his demeanour so very disarming, Ciro Delgato did without trying something no man had ever done before. His mere presence soothed her, yet simultaneously excited her. She had a need to get to know him deeper, to find out what had brought him here, how long he was staying. But it was none of her business, Harriet reminded herself firmly. He had done her a huge favour in finding her this divine apartment—the last thing he needed in return was a nosy neighbour with a king-sized crush.
The internal admission shocked her, and as she lay stock-still her mind whirred.
It was a crush—a stupid crush—and all because he had helped her at her very worst, made her laugh when she should have cried, taken the pressure off the practicalities of finding somewhere to live and dealing with inquisitive colleagues.
‘You have to take things easy.’ Ciro’s voice was insistent. ‘Not so long ago people stayed in hospital for a full week after having their appendix removed. I really don’t like the thought of you having no one to take care of you.’
‘Ciro, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m fine by myself.’
‘That sounds like the title of a song.’
‘It’s just how I feel.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘I really would prefer to be on my own right now. Mum and my friends all mean well, but I’m just—’
‘Fair enough,’ he broke in softly. ‘Can I drop by and check on you? I won’t impose,’ he added quickly before she could shake her head. ‘I’d just feel better if I saw that you were OK.’
Which was OK to agree to, Harriet decided. After all, she’d do the same for a neighbour. Giving a small nod, she closed her eyes, fully expecting to hear the bedroom door close, to be left alone with her jumbled thoughts. But he stayed.
‘When you’re up to it…’
Her eyes opened to his voice. She turned her head on the pillow to face him, and even though the light was dim it accentuated somehow how tired he must be, the hollows of his cheekbones deepened, that five a.m. shadow that was positively charcoal now. ‘We’ll have that talk.’
‘Talk?’ Harriet croaked, grateful that he had closed the slats and couldn’t see her flaming cheeks, anticipation flaring in every heightened nerve, simultaneously berating herself at her own presumption.
‘Over that large glass of wine. I’d like to get to know you better, Harriet.’ She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her eyes wide, she blinked at him, though his expression was impossible to read in the semi-darkness. ‘Rest now,’ he said, his voice thick and heavily accented, the door closing softly behind him.
In the days that followed Harriet truly wasn’t sure if she’d dreamt the last part of the conversation, if her drugand anaesthetic-hazed mind had somehow played tricks on her, because surely there hadn’t been that hint of promise throbbing in the air, surely someone as utterly divine, as accomplished and confident as Ciro Delgato couldn’t possibly want to get to know someone as plain, unsure and downright mixed up as Harriet Farrell.
‘CIRO!’
Harriet’s smile was wide as she pulled open her front door to see him standing there, holding a large brown paper bag. Berating the fact that she didn’t have her robe ready to pull on in case there was a knock at the door and a certain doctor decided to check how she was doing, she’d had to settle for pulling on a pair of shorts and praying that the two triangles of her bikini top kept at least the essential bits covered.
For the last few days Ciro had been playing the part of the dutiful neighbour and doctor to perfection, dropping in each evening to check on her progress, telling her off when, bright red, she’d answered the door having clearly fallen asleep in the sun. As boring as it must have been for Ciro, his visits were fast becoming the highlight of Harriet’s day! Late springtime at Coogee Beach was arguably the best place in the world for some serious recuperation of the soul, but there was only so much introspection Harriet could stomach, and any diversion, especially one as stunning as Ciro, was rather gratefully received.
‘I wasn’t sure if you were home.’ Ciro gestured to the dark flat. ‘I thought you might need these.’
The open door was clearly enough of an invitation for Ciro and he walked in. Harriet flicked on the light, watching open-mouthed as he proceeded to empty the bag.
‘Red wine, chocolate, a very slushy DVD.’ He held it up for her inspection and then carried on depositing his wares over the bench. ‘More chocolate and a box of tissues.’ He gave a triumphant smile. ‘Now that you are physically on the mend, I figure it’s time to start on the emotional so I’ve bought all the ingredients necessary for a woman who has a heart that is broken.’
‘A broken heart, even!’ Harriet grinned. ‘What makes you such an expert on women?’
‘I have three sisters,’ Ciro groaned. ‘So you can lose the sarcasm. Back home in Spain I do not have much of a first-aid kit in my hacienda, but I have a bag like this packed and ready in my pantry for when one of my sisters drops by unexpectedly or calls for me to come over urgently.’
‘I’m sure you make a lovely agony aunt,’ Harriet said, picturing the scene and heading over to the bench to eye the goodies. ‘Yes, please, to the wine and chocolate and the DVD. Actually, this is one I’ve been meaning to get, but I won’t be needing the tissues.’
‘Harriet, you don’t need to be brave.’
‘I’m not being brave,’ Harriet insisted. ‘I’m doing fine.’
‘Sitting in the dark, feeling sorry for yourself, is not doing fine,’ Ciro pointed out.
‘I was actually sitting on the balcony, watching a glorious sunset,’ Harriet corrected him. ‘And, before you suggest it, my lack of emotion has nothing to do with the fact I don’t have your sisters’ passionate Latin blood running through my veins. The simple matter is, I did all my crying over the end of my relationship long ago.’
‘A week isn’t very long,’ Ciro pointed out.
‘A year is, though.’ She gave a small shrug, then wished she hadn’t. Her tiny bikini was not really geared for shoulder movement and for a moment, so small it was barely there, she felt Ciro’s gaze flick downwards, and about the same time her heart rate soared skywards. She was suddenly acutely aware of her lack of attire, and that she hadn’t had a pert bust since pre-adolescence. Her very exposed breasts were jiggling around to a tune of their own and it would make it even more embarrassing if she suddenly dashed off, dropped the chocolate she had picked up and ran to the bedroom to throw on a T-shirt. Instead, she had to ride out the suddenly uncomfortable conversation, horribly conscious of the fact that, though newly tanned, her stomach could hardly be described as toned. ‘I did all the emotional groundwork months ago. In fact, if I hadn’t found Drew in bed with that woman, I don’t doubt for a moment that I’d be exactly where I am now.’ She registered his frown. ‘I’d decided we were both going to face up to it once I was feeling better, even as I was riding home in the taxi…’ Her voice trailed off. Over it she may be, but that didn’t mean she wanted to relive it just yet.
‘Would you like some wine?’ Ciro offered after a suitably long pause, realising she wasn’t about to elaborate. Probably
