“You called me your guest five minutes ago.”
“A polite euphemism you quickly – and rightly – corrected me on.”
There was a knock on the door, and then Carmita bustled in with a tray of pastries and fresh fruit.
“Lunch will be ready in two hours. Where would you like it served?”
“In here, please.”
“You don’t carve out time to eat your lunch at a table?” Francesca commented with mock surprise. “What kind of Italian are you?”
“A busy one.”
Alone with her again, Gino was aware of Francesca helping herself to an almond croissant and then bustling over with it to the coffee station where he kept a bean-to-cup machine. “Want one?” she asked.
“No… Yes. A double espresso. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You’ll need to show me how to use it.”
“Press the button on the left side of the machine to turn it on.”
“Which button?”
“On the left side.”
“Can’t see it.”
Swallowing a sigh of exasperation, he forged his lips into a smile and joined her at the station. “This button, Miss Marino.”
She closed the distance he’d deliberately created between them. “And then what do I do?”
Doing his damnedest to ignore her arm brushing against him, he pointed the buttons out in turn. “When the green light comes on, you press this for an espresso, this for a double, and this one for an americano.”
She lifted her face to him. “And if I want a cappuccino?”
“A cappuccino at this time of day?” he mocked. “What kind of Italian are you, Miss Marino?”
A suggestive gleam appearing in her light, translucent brown eyes, the tip of a very pink tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth to catch a small flake of pastry. “A hungry one.”
God damn her.
Inhaling sharply through his nose, it took everything he had to keep his voice moderate. “Then I suggest you finish your croissant.”
She laughed softly and raised the croissant to his mouth. “Want some?”
The temptation to sink his teeth into it was almost irresistible.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sure about that?”
His fingers had wrapped around her wrist before he was even aware of his hand moving. Lungs tight, his heart thumping hard, he lowered her arm and released her wrist. “Very sure.”
He returned to his desk with tight loins and Francesca’s soft laughter ringing in his ears.
Barely had he started going through the overnight reports when she sashayed over to him. “Where shall I put this?”
She had his coffee in her hand.
