She was inside the fernery, the massive modern glass house. The echo quotient went up as her heels clicked on the floor. Tilting her head, she took in the spot-lit carved wood and curved metal rafters high above her head, the whole curved structure appearing to be supported by four massive metal pillars. The same scrolled carving was repeated in the frames of the multi-paned wood and ornamental steel-framed glass walls.
Uplighters set in the stone floor picked out artistically placed groups of green foliage, and the raised pond that filled the space with the trickle of water took central position. Sofas were grouped at one end around several low tables, and at the other end a dining table was laid, the candlelight leaving a glowing nimbus of light around the pretty pots of flowers and reflecting off the cut-crystal wine glasses.
The place seemed empty as she walked along the side of the raised sunken pool, lights revealing the fish swimming in lazy circles among the swaying green fronds of aquatic plants.
‘Good evening.’
For a brief, insane moment, she thought he had materialised in front of her, but as sanity kicked in she noted the open door and the breeze blowing in that ruffled his dark hair. He carried the scent of the warm evening air and green vegetation on his clothes.
As she watched him walk towards her, moving with the silent grace of a big, beautiful, sleek predator, her stomach started fibrillating.
She realised that she had just been standing there staring, and she didn’t have a clue how long, and he was just a couple of feet from her.
‘Hi!’ she said brightly. ‘I am... I’m late. Early...? Have I kept you waiting?’
‘None of the above.’
He held out a hand that invited her to precede him. She tipped her head in acknowledgment and felt very glad that she had not come casual to make a point, not that she knew what that point would have been.
That’s me...the rebel without a brain cell who is about to fall off her heels.
Ezio’s only concession to casual was that he was not wearing a tie. His pale shirt was one of those she knew he had hand-made in Italy and ordered by the dozen; there were always a handful of unopened ones in his office. He wore the shirt open at the neck, the open-button arrangement enough to reveal the strong column of his neck and deep olive-toned skin along with a tiny vee of skin at the base of his throat, suggesting that he was that glorious toasty colour all over.
Clean-shaven, there was no trace of the earlier stubble on his sculpted face. His suit was silver-grey, but it was the power not concealed by the supreme tailoring that made her shiver, not the perfect cut.
‘Do I pass?’
She sucked in an embarrassed little gasp. ‘I just thought, you changed... I didn’t hear you...’
‘I caught up on a few things. I keep some fresh things in my office. I didn’t want to disturb you if you were resting.’
‘Oh I see, like in London. Well, not the me resting part.’
‘No, I have heard your boss is a bit of a taskmaster.’
She flung him a look. ‘The you keeping things in your office part... I mean...’ Her voice trailed off before she could sound any more like an inarticulate idiot.
This really didn’t feel like London. In London there was no background accent of lush greenery. In London there had been an invisible professional barrier between them. Like those barriers down the motorway, it had provided safety...no collisions.
What would it feel like to collide with Ezio?
She lowered her eyes but she couldn’t hide from the pulse at the apex of her thighs.
‘The view from the shower here is better.’ It was nothing on the view he had enjoyed from outside when he had turned his head and seen her standing there.
This was not a ‘butterfly unfurling’ moment or an ‘ugly duckling into swan’ transformation. In her dull office clothes, she had always been a beautiful woman, but standing there, gracefully poised on some crazy heels, the vivid green dress hugging her body and pulling tight against the thrust of her breasts and slender waist, she was bewitching, breathing-taking.
Mesmerised, he was rooted to the spot with white-hot lust. It took several dramatic inhalations to batter his instincts into submission before he could trust himself to approach her without wanting to sink to the floor with her—actually, he still did.
Tilda was involved in a very tough fight not to see him in the shower, but the carnal image of steamy water sliding off his water-slick skin flashed into her head, reducing her shaky inner calm to jelly.
She really had no idea what was happening to her... It was as if her hormones were having their revenge for being ignored for so long.
‘None of the above.’
Panic floated briefly into her mind for the duration of the amnesia; she didn’t have a clue what question he was responding to. Her breath snagged in relief as the memory surfaced above the sensual fog that had taken up residence in her head.
‘I thought you might need to sleep. I hope it doesn’t offend your sensibilities as much as it did the cook—please do not call her a chef; she will be insulted—but I wasn’t sure what time we’d be eating, so I asked her to pre-prepare and leave things warming, which caused a minor meltdown. She considers heated trolleys an invention of the devil—or it might have been the seventies. I don’t think she cares much for either.’