‘Unbelievable.’ The girl blinked rapidly. ‘I’m not sure what’s worse. Having your life completely trounced by somebody, or have them forget all about it. Either way, you’re an asshole, Sam Carlton, and I wish I’d never let you into your house.’
The bizarreness of the situation didn’t escape his notice. It felt as though he’d taken a trip into crazy town.
‘What’s your name? And please feel free to explain what I’ve done to piss you off. Because I have absolutely no idea.’
‘My name’s Cesca Shakespeare.’ She paused, as if to let the words sink in. ‘And once upon a time I wrote a play. It was a good play, everybody said so. Even the dickwad we chose to take the leading role. And then that dickwad left town and my play folded and everything turned to crap.’ Her face screwed up in anger. ‘That’s just the short version. If you have a few days I can give you the full, unexpurgated version. With all the gory details.’
Realisation dawned over him. ‘You wrote Out of the Black?’ It was the only play he’d been cast in, and he hadn’t managed to do much more than the press previews. ‘You’re that Cesca Shakespeare?’ Christ, she looked different. The girl who had written the play had been exactly that – a girl. But this angry, spitting creature in front of him couldn’t be described as a girl. No, she was all woman.
‘You think there’s more than one?’ she asked. ‘Or maybe you’ve made it your business to leave a trail of miserable Cesca Shakespeares in your wake. One in every city.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He immediately regretted his words.
‘Don’t call me silly, not after everything you’ve done.’
‘Look, I’ve no idea what to say right now. I’ve been travelling for almost twenty hours, I’d like to take a shower and get some sleep. Perhaps we can talk about this in the morning?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You’re expecting to sleep in the villa?’
Sam laughed awkwardly. ‘Um, yes? Where else should I sleep?’
‘How about a million miles away from me? You could sleep in your car, maybe we could find you a blanket or something?’
‘I’m not sleeping in the goddamned car. It’s a big house, I’ll just head to my room and get out of your hair. Then we can decide what to do in the morning.’
‘There’s nothing to decide. You’re not staying here.’
Oh boy, she knew how to hit all his buttons. ‘You’re kidding, right? This is my house, I can stay where I goddamn want to. What are you even doing here? Where are Gabi and Sandro anyway?’
‘I’m looking after the villa while they take a vacation. They’re visiting his sister while she has her baby. Your parents have employed me to look after the villa in the meantime. And while I’m in this house you aren’t welcome.’
He let out a long sigh. What the hell were his parents thinking, letting this woman take care of the villa? ‘You don’t get a choice. I’m coming in.’
‘Then I’ll sleep in the car,’ she shouted back. ‘It’s not as if you haven’t screwed my life up before. What’s one more night?’
‘No! Don’t sleep in the car.’ He could feel the blood warming his cheeks. ‘Jesus Christ, woman, just go to bed and I’ll do the same. It’s only one night.’ And after that she could leave and he would be able to enjoy the splendid isolation, without worrying he’d wake up with a knife in his back.
Cesca stared at him silently, the atmosphere between them growing thick and dark. Then she spun on the soles of her flip-flops, letting out the biggest huff he’d ever heard.
‘Whatever. But remember this, your parents have employed me to look after this house, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. So in the morning you need to leave.’
With that she was stalking up the driveway, her hips swaying from side to side. Sam turned and walked back to his car, trying to ignore the growing urge to put his foot down on the pedal and run her over.
It was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.
*
Fuming didn’t begin to describe how angry she was. Cesca stomped into the kitchen and grabbed hold of the kettle, jamming it under the tap. There were some aches only hot chocolate could soothe, though in this case she didn’t think it could even come close. But she needed to do something with her hands, to stop them smashing those perfectly white teeth out of his beautiful mouth, and this seemed as good a way as any.
‘You’re being irrational,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Calm down.’
She heard his car come to a stop and the engine switch off, the door slamming after he climbed out of the driver’s seat. Then footsteps in the hallway, the familiar slam against the marble tiles, making her shoulders tense up as she felt him coming closer.
‘Do you know if my room’s made up?’
She had to grind her teeth together to prevent herself biting out a bitter answer. Unwilling to look at him, she put the kettle back onto its stand, flicking the switch to make it boil.
‘I’ve no idea. I don’t even know which room is yours.’ A horrible thought stole into her mind, making her skin crawl. What if she’d been using his bedroom without knowing?