was naked.
‘Was there anything else?’ he repeated curtly.
He was naked.
‘No.’
‘Then I’ll see you on Monday.’
Francesca stood before his closed door for a long time, her hand at her throat, her pulse beating like a hummingbird’s wings beneath her fingers.
* * *
Felipe shaved his neck and trimmed his beard for the first time in three weeks.
It was guilt, he knew, that made his concentration waver enough for him to nick himself with the razor.
Guilt had been rising in him since he’d dismissed Francesca from the door of his suite.
He’d never had such problems with a client before and he’d had many clients and jobs that had been a hundred times harder to manage than Francesca and this particular job. His last job in the forces had been a thousand times harder.
No, this was him. Like it or not, he damned well was attracted to her and somehow he had to find a way to manage it without letting it affect their working relationship. It already was affecting it. Affecting him.
He expected his clients to obey him and his men without question. It was in the terms of any contract. Clients signed it knowing their lives were being placed in his hands. His clients, though, were, on the whole, heads of international organisations and other VIPs, the only common denominator between them being that they were travelling somewhere dangerous.
He had drilled it into his men that they were only employed for protection. They were not advisors or aides. Their client’s business was not theirs.
The risks Francesca was taking by agreeing to pay the bribe were none of his concern and she was correct that Pieta himself had paid them, although with far more discretion than she’d employed. Felipe had turned a blind eye to much worse before and had no doubt he would turn a blind eye to much worse in the future.
He couldn’t fathom why it angered him so much to see her taking the kind of risks that had never concerned him from anyone else.
She’d turned up at his door while he’d been buck naked, her long hair damp, her beautiful face free from make-up, a long blue summer dress on with her pretty toes peeking out at the bottom and a hint of cleavage showing...
He’d become aroused just looking at her. He’d had to grip the door handle with one hand and press the wall tightly with the other to stop himself pulling her into his room and throwing her onto the bed.
This had only fired the anger already coursing through him.
After he’d closed the door he’d stood there for too long, not moving, just trying to quell his arousal, trying to ignore that her suite was adjacent to his.
A day off from her would be a blessing, especially as their time together had been extended to a whole week. He had to remember she was grieving and that grief made people act in wayward ways. She needed his help and support, not his condemnation and anger.
But God alone knew how he was going to cope with a week of her company without either throttling her or bedding her.
* * *
The early morning was so bright that one peek through the curtains lifted a little of the despondency in Francesca’s heart. The hotel’s ground staff were already up and about, weeding and watering the abundant blooming flowers, hosing the pathways, many yawning.
She yawned in sympathy but didn’t consider going back to bed. More sleep was the last thing she wanted. Sleep brought dreams and the ones she’d had during the night were still horribly vivid. Pieta had been sitting at the small kitchen table in her apartment in Pisa. She’d made him a coffee and laughed as she’d told him she’d thought he’d died. He’d laughed too and said it had been a misunderstanding. And then he’d stopped laughing and said he knew the truth about how she’d reacted when told he’d died.
She’d awoken muttering into her sopping wet pillow that she was sorry, sorry, sorry, over and over.
For some reason Felipe had been in the background of those dreams too.
She wiped fresh tears away with the palm of her hand.
She needed to get a grip on herself and get her head back to where it had been before she’d fallen asleep with her face buried in the thick file Alberto had given her before she’d left Pisa. She’d sat on the huge bed to re-read it, determined that from now on all her actions would be above board. She would be prepared for any situation that came her way. She would not do anything else that could jeopardise her career or Pieta’s foundation.
After dressing she made her way to the main hotel restaurant, where she was the first to be seated for breakfast. She didn’t want to be on her own. She’d ordered room service the night before and stayed in her suite. Now she craved company.
There was no company to be found here, though. All the other guests were still sleeping. Even if they’d been up she would still have been alone. This wasn’t a hotel for the solo traveller.
There was one other solo traveller staying here too, she reminded herself glumly, but he didn’t want her company. He didn’t even like her, that much was patently obvious.
And she didn’t like him. The less she had to do with Felipe Lorenzi the happier she’d be and today she didn’t have to deal with him at all.
She managed to avoid him until early afternoon.
She’d returned to her suite to start calling the names of the officials she’d need to meet for the hospital development. Half the numbers were either wrong or their phone lines had been disconnected by the hurricane. The others were, as Felipe had predicted, taking a day of rest and had no wish to speak to her, telling her to call back tomorrow. Only the Blue Train Aid Agency, the only aid agency to be up and running in Caballeros, had been available to talk. The worker she spoke to, Eva Bergen, had been full of enthusiasm for the project and readily agreed to meet her the next day. Eva’s experience in the country would be tremendously useful and Francesca ended the call feeling much better about everything. So much better that she decided to buy a swimsuit from one of the hotel’s exclusive boutiques and go for a swim.
There were four pools to choose from. Opting for the huge rectangular one, she swam a few laps then settled on a sun lounger with her book, shades on to keep the glare of the sun from her eyes.
But she couldn’t settle. The words on the page blurred into a mass as she found her thoughts constantly drifting, not to the forthcoming week and everything it entailed but to her protector. In truth he’d been in her thoughts constantly.
She was glad of the book, though, when she spotted the tall figure in the tight black swim-shorts walk to the other side of the pool to where she lay, a towel slung over his shoulder.
If she wasn’t already on hyper-alert to any sign of him she would still have noticed him. She doubted there was a woman poolside whose eye he didn’t catch, young and old alike.
Quickly she raised her book so it covered her face, hoping it was enough to hide her.
Please don’t
