“It’s a beautiful name. Did I say it right?”
Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “Better than Matteo ever has.”
And just like that, with his brother’s name between them, she came awake and alert. Her gaze jerked upward to meet his, the smile and its warmth disappearing instantly.
She straightened her limbs and pushed to her feet. Her brows snapped together. “You have, what…fifty rooms in this house and you bring me to your bedroom? I didn’t even realize until I stepped into the shower. At least I had my bag with me, or I’d have come out smelling like…you.”
A violent silence followed her irate declaration. She snapped her gaze away from him, but he saw the confused awareness. The thought of her in his shower made desire slam into him afresh. Turning away, he pointed to the lounge. “You should eat,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Maybe he was losing his mind finally. It wasn’t a farfetched notion. His lifestyle—his work hours, his isolation—was conducive to madness. His aunt had told him that enough times. Or maybe the part of him that he’d buried with Violetta, the part that liked companionship and affection and people even, was waking up after all these years and he had no idea how to behave anymore. Either way, he felt like he was drowning.
For once, Ms. Fischer followed his command. Slipping into his favorite armchair, she pulled the tray onto her lap.
Alessandro took the sofa opposite hers. Halfway through her dinner, she looked up. A drop of soup clung to her lower lip and she licked it away. The artlessness of the gesture only heightened his response. “Was I supposed to share with you?”
He shook his head. “You haven’t touched the sandwich.”
“I don’t eat red meat.”
“Should I have something else brought in?”
A lock of wavy hair escaped her braid and brushed her cheek. “No.” She patted her belly. “The cheese, the soup, the salad and the fruit…that’s actually the perfect diet for me.”
“Diet?” he said, his interest snagged. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those women who constantly watches what they eat, Ms. Fischer. You’re skinny enough as it is.”
She scrunched her nose, running a hand over her body in a self-conscious gesture. “Believe me, I know about the nonexistence of my curves.” She burrowed her face into the crook of her elbow, but he heard her mutter, “Especially when you look at me next to Ms. Bianchi.”
While there was a confidence about her, her comment made Alessandro wonder. “Explain about your diet.”
“Oh, I meant…a Mediterranean diet is good for you. You know, lots of fruits and vegetables and seafood. But no red meat.”
“For religious reasons?”
“No. I mean, my mother celebrates Hindu festivals. But she’s also very much about everyone finding their own thing.”
“And your father?”
“German American.”
“So it’s—”
“Do you interrogate everyone like this?”
“Only the ones that are a mystery.”
“There’s no mystery around me.”
If she hadn’t been shying her gaze away from his, he’d have thought nothing of it. But she did. And it made him want to know everything about her.
“I’m normal. Boring. Safe. Tame. Dull.”
Alessandro frowned.
Had no one told her how her brown eyes flared when her temper rose, how her spirit shone out of her when she was challenged, how sensually she moved? “I find you anything but dull. In fact, for the first time in my life, I’m pleasantly surprised by Matteo’s taste.”
Her fingers stilled around the bowl of fruit. With a boldness that made his heart leap, she tilted her head and smiled up at him with an exaggerated sweetness. “That sounds awfully like a compliment.”
“It is.”
