He said, ‘That was very good. Excellent, in fact. You said you made it?’
* * *
Maggie was doing her best to avoid eye contact with Nikos Marchetti. But she couldn’t ignore him. She forced herself to look at him. His hair was still damp and curling thickly on his head. Which only reminded her of that moment...
She said quickly, ‘I used to work as a commis chef in a restaurant. That’s what I want to do eventually...be a chef.’
Nikos Marchetti frowned. ‘Why did you leave?’
Maggie wished that the clothes she’d put on—her uniform—felt like a barrier against that dark gaze. But when he looked at her she felt as if he was seeing all the way through her to where her blood was rushing and still felt so hot.
‘Because of my mother’s illness. Also, the head chef was too handsy for my liking.’
Nikos Marchetti tensed visibly. ‘You mean he touched you?’
Maggie was surprised at his reaction. ‘Me and pretty much every other female member of staff who came within a few feet of him. But my mother fell ill, so it wasn’t a hard decision to come here to help her. She thought she could manage with my help. But then her illness progressed quickly...’
Nikos Marchetti stood up and took the plate out of Maggie’s hands. He pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down.’
Maggie hesitated for a moment, but then sat down. Nikos Marchetti sat down too.
‘I’m sorry about earlier. Someone should have rung ahead to tell you of my arrival. And I’m sorry about your mother. You were lucky to have had her as long as you did. You sound as if you were close.’
Maggie looked at her boss. Maybe if she kept reaffirming that in her head—her boss—she would be able to ignore the way there seemed to be a million signals between them going on under the surface. Her awareness of him...the way he looked at her. It was illictly thrilling.
‘We were close. She was a single parent and I was an only child.’
‘Your father wasn’t on the scene?’
Maggie shook her head quickly. ‘No, he wasn’t.’ In a bid to divert him away from a subject she avoided like the plague, she asked, ‘Is your mother still alive?’
Instantly Nikos Marchetti’s expression shuttered. ‘No. She died a long time ago. I don’t remember her at all.’
For some reason Maggie had a sense that wasn’t entirely true. But she said, ‘I’m sorry. Losing a parent at any age is tough.’ She reached out to take his plate again and stood up. ‘If you’d like to move into the lounge I can bring you coffee, or tea?’
Nikos Marchetti looked at her and for a moment it was as if he’d forgotten she was there. He’d disappeared for a second.
Maggie suspected that the persona he projected—rich, careless—was a little bit of a construct, hiding something far more formidable under the surface. He was watchful, even though he carried that careless air of nonchalance.
‘I’ll have a whiskey. But on one condition.’
Maggie had been turning away and now looked back. Nikos Marchetti was standing up. ‘What condition?’ she asked. For some reason her heart tripped into a faster rhythm.
‘That you join me for a glass. It’s the least I can do after arriving unannounced.’
Maggie’s hands tightened on the plate. She felt breathless again, just imagining inhabiting the same space as this man. Especially after seeing him naked.
‘That’s really not necessary.’
‘Please. I’ve had more scintillating conversation with you in the last couple of hours than I’ve had with anyone in the last month. Indulge me.’