‘Can you even cook?’ she asked.
His head tipped to the side. ‘What do you mean “Can I even cook?” I’m Italian, of course I can cook.’
The injured expression on his face made her want to laugh. Instead, she swallowed down her amusement and turned on the tap, washing her hands in the basin. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. The other half of you is American. Your dad’s from the States, right?’ Her voice trailed off, memories of the previous night stealing her breath away. Was she being nosy again?
Sam’s voice was soft as he replied. His eyes even softer. ‘Italian. I’m all Italian.’
She nodded. ‘OK.’
‘I have a complicated family, Cesca. It would take too long to explain.’ He t
urned around, rifling through the cupboards again.
She wanted to say something to break the quiet, but nothing sprang to mind. She wasn’t exactly an expert on families, after all; Cesca had been the master of keeping her own secrets, hiding them away in case her family thought less of her.
When he finally looked back, Sam’s expression had regained an equilibrium. A hint of a smile played on his lips, though it hadn’t yet made it up to his eyes. ‘Well I guess I should concede defeat. Even I can’t make a meal out of thin air.’
She could feel the tension disappearing. It made her a little giddy. ‘But I thought you were totally Italian. What a let-down.’
This time his smile creased the skin around his eyes. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. Maybe if the housekeeper kept the refrigerator stocked we wouldn’t be in this position.’ His wink was enough to tell her he was teasing. It also made her chest feel tight.
‘You obviously don’t pay her enough. I’d give her the push if I were you.’
‘I’ve tried, she just won’t leave.’
Cesca raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe you haven’t pushed hard enough,’ she told him. The space between them seemed to be narrowing, less than two foot now. It meant she had to look up, her petite frame dominated by his tall, muscled body. His proximity made her feel anxious and yet . . . safe?
‘Maybe I don’t want to,’ he said softly.
Another hesitation, this time even more loaded than before. From her vantage point, she studied him, taking in the sharp, chiselled jaw that was already shadowed with a day’s growth of beard, and the full lips that so many Italian men seemed to wear so well. She had to clench her hands into fists to stop herself from touching him, to feel that stubble. What on earth was wrong with her?
When she looked down at Sam’s own hands, she saw they were also bunched. His knuckles were bleached white. She was completely confused by the easy banter between them, and the way it was making her feel inside. Like a volcano filled with molten lava.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the loaded moment followed her in. Instead of seeing him, she could feel him, smell him, hear his rhythmic breaths. If she breathed in hard enough, she could probably taste him, too.
The next minute, it was as though a thread was being broken. She opened her eyes to see Sam standing a few feet away, far enough to remove the aching connection that had existed between them only moments before. She wasn’t sure if it was relief she was feeling or something else. Whatever it was, it made her nerves buzz and her head feel full of cotton wool.
‘Dinner, then,’ Sam reminded her. He looked strangely calm.
‘Or lack of it.’ Cesca moistened her dry lips. ‘I guess we could eat bread and cheese again.’
Sam frowned. ‘No, I promised I’d get you dinner, and that won’t do. We’ll have to go out and get some.’
‘But you can’t go out. People will recognise you.’ Since he’d arrived he hadn’t so much as left the gates. ‘Make a list and I’ll go and buy the food.’
‘The grocery store will be shut. We’ll have to find somewhere to eat.’ Another dazzling smile. ‘I’ll go incognito.’
A deep breath restored some of her equilibrium. Enough for her to start thinking straight. ‘Seriously? You won’t make it five minutes up the road. Even if you’re not surrounded by photographers you’ll have a thousand predatory women sidling up to you. Why don’t we just order some food to be delivered or something?’
He shook his head. ‘I want to take you out to dinner.’
Oh.
‘We can take the rental car. I know a little place that’s completely out of the way. No tourists, only locals. We’ll drive there, have some food and then drive home again. It’s dark, nobody will see us.’
He’d knocked the wind out of her sails again. She frowned. Her whole body was telling her this was a bad idea, but for the life of her she couldn’t articulate why. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s just dinner, Cesca. Two friends – or at least I think we’re friends – sharing some food and looking out over the lake. What’s wrong with that?’