HOLLY OPENED HER EYES, her synapses slowly firing into life. Warm. Safe. Comfortable. Mmm... Her cheek seemed to be pillowed on soft cotton underlain by a hard wall of muscle. Her leg was looped over—
Her synapses quickened and her brain began putting sums together...
Oh, hell!
So much for the barricade—somehow she had cleared that in a sleep-ridden assault and she was now plastered all over Stefan. Stefan, who—thank God—was dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. Probably because he didn’t own any pyjamas...which meant he usually slept naked.
Suppressing the urge to leap up with a scream, she tried very, very slowly to disentangle herself.
Too late.
His arm tightened around her and then his body stilled. Clearly he went from asleep to awake far more quickly than she did, and his eyes opened to meet hers, his expression a mix of ruefulness and question.
Panic lent her speed and now she did move, rolling away in a scramble devoid of dignity and hampered by the row of stupid, useless pillows.
‘Sorry. No idea how that happened. Sorry. I’m going to have a shower.’
A shower went some way to restoring her equilibrium—perhaps one day in about a hundred years she would even be able to laugh at the whole incident.
Poking her head round the bathroom door, she felt relief wash over her that Stefan was nowhere to be seen. Chill. It was imperative that she focused on the day and their trip to Il Boschetto di Sole. The thought brought a semblance of calm, a reminder that all this was worth it because it would enable her to give her father his dream.
She took a deep breath and went into the living area, just as the door opened and Stefan entered.
Goodbye, equilibrium. His hair was shower-damp, its curl more pronounced. He was dressed in a tracksuit and T-shirt and her gaze snagged on his forearms, their muscular definition, the smattering of hair.
‘I went to the hotel gym—showered there.’
‘Good plan.’
Silence resumed, and then he grinned. ‘About earlier...’
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ After all her protestations of being uninterested in his type of sex she’d made an utter idiot of herself.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s no biggie.’
‘That’s not how it felt to me.’ Oh, God, had she said that? The innuendo was not what she had meant at all. The blush threatened to burn her up. ‘I mean...’
Now his grin widened. ‘It’s OK. I know what you mean, but I’ll take the compliment anyway.’
‘Please could we just agree to forget the entire incident?’
But despite herself she could feel her lips twitch; somehow the sheer mortification had receded before the force of his smile.
‘Deal.’ There was a knock at the door and he moved towards it. ‘I’ve ordered a room service breakfast—smoked salmon, scrambled eggs and pancakes—so we can talk in private. Hope that’s OK?’
‘Sounds good.’
Five minutes later she forked up a fluffy mouthful of egg and gave a small sound of appreciation.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Well, we’ve talked about a whole lot of things, but we haven’t talked about how we handle our actual presence on Il Boschetto di Sole.’
He studied her expression for a moment and she focused on maintaining neutrality.
‘How does your father feel about it all? About our deal?’
‘My father is honoured that the Romanos will own part of Il Boschetto di Sole.’