‘What about you, Cesare?’ She turned the conversation back to him as a way of preventing any more questions about her life and work. ‘You could retire now and yet you don’t.’
He laughed. ‘Why would I retire?’
‘You could afford to,’ she pointed out.
‘Sì.’ He appeared to mull this over. ‘But I would grow bored.’
‘Surely you’d find a hobby?’
‘A waste of time,’ he said with clear condemnation.
‘Why?’
‘You think I should waste my time with—what?—orchid-growing? Golf? When I have the ability to do what I do?’
‘I think there’s more to life than work,’ she said after a moment’s consideration. ‘Don’t you?’
His shake of the head was slow and purposeful. ‘That would depend on the individual.’
‘And you don’t want more than this.’
‘Than what?’ His watchfulness intensified.
‘Than being a workaholic.’
‘Is that what I am?’
She lifted a brow. ‘You work seven days a week—unless you’re just doing that now to avoid spending your days with me,’ she added, a loop of uncertainty rocking her a little.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I haven’t changed anything because of you.’
She was sure he didn’t mean the words to be hurtful, but for some reason they were. It was simply further evidence of how little this relationship was going to impact him; how little it mattered.
‘I work seven days a week, and have for as long as I can remember. I can’t see that there’s anything wrong with this.’
‘You don’t think?’ She sipped her mineral water thoughtfully.
‘You disagree?’
‘Well...’ Beneath the table, she crossed one leg over the other, unintentionally brushing his calf with the toe of her shoe. ‘It doesn’t seem like you have much...balance.’
‘Balance is a fashionable word invented to give people a free pass to slack off.’
She stared at him, gobsmacked.
‘Next you’ll be suggesting I take up yoga.’
The idea was so ludicrous that she burst out laughing, shaking her head simultaneously. ‘Actually,’ she said when her laugh had subsided, ‘Bikram is incredibly good for you. Relaxing, physically demanding, clarifying.’
‘Perhaps you could show me,’ he murmured, the words layered with sensual heat, so her insides squirmed and her breath grew shallow.
‘Perhaps.’ The word rushed out of her as images of his body, naked and contorting into whatever shape she wanted, filled her mind. She swallowed to clear her throat, but his eyes were teasing now and she flushed to the roots of her hair, the transparency of her thoughts something she wished she was better able to conceal from him.
‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’ The question left her lips before she could analyse her reason for asking it.
‘No.’
She contemplated that for a moment. ‘I would. If I was you.’