The Mysterious Italian Houseguest

Her cheeks flamed with heat.

She hadn’t filled Javier in on the rest of the ‘crashed scooter’ story. The fact that she’d never even got around to meeting that guy in the village. She’d thought she was going to get her first kiss. Instead she’d ended up in a ditch. It was fitting really. Her sisters had all managed to squeal about first kisses long before she’d finally been disappointed by hers. As she was the oldest they’d all just naturally believed she’d gone first. She would have hated them to find out she was last.

She closed the window on the computer in front of her—not even bothering to send a reply email. There was no point. She had nothing to tell. In another week or so she could kiss her job goodbye. She stood up, left some money and walked out of the café.

A realisation was creeping over her. When she’d been given the ultimatum before she left she could have held her ground and refused to leave. She didn’t believe that Holly had ‘accidentally’ met the latest pin-up. Every part of the situation was contrived. The whole thing was just so Hollywood. Holly had seen an opportunity and taken it—just as Portia had five years earlier. It was just that Portia hadn’t done it in quite so spectacular a fashion.

She should be in LA. That was where all the stories were. That was where she could find a story that would let her keep her job. So why hadn’t she stayed?

Her stomach gave a little churn. How could she have missed Miranda’s wedding? It didn’t even bear thinking about.

The truth was she’d been having second thoughts about her job—she just hadn’t wanted to admit them even to herself. And now she was having third thoughts. Or even final thoughts.

She’d fallen out of love with her job. She didn’t have the hunger for it any more. She wouldn’t do anything to get a story.

Her stomach was tied up in knots. This was it. This was when she needed to make a decision once and for all about her job. If it was over, she needed new career plans—rapidly.

Getting to know Javier had confused her. Discovering he wasn’t the arrogant film star who had a string of false relationships had been news to her. And even though she’d had that tiny fleeting thought about using Javier for a story, the last few days had given her clarity.

She wasn’t that person. She couldn’t be that person.

Javier had reasons for being here she didn’t know about.

But it didn’t matter what they were—if he ever revealed them she already knew she wouldn’t share them with anyone. It was his business. Not hers.

She couldn’t be underhand. She couldn’t be deceptive around Javier. Maybe he’d been right to distrust the press in the past. But she didn’t ever want him to feel that way about her.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice Javier striding down the street towards her. He had a strange look in his eye. He looked just as tense and as distracted as she was. The charm that she’d glimpsed earlier had vanished. He held out his hand for a second, and it took a moment for her to realise what he wanted.

She pulled the key from her pocket. ‘I take it you want to drive?’

He nodded.

He swung his leg over and started the engine. ‘Ready?’

She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. What she really needed right now was someone to talk to. But Javier wasn’t that person.

Something had upset him. Just as something had upset her.

And it seemed that neither of them were ready to share.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE NEXT TWO days were awkward.

It was clear Portia was unhappy about something. She was distracted and tired-looking. Sometimes she even looked as if she could burst into tears.

He’d love to use her as a sounding board. When it came to work and Hollywood she was completely sensible and, at times, frank. He respected her opinion.

But he couldn’t tell her why he was reacting in an emotional way. He couldn’t tell her how guilty he still felt about the death of his friend, and why he was so mixed up.

Because Portia was press. And he couldn’t wipe his past experiences from his head—the press couldn’t be trusted.

Part of it was pure and utter selfishness. What if she thought badly of him if he told her? There was a definite attraction simmering between them. Nothing like telling her he’d ignored a friend in need to squash it completely.

It didn’t help that the reason he was shutting her out was because he still felt a pull towards her. Something he didn’t feel as if he had any right to act on.

In the meantime a plan had formulated in his mind. He now knew what he wanted to do. Money was no problem. But he wanted to make sure that he did things well—not just throw a bunch of money at the project and walk away. He wanted to be involved and that would take business plans and commitment.

He looked around the painted drawing room. He’d plastered the crack again, skimmed most of the other rooms in the house. The conservatory glass would all be replaced in a matter of days. But he had to be careful and take his time. The frame was delicate. He couldn’t manipulate and replace too many small panes at once. So far he’d completed all the plain glass and added some random red, blue and yellow panes. The green, pink and purple glass panes were sitting in a corner, waiting for their turn to be anchored in place and transform the conservatory into a rainbow of sunlight.

Up above him he could hear some noise. Portia had disappeared into the attic this morning. Maybe it was time to try and smooth the path between them.

He walked through to the kitchen and made some coffee, finding some pastries he’d picked up at the baker’s this morning. He knew better than to go empty-handed.

Portia Marlowe didn’t take her pastries lightly.

* * *

She could smell the coffee before she saw him. In fact, a steaming cup of coffee and a delicious-looking pastry laced with chocolate were sitting on top of one of the trunks near the entrance to the attic.

She crawled forward on her hands and knees, reaching the entrance to the attic and sticking her head out of the door. Javier was sitting on the floor outside, sipping coffee from a huge mug. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that seemed to be smudged with bits of off-white putty. She scanned the floor around him. ‘What—no pastry?’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘Don’t think I’ll give you half of mine. Ask my sisters. I’ve never been very good at sharing.’

He shook his head as he sipped at his coffee again. ‘I ate mine before I even came upstairs. You forget, I’ve seen you in the bakery before.’

She sat back on her haunches and sipped her coffee. It was strong—just the way she liked it. ‘This is different. Did you get something new?’

He smiled. ‘I bought some beans in the village this morning and a cafetière. What I really want is one of those giant silver coffee machines and my own barista.’

‘Is my instant coffee not up to your standards?’

He pulled a face. ‘I don’t think it’s up to yours, either.’

She nodded as she took a bite of the pastry. It was delicious. The chocolate melted on her tongue.

‘I’ll make do. I’m just glad for the sustenance.’

He nodded towards the attic. ‘You look like you’re having fun in there.’ There was a glint of humour in his eyes.

‘I do?’ She looked down. Her pale trousers were covered in grime, as was her pink T-shirt. She put her hand up to her head and brought it back down covered in a large cobweb.

She was on her feet in an instant, jumping around and shaking her hand furiously. ‘Yeugh. Get it off.’

Javier started laughing, a deep throaty laugh that seemed to come from deep inside. When she eventually shook off her hitchhiking cobweb and ducked into the bathroom and washed her hands, one glimpse in the mirror made her wince.