‘The premium one, then.’
‘There’s never been a tour of any kind.’
‘Don’t tell me I’m your first house guest.’
‘All right, I won’t,’ he said, coming to a stop at the front door and glancing at her as he pushed his sunglasses onto his head then fished his keys from the pocket of his shorts.
Her eyes widened as she reached the obvious conclusion. ‘Am I?’
‘As I told you, I value my privacy.’
‘My lips will remain sealed.’
As if on cue, his gaze dropped to her mouth and the world seemed to stop, keys, tours, privacy forgotten and in their place nothing but a drumming need that drowned out everything but the two of them.
He wanted to step forward, plant his hands on her shoulders and press her up against the warm, solid oak of the door. He wanted to lower his head to hers and cover her mouth with his and kiss her until neither of them coul
d think straight.
He could almost feel her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. He could imagine all too clearly her arching her back to plaster herself against him and the soft, sighing gasps she might emit.
She was standing so close he wouldn’t even have to make much of a move. One step and he could yield to the hot, powerful desire surging through him. One step and she’d be in his arms and kissing him back because he just knew the same thing was running through her mind. She’d gone very still and her smile was fading. She was as transfixed by his mouth as he was by hers and a flush was appearing on her cheeks.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her, only this time, he realised while his body hardened and throbbed, she wasn’t rejecting it. This time she wasn’t pulling back. This time she was actually leaning towards him, her eyes darkening with desire that he badly wanted to stoke.
But to act on the attraction that still burned between them could expose him to her perceptiveness and uncanny insight and there was no way in hell he was going to allow that to happen. Besides, he had a plan for how to handle her—a sensible one, which was remarkable for a man who thrived on recklessness—and he had every intention of sticking to it.
The house, he reminded himself, taking a mental step back from the brink of insanity and clearing both his throat and his head. That was what she’d asked him about. The house.
Swiftly putting some distance between them, he turned to unlock the door. ‘The villa was originally built by a seventeenth-century industrialist as a summer retreat,’ he said, striding out of the dazzling, reason-wrecking heat and into the cool, calm interior.
‘What?’
He glanced over his shoulder, the slight huskiness to her voice grating over his nerve-endings, and he noticed that she was looking a little flustered, which was only fair when she’d had a similarly devastating effect on him. ‘You asked about the house.’
‘Right,’ she said, giving herself a quick shake and following him in, composure unfortunately restored. ‘Yes. So how long have you lived here?’
‘Since the renovations were completed five years ago.’
‘And before that?’
‘Milan.’
‘What were you doing there?’
Grafting, mainly. Working sixteen-hour days and moving quickly up the ranks. Making the most of the opportunity he’d been given to shed his past and turn his life around. ‘Building my career.’
‘Do you live here permanently?’ she asked as he led her through the huge drawing room, the snug, the study and the dining room that could host supper for twenty, looking at the space through a visitor’s eyes and wondering what she thought, even though her opinion really didn’t matter. With his wealth he could have bought any number of lavish palaces, but he didn’t need opulence. He just needed space and light and comfort.
‘I have places elsewhere,’ he said. ‘But this is my home.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, stopping at the base of a set of wide stone steps that went up and round, while he wondered what to do with the strange kick of pleasure he felt at the approval he’d told himself he didn’t want. ‘Light and airy but very, very minimalist.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It wasn’t necessarily a compliment.’
‘Oh?’