‘I’m so sorry!’ The words stumbled from her mouth and she briefly risked a glance at his face, then wished she hadn’t. Fire seemed to arc from his eyes to hers, his perfectly shaped lips flattening into a line that could have represented disapproval, impatience or irritation. Far better to believe that than anything else.
She swallowed hard, trying to bring moisture back to her dry mouth.
‘Let me...’ She pressed her hand against his shirt, intending only to wipe away the water, but the same flames spiralled through her at the slight contact. ‘Get you a towel,’ she finished, spinning away from him quickly so she could retrieve something from the kitchen. Only she bumped into the edge of the kitchen door in her haste and embarrassment, and squawked awkwardly at the pain that flooded her.
Amelia closed her eyes on a wave of mortification.
Great. Just great.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to walk into?’ he asked and, heaven help her, Amelia had somehow managed to forget the deep huskiness of his voice, the sultry heat of his accent. It wrapped around her now, making thought and words impossible.
Amelia had begun speaking in full sentences at six months of age—apparently one of the first markers for an unusually high IQ—but in that moment she struggled to wrap her brain around a single word whatsoever.
She made do with firing him a terse smile then continued her trajectory—more carefully this time—into the kitchen, rifling through drawers until she found a tea towel. Spinning round to take it to Santos, she realised he’d followed her into the kitchen and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.
Good Lord. Her mouth was drier than the desert.
‘Oh.’ She stared at him. ‘You’re getting undressed.’
His grin was rich with amusement. ‘I’m removing a wet shirt. It’s not quite the same thing.’
‘Isn’t it?’ It sure felt the same. ‘I was just...going to bed.’ Oh, no! That sounded like an invitation! She furrowed her brow, shaking her head a little. What the heck was happening to her? ‘To read.’
‘Do you have everything you need?’
She lifted her book. ‘Yes.’
His smile was slow to spread but her reaction was instant. Her skin prickled all over with tiny darts of heat. ‘I meant in the house. Did Chloe show you where everything is?’
Amelia nodded. ‘Yes. She did.’ And then, with a small shake of her head, ‘Though not an office I can use.’
‘Would you like to see it now?’
Her chest tightened. She did—she wanted to start her work routine the next day, and knowing exactly where she could work from would be vital to that, but the naked chest of Santos Anastakos was almost too much to bear. ‘Would you like to get...erm...dressed first?’
‘Would you like me to get dressed first?’ He put the question back on her and somehow managed to make her feel like a child. Naïve and gauche. She shook her head and tried to look cool, as though she frequently spent time with half-naked, bronzed living replicas of sculpted Greek gods.
‘That’s fine.’ She shrugged with an assumed and not entirely credible air of nonchalance. ‘Which way?’
‘Did you want to refill your water glass first?’
Heat stained her cheeks. She shook her head—she could come back later. He took a step backward, allowing her space to precede him from the kitchen, and she skirted past him, ever so careful not to so much as brush his skin. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, though she was sure she caught the tail end of a smile on his face when she glanced up at him.
‘How was your flight?’
‘Fine.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘It was my first time in a private jet.’
‘I thought it would be easier with Cameron.’
‘He travelled well.’ She fell into step beside him, feeling a little calmer as they moved onto safer conversational ground. ‘He was excited by the helicopter.’
Santos’s expression was distracted. ‘I thought he might be.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘I have an office here.’
‘On the island?’