collection while lying on one of those squashy sofas and occasionally looking at the view. Somehow the place managed to be stylish and contemporary while maintaining a cosy, intimate feel.
‘How on earth did you find this place?’
‘I knew where I wanted to live. When this house came up, someone tipped me off.’
Knowing how much property cost in this part of the world, Tasha gave a wry smile. ‘I dread to think how much you paid.’
‘The real problem was planning permission. The original house was structurally unsound and we had to persuade them that this would enhance the landscape.’
Tasha glanced up at the double height living room, awash with light. ‘Your architect was clever.’
The view alone would have fetched millions. Outside, a wide deck curved around the house, a glass balustrade offering some protection while ensuring that not a single element of the outdoors was lost. The home shrieked style and sophistication. And then there were the gadgets...
It was a contemporary palace, she thought, fit for a playboy prince.
The evidence of wealth was everywhere and the high-tech security meant there was no forgetting the identity of her patient. From the moment the electronic gates had opened onto the long winding drive that led up to the clifftop house, she’d been aware of the security cameras. And then there was the team of highly trained security staff who worked shifts protecting the prince.
Tasha risked a glance at him and thought to herself that he didn’t look like a man who needed anyone’s protection. From the dark stubble on his jaw to the dangerous gleam of his eyes, he was more pirate than prince.
It occurred to her that she’d only ever met him in her world. Never in his. She’d never thought of him like this, with protection officers on twenty-four-hour rotation.
At seventeen she’d been in awe of the fact that he was actually a prince, but she’d never thought about what that really meant. To her, the word ‘prince’ made her think of fairy-tales. Of chivalry, bravery and honour. To a little girl whose father had walked out, those qualities had seemed like riches. She still remembered her reaction when Josh had told her his university friend was coming to stay. Her mouth had dropped open and she’d said those words that afterwards she’d regretted for years. ‘A real, live prince?’ From that moment onwards she’d been doomed to a lifetime of teasing by her older brothers, but at the time she hadn’t even cared. Meeting a prince had been the ultimate romantic experience for a teenager just discovering boys. Her brain had taken up permanent residence in dreamland. Right from the day he’d stepped out of his armoured car, the sun gleaming off his glossy dark hair, she’d carried on dreaming. At twenty, Alessandro Cavalieri had been insanely handsome, but what had really drawn her had been his charm. Used to being on the receiving end of nothing but verbal abuse from her brothers and their friends, his charisma had been fascinating and compelling. Instead of treating her as a tomboy, he’d treated her as a woman. She’d never stood a chance.
She’d dreamed her way through countless lessons, concocting scenarios where Alessandro ignored all the beautiful girls who threw themselves at him because he couldn’t look at anyone but her. The reality had been so far removed from the fantasy that the inevitable crash between the two had been catastrophic.
Reminding herself of that fact settled the nerves in her stomach. True, he was even more spectacular to look at now, but she was no longer a dreamy, romantic teenager. Neither was she interested in a relationship with a man whose only commitment was to his own ego. She was past the age when a handsome face was the only thing she noticed.
Relieved to have rationalised the situation, Tasha started to relax. ‘The view of the beach is good. The surfing here is some of the best in Cornwall and it’s never busy because of the rocks. You have to know what you’re doing.’
‘Josh told me you all used to spend hours surfing here when you were kids.’
‘It used to drive our mother out of her mind with worry.’ She rested her head against the glass. ‘It’s been so long since I surfed.’
‘That surprises me. I can’t imagine you working in a city.’
‘That’s where the job was.’ Was. Tasha felt a ripple of panic but masked it quickly. ‘Anyway, it feels good to be home. Familiar.’
‘There’s a private path from the terrace that leads straight down onto the beach. It’s the reason I bought this property. You can surf from the front door. Did you bring your wetsuit?’
‘Of course.’ Tasha thought about the suitcases in her car. She was like a snail, she thought, carrying her world around on her back. And what was she doing, talking surfing with him? The point of this wasn’t to be intimate or cosy. Deciding that it was never too soon to start inflicting a little extra pain, she gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Shame you can’t join me.’
‘Thanks for the reminder.’ The irritation in Alessandro’s voice confirmed that her arrow had found its target.
‘At least I’ll be able to get out there and surf, and I’ll give you a report,’ Tasha said kindly, feeling a flash of satisfaction as she saw his jaw tighten. Oh, boy, are you going to suffer. She was about to twist the knife again when he shifted position and she saw pain flicker in his eyes. His naturally olive skin was several shades paler than usual and she could see the strain in his face. The physician in her at war with the woman, Tasha strolled over to him. ‘Moving you from the hospital to here must have been a painful experience.’
‘It was fine.’
He hadn’t uttered a word of complaint but she knew that he must have been in agonising pain. ‘I’ll try and help you find a comfortable position.’
‘I’m perfectly comfortable. And I don’t need your help.’
‘That’s why you’re paying me, remember? To help you. You need a nurse to look after you.’
‘I needed a nurse because they wouldn’t discharge me from hospital without one. Not for any other reason.’ Jaw clenched, Alessandro manoeuvred himself onto the sofa, the pain involved leaving him white-faced. The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he took his weight on the crutches. ‘I don’t need to be looked after.’
Tasha found herself looking at those muscles. Pumped up. Sleek and hard. She frowned. So what? It took more than muscles to make a real man. ‘So if you don’t need to be looked after, what am I expected to do? File my nails?’
‘You can do whatever you like. Read a book. Watch TV. Surf—although if that’s how you spend your day, I’d rather you didn’t tell me about it.’ He dropped the crutches onto the floor with a clatter that said as much about his mood as the black frown on his face. ‘Do whatever you like. Consider it an all-expenses-paid holiday.’
But she wouldn’t choose to take a holiday with him, would she?
Ten years had done nothing but add to his physical attractions, she thought irritably. It was all very well reminding herself that looks didn’t count, but everything about him was unapologetically masculine and being alone with him made her feel jittery. Which was ridiculous, she told herself, given that he could barely walk. He was hardly going to leap on her, was he? Anyway, he’d made it clear years before that he didn’t find her attractive.
Reminded of the ‘flat-chested’ comment by
