“While we are setting expectations,” she said in that prim voice of hers, “I should warn you that restoring phone service will likely take days, as will clearing the road from the avalanche.”
He tried to tamp down his frustrations. “I am leaving for Tokyo tomorrow, and that absolutely cannot be postponed.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” she said, and a hint of exasperation laced her polite tone, “though I cannot help but point out that coming here was entirely your choice. In fact, you might note that I left in a manner that suggests I did not want to be followed.”
The idea rattled through him, triggering another wave of uneasiness. Her words stirred up a strange mix of emotions that felt a little too close to disappointment for his liking.
“Though I am always pleased to see you, of course,” she added sweetly.
“Of course,” he bit out.
Had she truly not wanted him to come? It should have been a relief that she hadn’t shown any signs of the showy hysterics and demands that his mother made. He told himself it was proof that he had, in fact, made the right choice in marriage partners. This was a woman who avoided the spotlight, something she herself had emphasised. She wouldn’t turn dinner parties and galas into a forum to demand his public fealty to her. This, above all, was most important. Still, he couldn’t help but note the way she was provoking him, which led him to another possibility. Maybe she was playing the same games as his mother, though with more cunning and restraint. If so, she had succeeded in getting his attention, he thought with a frown.
“Why did you run?” he asked, his voice low and deceptively calm.
“I didn’t run. I retreated to gather my thoughts.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared up at him, defiance shining in her eyes.
“We had an arrangement, which you backed out of.” His voice was low and ominous. “I would hate to think that this is how you approach your commitments. Your father was certainly displeased.”
The polite smile fell from her lips, and for a moment, in its place was something that looked like pain. Massimo felt an unwanted twist in the gut. He told himself he didn’t regret his comment. He was entering negotiations, just the way he had intended. And yet, her expression made him feel distinctly…uncomfortable.
Catarina took a deep breath and added, “I needed time to consider my options. I still have options at this point, don’t I?”
“Everyone has options,cara,” he said, keeping his voice smooth. “Some lead down easier roads than others.”
She licked her lips. It was an unconscious action, and yet his body responded to it. “Maybe I found that I am less interested in easier roads, no matter how smooth they are. We all choose roads that lead us to the desired destinations, do we not?”
“That assumes you have a map. But no one can be certain of where a road will take them,” he said wryly, “no matter how carefully they choose it.”
The events of the past day had reminded him of this lesson.
“Thank you so much for this piece of wisdom, which I will, of course, consider thoroughly. However, I’m afraid neither of us has many options at the moment,” she said crisply. “In the meantime, let me bandage your forehead.”
She reached up toward his face, but when her fingers came close to touch him, the hum of attraction that he had been ignoring surged. Catarina pulled her hand away, as if she had felt it, too, and for a moment, uncertainty flashed in her eyes. She swallowed, and he had the distinct impression she was silently talking herself into something. Then she added, “Signe would never make my favorite cinnamon rolls again if she had to clean trails of blood through the house.”
She waved her hand around, as if the entire ground floor of this enormous place was at risk. Then she got to work.
Massimo studied her as she opened the first aid box on the granite countertop and sized him up, like she was taking in his height. Catarina frowned, then dragged a chair over from the table. He sat, which put him in the unfortunate position of being eye level with her breasts. They were pert and full beneath the soft cloud of a jumper she was wearing, and he found himself imagining the way they would feel in his hands. In his mouth. A stir in his groin cut through the cool sting of the alcohol wipe on his forehead. This was certainly not how he had seen this day playing out. And yet, he had to admit his situation had sparked a note of curiosity in him. Also, he didn’t mind the view.
“You still haven’t told me what you want,” he said, softening his tone, noting the way her pulse at the tender base of her neck skittered each time he spoke.
Catarina swept a hand around the expansive room, filled with the kind of understated luxury that left no doubt about her singularly privileged upbringing. “This is all mine. I want for nothing.”
There was a wryness in her voice, an irony that suggested there were, in fact, things she wanted. And Massimo found himself wondering what those things were and how he could tease this information out of her. He flashed her an indulgent smile. “Indeed. You have planes and houses at your disposal, though there appears to be an oversight in the domestic worker department.”
His gaze flickered to the dirty dishes, then in the direction of the front entryway, where she had left her belongings in a heap. When his gaze returned to her, he caught a hint of amusement in the curve of her lush lips.
“Maybe I prefer to be alone,” she said tartly as she patted his forehead with the alcohol wipe.
“Maybe. But you could have simply attended our engagement dinner first,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Surely you didn’t disappoint your father just for one extra day of ‘me time.’”
The amusement disappeared from her expression, and despite the fact that he was trying to get under her skin, he found he didn’t like this change. Once again, it was the mention of her father that triggered another flash of discomfort. This time, she didn’t try to hide it.
“You know nothing about me,” she said, her jaw tight as she reached for a bandage.
“How fortunate that we have the rest of our lives to learn as much—or as little—about each other as we choose,” he said, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “I am certain that we can come to an understanding that allows for plenty of alone time, if that is what you desire. You’ll find that I will not require your presence too often.”
“What a relief,” she said, not bothering to disguise her sarcasm. She let out a huff of a breath. “I’ve patched you up, but I probably should check for a concussion.”
