metal container. He put this down beside one of the poolside chairs.
‘If you could swim a few lengths for me, Michelle, I’ll try out a few ideas…I need something to make my working days worthwhile. Art is my therapy.’
‘And mine. I always wanted to go to art college, but it wasn’t possible for me to finish the course,’ Michelle said shyly.
He was already rifling through the contents of his art box. Selecting a piece of willow charcoal, he made a few swift, sweeping strokes across his sketchbook.
‘A little taster for you.’ He showed her the pad. She was amazed. In a few strokes he had laid her down on his plain white sheet with nothing more than a sliver of burnt wood.
‘You swim slowly, up and down.’
As he sketched, he asked her all sorts of questions about her own work. His conversation was light and insubstantial—until he asked her something that really burst her bubble.
‘What made you give up your art course?’
She didn’t answer for a while. Then she rolled onto her back to watch him.
‘The answer to that is the same as it is to most of your other questions—my mother,’ she said at last. ‘Mum didn’t consider art to be a proper job. There was no room for anything in my life unless she thought it had value. As a child, I was a disappointment to her. If I couldn’t be beautiful, then I had to be useful.’
Alessandro frowned. Michelle was struggling to keep her mind on their conversation, but his disapproving expression helped keep her on track.
‘“Art isn’t a job, it’s almost as much a waste of time as reading.”’ She quoted one of her mother’s favourite sayings.
Alessandro’s mood darkened further. ‘I thought you said in the studio house that you had some books?’
‘I do—and that was the problem. They’re art books, and Mum hated them most of all. If I wasn’t painting or drawing then I was reading about it. She thought I was doing it to spite her.’
This softened his expression, but only a fraction. ‘It might be for the best. I’m in the trade, and art colleges turn out far too many indifferent graduates, in my opinion.’
Alessandro worked quickly, changing medium and trying out several grades of paper. He was enjoying this. Any man could take a woman—Alessandro did, frequently—but this was something altogether different. The more he worked on his sketches of her, the more relaxed he became and his stress fell away. It was a circle of satisfaction.
Eventually he put down his work and stretched, long and luxuriously. The sun felt good.
‘Shall I stop swimming?’ Michelle called as he stood watching her, hands on his hips.
‘Yes. Come and lie on one of these loungers for a while.’
The water accepted her once again, showering her with a thousand droplets at she swam towards the steps. Alessandro watched them tumbling over her smooth wet skin. Each time she raised her arm he marvelled at the perfect curve, the sleek, easy beauty of her. Stepping out onto the hot white tiles, she slicked her wet hair back from her face. He felt his body rise in anticipation.
Grabbing a towel, he enveloped her in its folds. Michelle immediately pulled up a corner and made to rub at her hair.
‘Wait—leave that. I want you to look as though you’ve just left the water. Relaxed, and soaking up the sun.’ He took her hand to lead her over to the seats.
In a flash Michelle was swept right back to his good-night kiss. Alessandro took away her towel and, dropping it in a heap, told her to sit down on the sun lounger.
‘Do you want me to do anything special?’
‘You look just fine as you are.’ His gaze grazed her body appreciatively. ‘All you need to do is lie back and close your eyes.’
It took Michelle a little while to get comfortable, and longer to relax.
‘I feel a bit self-conscious,’ she said apprehensively. She often wore a bikini, but this was the first time she had been within touching distance of a man as gorgeous as Alessandro.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve drawn dozens of women—most of them wearing less than you are now.’
Michelle giggled. That made her feel so much more comfortable in his company. But still, when his hand reached out to arrange her wet hair, she flinched.
‘Did I hurt you, Michelle?’
‘No—not at all. I just have this thing about being touched, that’s all. I know I’m never going to be struck again, but my body isn’t so sure.’
She tried to laugh it off, but Alessandro was shocked. He withdrew a fraction, until her smile reassured him.
‘Then I shall be very careful how I position you,’ he smiled.
He was more than careful. Each time he reached out to touch her, he hesitated before making contact. She had the double pleasure of anticipation and effect. His touch when it came was so light it was evocative of their evening in the starlight. She could hardly bear it. She knew exactly how each touch would feel, because she had already imagined the grain of his fingertips drifting across her skin. When she reacted with goose pimples, it wasn’t from any chill.
Alert as ever, Alessandro fastened his attention on a droplet of water coursing over the downy skin of her forearm.
‘Tell me if you get too cold,’ he murmured, reaching for the towel. With one long, slow movement, he stroked down the entire length of her arm.
As his touch trailed away, she sighed. It was a sound of total contentment. She leaned back against a cushion and closed her eyes.
‘Before you settle down, I think I’ll have your hair over this shoulder…’ He swept her wet hair around and settled it, lock by lock.
Feeling his fingers stroking each strand into place sent shimmers of energy through Michelle’s body. Alessandro had started wiping droplets from her skin and she shivered. As a trickle of water meandered over the generous curve of her breast his fingertips reached out to trace it…
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