‘Cut some lengths of string.’
Obediently, he did as instructed. ‘Now what?’
‘Lay them on the card, like this.’ She leant across, took one of the pieces of string and placed it on the card. She was so close he could smell the magnolia scent of her hair. She was so close that if he moved his head a little, he’d be able to kiss the delicate skin beneath her ear.
Rocco cleared his throat and tucked in his chin, fighting the urge.
She said, ‘Try not to make them all the same length. Having the flowers at different heights gives the picture depth and more interest.’
She scooted back and he blew out his cheeks. ‘Right.’
‘Don’t be scared of making a mistake. You won’t be gluing anything in place until you’re one hundred per cent happy with it.’
It wasn’t making a mistake with the picture that worried him. It was his overactive libido.
Trying to keep his mind on the task in front of him, he concentrated on arranging the lengths of string, then selecting various bits of sea glass for the petals. Giselle had finished hers and was watching his progress, making him even more aware of her.
‘Try this,’ she suggested when he struggled to find a fragment for the centre of the first flower, and she handed him a yellow piece.
Thankfully, she didn’t realise the reason he was struggling was because he could feel her warmth on his arm as she peered over his shoulder, and that her nearness unsettled him.
Eventually, under Giselle’s tuition, a picture gradually came to life, and even if he said so himself, Rocco was surprisingly pleased with the result, considering his attention had been more on her than on what he was supposed to be doing.
‘Can I keep it?’ he asked.
‘You made it. It’s yours. Once it’s dry, I’ll frame it for you.’
‘You must let me pay you for it.’
Giselle burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s your work, not mine.’
‘Using your materials,’ he pointed out.
‘A bit of glue, a length of string, and the sea glass was free.’
‘The frame isn’t. Let me pay you for that, at least.’
‘Absolutely not.’ She folded her arms.
Rocco had to smile. Giselle might look as ethereal as mist on a summer morning, but she was as stubborn as a thick fog. He knew when he was beaten. Anyway, little did she know, but he’d had the last laugh today.
‘Join me for dinner tonight?’ he said.
‘Can’t. Too much to do. I’ve got a business to run. These pictures won’t make themselves, and if you want me to take you sightseeing tomorrow, I’m going to have to get my skates on. Now go away.’ She shooed him towards the door.
Rocco reluctantly left.
He’d have an early dinner and an early night, and try not to dwell on how he would have liked to have shared his table, and his bed, with her this evening.
‘I wanted to let you know, I’ve sold your big picture, the one of the loch,’ Jinny announced, waltzing into the studio as Giselle was about to lock the door. The rest of the crafters had left for the day, but she still had work to do so she’d be here a while yet.
Giselle felt a surge of relief at the news. It was her most expensive piece and the proceeds would keep the wolf from her door for another week. With a hefty mortgage to service, she was always aware of money: namely the lack of it. It must be nice for some – like Rocco, for instance – not to have to worry about every penny.
‘Giselle, did you hear what I said?’ Jinny’s voice broke through her musing.
‘Sorry. Yes, I did. That’s fantastic news!’
‘I’m going to have to ship it, but Tara’s got a doll’s house to post, so she said she’ll arrange for the courier to collect both items at the same time, if that’s OK?’
