He was too much but the wink softened the impact—until she was in his arms again and then everything was hot and hard to control all over again.
She glanced around as he carried her poolside. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Of course.’
Yeah, but where was the owner? Surely a place like this was owned by one of those almost royal Italian family dynasties.
‘This is…’ She trailed off as she took in the stunningly decorated outdoor dining table. ‘Is all this just for us?’
Edo put her in the nearest of the two chairs beside which there was a stool topped with a cushion. He lifted her foot onto it and deftly secured an ice pack around her ankle. Truthfully, she didn’t need the icethere.
She glanced away from him, taking in the crystal glasses and silverware that sparkled in the sunlight. And the food. There was so much food. ‘Is this all just for us?’
He chuckled. ‘Wine? Juice?’
‘Coffee?’ she asked. She needed the caffeine hit to sharpen up her brain.
‘Certainly.’ He lifted the waiting cafetière. ‘How do you prefer it?’
‘Black, one sugar.’ She fished in her bag and pulled out the small coin purse she used to store emergency medical supplies and popped two paracetamol. ‘I’m guessing you don’t need that plaster for your knee now.’
‘No, thank you.’ He glanced at her bag with amusement. ‘How very organised.’
‘Thank you.’ She primly ignored the fact he was mocking her and set the small purse on the table beside her.
She needed to keep what little head she had left and the only way to distract herself from his shockingly overpowering presence was to focus on the food in front of her. There so many dishes—salads, breads, pasta with glistening sauce…
‘What about everyone else?’ she breathed.
‘They’ve already eaten.’
Oh, he was smooth and clearly his friends were total allies. She understood, she would do anything for Elodie and Bethan. She ate—as did he—desperate to distract herself from the tension simmering within her. Fortunately, with every mouthful she relaxed and chatted lightly as he asked her about her holiday—admitting she’d had only the week and hadn’t made it to many of the big attractions.
‘Not Florence?’ Sounding surprised, he glanced again at the print on her purse. ‘Not Venice? Milan? Rome?’
She shrugged, she couldn’t do it all at once and more than anything she’d needed a rest. ‘I just wanted to pretend I lived here for a little while. Like a local.’
‘Because?’
Wasn’t it obvious? This was Italy. ‘Oh, you know…the art, the language, the food…’
And now the ridiculously gorgeous men.
‘Then you’ll have to come back—there’s so much you haven’t seen.’
‘I know.’ She smiled. One day, for sure.
She couldn’t resist the nibbles of cheese and tomato, the deli cuts, the salad flavoured and enhanced with fresh herbs and olives. She avoided the latter. Which he noticed.
‘You don’t like olives?’ he queried, his mock outrage growing as she shook her head.
‘These are grown here,’ he said. ‘They’re the best in the world.’
‘That may be so, but I still don’t like them.’ She chuckled.
He put down his fork and shot her a look of reproof. ‘You come to Italy and don’t appreciate our food.’
That was simply not true. This lunch was better than the restaurant meal she’d splurged on earlier in the week. ‘I appreciate everything hereexceptolives.’
