given her a sketchy description of what it had been like but she knew that it probably would have been far more soul-destroying. He had expressly set up No Trespass signs and he had made it clear that the only reason he had said anything at all was because he’d felt it necessary.
Except…her heart went out to him. She knew that she was going where no doubt angels feared to tread, but there was a generosity of spirit inside her that found it difficult to leave the subject alone.
‘Everyone needs to talk to somebody about the distressing things that happen in their lives.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this! I don’t think you quite understood…’
‘You don’t want to talk about it.’ She shrugged but her clear blue eyes were stubbornly fixed on his face as he towered over her, looking down, expression forbidding.
‘No,’ Matteo said with angry force. ‘I don’t.’
‘Which says a lot.’
Matteo leant over her, hands on either side of her, depressing the soft sofa cushions and caging her in. His face was dark with enraged incredulity that someone had dared cross the boundary lines he had laid down. Did the woman have no limits when it came to saying what was on her mind? Matteo was accustomed to people editing their behaviour around him. Her lack of interest in following those rules left him practically speechless. From the second she had appeared in his life, normal rules of behaviour had been suspended.
‘Don’t make me regret having told you what I did.’
‘Why would you regret it?’
‘Are you hearing a word I’m saying?’
She held his outraged stare. ‘You’re accustomed to everyone doing what you tell them to do, aren’t you?’
Matteo stood up but remained standing in front of her.
‘Yes, I am!’
‘Okay. You win! I won’t ask and you don’t have to tell me anything. Would you like something to eat? Drink?’ She stood up and swerved around him, heading to the kitchen and straight to the fridge to peer inside.
As always it was crammed with food. A lot of optimistically healthy options that were probably past their sell-by date. She had been staying at the chalet since the season had begun and she was an impulse shopper. Things in attractive jars always held so much promise but often it was the easiest way she ended up taking.
He was still scowling when she looked at him quizzically. ‘Well?’ she snapped. ‘You don’t want to talk to me about anything of any importance, so we can talk about food options instead. I know you’ll think it’s safer. What do you want? I can make you something.’
Matteo wasn’t into women cooking for him. In fact, he actively discouraged it, just as he always made sure that a night of pleasure never turned into breakfast together the following morning.
‘I usually just eat stuff that comes out of boxes or cans but I don’t suppose you do.’
‘I don’t,’ Matteo said flatly. He paused. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘So do you.’ Her azure eyes were innocent and her voice was sincere because she meant it.
‘Show me the rest of your house.’
Rosie shook herself back to earth, hesitating and on the cusp of barrelling past his Keep Out sign but reluctantly accepting that, if he wasn’t into sharing, then he wasn’t into sharing. They meant nothing to one another and she would have to put her curiosity to bed because it wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
She gave a perfunctory tour: open-plan living area with a huge, modern fireplace and lots of comfy chairs, perfect for settling in for the long haul—just her, a book and the fall of silent snow outside. The kitchen, which was the hub of the house, and a study in which her father occasionally worked, although now that he had retired those instances were few and far between. He had forgone offers of consultancy jobs and opted for quality time with his family instead.
Wooden stairs led to the floor above: six bedrooms all leading onto a broad landing that overlooked the space below. Next to her, Matteo’s silence was oppressive, and she wondered what was going through his head.
She found out soon enough.
‘So where is our bedroom?’
About to head back downstairs, head still buzzing with unanswered questions, Rosie spun around on her heels and stared at him with consternation.
‘You can choose which bedroom you’d like,’ she told him politely. ‘Mine…’ she nodded in the direction of the bedroom at the end of the long, broad landing ‘…is down there.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s where I’ll be dumping my bags.’
He headed down at pace towards her bedroom and, as he flung open the door, she was right behind him.
She’d waved an arm to indicate the bedroom floor, only opening the first door and standing back while he’d looked inside like a prospective buyer doing a tour of a house. Now, with him standing in her bedroom, her personal space, she felt invaded. She was on show here, with all the little pieces of her childhood for him to see. A framed photo of her on her first horse, with her dad proudly standing next to her. The ridiculous chair in the shape of a big, pink heart which had been her favourite when she’d been about eight, and which her parents had stashed away in their attic, shipping it over when they’d bought the chalet years before. Pictures of her family over the years.
‘You’re not staying in my bedroom,’ She folded her arms and watched, tight-lipped, as he strolled through the bedroom, peering at this and that and ignoring her. He had dumped his bag on the ground like a declaration of intent that sent a chill of forbidden excitement racing up and down her spine.
He commanded the space around him. He was so tall…so muscular…so there.
‘Oh.’ He spun round and stared right back at her. ‘This is exactly where I’ll be staying.’ As if to confirm what he’d said, he picked up the designer bag and flung it on the mattress of her four-poster bed.
It landed with a soft thud and then sat there, challenging her to remove it.
‘But…’
‘No buts. You got me into this mess and, now I’m in it, for better or for worse you’re just going to have to suffer the consequences. We’re supposed to be an item. Hot off the press, so to speak. Your sister is going to be extremely suspicious if she thinks that we’re not sharing a bedroom. Particularly given the fact that she probably assumes that you’ve been sharing my suite at the hotel while we’ve been conducting our torrid affair.’ He glanced at his watch then back to her, where she had remained hovering at the doorway to her own bedroom, almost as though, having asserted his authority, she was now the guest in her own space.
‘I can tell her that we’re in separate rooms here out of respect for Mum and Dad.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘You don’t know my parents!’
‘Are
