The last person she was expecting was Niccolo.
She’d tried so hard to erase him from her head and yet he had continued to invade every corner of her mind, and so, as she stood looking at that tall, striking, dominant and all too familiar figure, she had to blink and wonder whether her feverish thoughts were so all consuming that she was imagining someone who wasn’t really there.
But then he spoke, and her eyes widened and her heart raced and her mouth fell open.
‘Can I come in?’
‘What are you doing here?’ She was struggling to breathe and for a few seconds she wondered whether she might be having a panic attack.
‘I’ve come to...to talk to you, Sophie.’
Staring at her, drinking in the face that had haunted his every waking moment since they had parted company, Niccolo was finding it hard to think straight.
Had he done the right thing in coming here, after all?
He refused to allow self-doubt to establish a foothold even though the look of barely concealed horror on her face was less than welcoming.
Courage was saying what you felt had to be said, he grimly reminded himself. It wasn’t about backing away. He’d never backed away from anything in his life before and he wasn’t going to start now.
On the other hand, he’d never been in this situation before, had he?
‘What about, Niccolo?’ Violet eyes narrowed warily on him. ‘What do we have to talk about?’
‘Nothing I can tell you standing outside your house.’ He watched as she hesitated, and took considerable comfort from that. ‘Why are you still here?’ He peered around her to the now empty property.
‘That’s none of your business.’ Sophie sighed and reluctantly fell back. ‘You can come in,’ she said quietly, ‘but you shouldn’t be here, Niccolo. I no longer work for you and I can’t imagine what we have to talk about.’
Niccolo swept past her at speed just in case she decided to change her mind. A baring of his soul was going to be painful enough without him being reduced to doing so outside a locked front door.
Buying some time, he gazed around him at the loneliness of a house deprived of everything that made it a home. There was nothing inside and the bare walls told a story of gradual financial decline. He expected she noticed it as well. The paint was tired, the wallpaper in the room he could see through one of the doors was faded and the floorboards were worn and broken at the edges. Doubtless all covered up when the place had been dressed to impress.
‘I’m going to be moving out the day after tomorrow,’ she said with a hint of defiance. ‘Rentals are hard to get hold of in London.’
Niccolo focused on her. There was nowhere to sit.
‘There’s no furniture.’
‘Sold or stored,’ Sophie muttered, looking down but still feeling the impact of him on her, strong and tangible and wreaking havoc with her fragile peace of mind. She looked around her and managed to completely avoid looking at him in the process.
‘Where are you sleeping?’
‘On the floor.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged, ashamed to even think that he might see into her head and work out that leaving him had somehow managed to paralyse her.
‘It’s hard,’ she muttered vaguely. When she raised her eyes it was to find that he had edged closer to her, close enough to mesmerise.
‘There’s nowhere for us to sit.’
‘I hadn’t expected any visitors.’
She froze as he reached out to take her hand, and memories shot out of nowhere, memories of those cool fingers touching her, exploring her body. They had held hands on their trip to that deserted cove, when he had whipped her off his yacht onto his speedboat. He had held her hand on the beach and they had walked and talked and she’d felt on top of the world.
Now he led her out of the hallway into the sitting room, then sat on the floor and invited her to do the same.
‘You’re in your suit.’ She hovered and shoved her hands into the pockets of her dungarees.
