style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I guess Cornwall is a pretty low-profile place.’
‘It’s not bad. Fortunately this house isn’t too accessible. How often do you surf?’
‘Me?’ Tasha handed him cutlery. ‘Not as often as I’d like to because I generally work long hours. Normally, that’s the way I like it. I’m a career girl. But now that I’m looking after you...’ she shrugged ‘...I intend to make up for lost time.’
‘So if you’re a career girl, how come you’re not working right now?’
Unwittingly he’d tapped into her deepest fears. That she might not be able to find another job. That her altercation with her last boss might have blown her reputation to smithereens.
Tasha opened her mouth and closed it again, unsettled by the sudden desire to confide. She stifled it, knowing that confiding was the first step towards intimacy. And she didn’t want intimacy with this man. ‘I’m in between jobs. I’ve cooked a stir-fry. I hope that’s all right with you.’
‘Looks delicious.’ He picked up a fork. ‘I can imagine you as a children’s doctor.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Do you want to try and eat at the table?’
‘No, this is fine. You’re right that moving around hurts. I think the journey to the bedroom will be enough of a challenge for one evening.’
As he shifted position, her eyes were drawn to his body.
No man had a right to be so good looking, Tasha thought as she registered the strength in those wide shoulders. It should have been enough that he was a prince. And rich. Looking like a sex god as well was just too many gifts for one person.
She might have been irritated if it hadn’t been for the fact he was about to eat her food. And that was going to be a real test of manhood.
Hiding a smile, Tasha turned her attention back to her own plate. ‘I love your kitchen. The design is fantastic. A whole different experience for me. Dinner for me is usually a cardboard sandwich from the hospital cafeteria at three in the morning.’
‘It didn’t look anything like this when I bought it. The rooms were small and the whole place was pretty dark. I worked with an excellent architect and we knocked down almost every wall, put in the skylights...’ He glanced up at the roof of the double-height sitting room. ‘We decided it was worth gutting the place because it had such potential. We opened it up, let the light flow in. This is delicious, by the way. You’re a good cook.’
Delicious? He thought it was delicious?
Tasha stared at him in disbelief. ‘You like it?’
‘After two weeks of hospital food?’ He twisted noodles around his fork with skill and precision. ‘This is heaven.’
He had to be kidding. It had to be a double bluff. Unless...
Tasha stared down at her own plate. Had she mixed them up?
Cautiously, she took a mouthful, waiting for her mouth to explode into flames from the chilli, but the flavours in her food were subtle and she knew instantly she didn’t have the wrong plate. Which meant he clearly had a mouth lined with asbestos.
‘Is there any more?’ Alessandro speared the last prawn. ‘You don’t seem to be eating yours.’
‘I am. And there isn’t any more.’ She hadn’t thought for a moment he’d eat what she’d served him. Clearly his mouth was as tough as the rest of him.
Feeling aggravated, Tasha finished her food. ‘Why did you fall anyway? Was the horse too difficult for you?’
He accepted the slight with a flicker of a smile. ‘The horse wasn’t difficult. I lost concentration for a moment, but that was long enough for the guy on the opposite team to bring us down. My ankle took most of the weight. My ribs took the rest.’ He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes closed.
She wondered why he’d lost concentration.
‘You were trapped under the horse? Ouch. So no physical activity for the rest of the summer?’
His eyes opened and he studied her from underneath lush, dark lashes. ‘Depends what you mean by physical activity.’
Staring into those dangerous dark eyes, her mouth dried. ‘I meant polo and surfing.’ Tasha felt the heat slowly spread through her body and wished she’d never mentioned physical activity. Even injured, the man was deadly. ‘You look tired. Do you want me to call your security team to help you from the sofa to the bed?’
‘No. I have the crutches and I can manage.’
‘Independent, aren’t you?’
‘You could say that.’
Torn between wanting to see him suffer and not wanting him to exacerbate his injuries, Tasha tilted her head. ‘The crutches won’t be much use while your ribs are so bruised. We might need to think of other options.’
‘This is fine.’ Shifting to the edge of the sofa, Alessandro picked up the crutches and stood up, taking his weight on his good leg.
Tasha flinched.
That had to hurt.
‘Alessandro—’
‘I can do it. Just give me space.’ There was a stubbornness in his tone. A grim determination to succeed despite the agonising pain. Reluctantly impressed, Tasha stood there, careful not to touch him and distinctly unsettled by how much she wanted to do just that.
‘Look, I could call one of those burly security guards—’
‘It would help if you could check the route to my bedroom is clear. So far I haven’t mastered doing this with obstacles.’ His face was chalk-white as he slowly eased his way forward. ‘I’ll just use the bathroom on the way so that I don’t have to make two journeys.’
Tasha watched as the muscles in his powerful shoulders flexed and knew that every movement had to be causing him agony. ‘I think you need help.’
He cast her a look that told her he’d be long dead before he’d accept help from anyone. A crooked smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. ‘You’re offering to assist me in the bathroom? Now, that could be interesting.’
Trying to work out how the atmosphere had shifted to intimate, Tasha felt her face turn scarlet. ‘I just don’t see how you’re going to manage to do what you have to do without help.’
His eyes lingered on hers for a long moment. Mockery mingled with something else that she didn’t even want to put a name to. ‘You want to come and watch how it’s done, tesoro?’
He’d called her that at seventeen and her heart rushed forward, doubling its rhythm. ‘Don’t speak Italian.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...’ Her mouth was dry. ‘Because I don’t speak it and it’s rude to talk a language someone doesn’t understand.’
‘It’s
