjamas, the long slender legs that had been hidden until now revealed by those tiny shorts in a way that did nothing for his peace of mind.
Or the state of his body. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the towel.
So much for the swimming cooling him down, he thought wryly, and went into the kitchen through the side door, rubbed himself briskly down with the towel again and pulled on his clothes, then switched on the kettle. Would she be able to find him? Would she even know which way to go?
Yes. She was there, in the doorway, looking deliciously rumpled and sleepy and a little uncertain. She’d pulled on her jeans and the T-shirt she’d been wearing last night, and her unfettered breasts had been confined to a bra. Pity, he thought, and then chided himself. She was a guest in his house, she was injured, and all he could do was lust after her. He should be ashamed of himself.
‘Tea, coffee or something else? I expect there are some herbal teabags or something like that.’
‘Camomile?’ she asked hopefully.
Something to calm her down, because her host, standing there in bare feet, a damp T-shirt clinging to the moisture on his chest and a pair of jeans that should have had a health warning on them hanging on his lean hips was doing nothing for her equilibrium.
Not now she knew what was underneath those clothes.
He poured boiling water into a cup for her, then stuck another cup under the coffee maker and pressed a button. The sound of the grinding beans was loud in the silence, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of her heartbeat.
She should have stayed in her room, kept out of his way.
‘Here, I don’t know how long you want to keep the teabag in.’
He put the mug down on the table and turned back to the coffee maker, and as she stirred the teabag round absently she watched him. His hands were deft, his movements precise as he spooned sugar and stirred in a splash of milk.
‘Won’t that keep you awake?’ she asked, but he just laughed softly.
‘It’s not a problem, I’m up now for the day. After I’ve drunk this I’ll go and tackle some work in my office, and then I’ll have breakfast with the children before I go out and check the grapes in each field to see if they’re ripe.’
‘Has the harvest started?’
‘La vendemmia?’ He shook his head. ‘No. If the grapes are ripe, it starts tomorrow. We’ll spend the rest of the day making sure we’re ready, because once it starts, we don’t stop till it’s finished. But today—today should be pretty routine.’
So he might have time to show her round …
‘Want to come with me and see what we do? If you’re interested, of course. Don’t feel you have to.’
If she was interested? She nearly laughed. The farm, she told herself firmly. He was talking about the farm.
‘That would be great, if I won’t be in your way?’
‘No, of course not. It might be dull, though, and once I leave the house I won’t be back for hours. I don’t know if you’re feeling up to it.’
Was he trying to get out of it? Retracting his invitation, thinking better of having her hanging around him all day like a stray kitten that wouldn’t leave him alone?
‘I can’t walk far,’ she said, giving him a get-out clause, but he shook his head.
‘No, you don’t have to. We’ll take the car, and if you don’t feel well I can always bring you back, it’s not a problem.’
That didn’t sound as if he was trying to get out of it, and she was genuinely interested.
‘It sounds great. What time do you want to leave?’
‘Breakfast is at seven. We’ll go straight afterwards.’
It was fascinating.
He knew every inch of his land, every nook and cranny, every slope, every vine, almost, and as he stood on the edge of a little escarpment pointing things out to her, his feet planted firmly in the soil, she thought she’d
