Nico’s mouth settled into a grim line. She’d made the right decision to ditch the imbécile. Any man fool enough to label this woman a quitter didn’t deserve her.
He closed the pad, pushed his chair back from the table. He would call Bruno, relay the information he deemed useful and tell him to take a closer look at the ex. Bruno had already compiled a superficial dossier on Davide, but now Nico would give the green light to dig deeper. Pay the guy a visit.
‘We’re done?’ She sounded surprised. Or relieved. Maybe both.
He stood. ‘For now,’ he said, aware of something like relief coursing through his own veins.
These last two hours had been intense—for both of them—and he suddenly wanted some distance from this woman. Wanted her out of his sight so that he could concentrate on work and stop noticing things about her he had no legitimate need to notice.
Like the way those full lips of hers pursed when she was thinking and one cheek hollowed slightly, as if she were biting the inside of it. Or the way she sometimes used her hands to emphasise a point and at other times clasped them in her lap to give the impression of composure. Or the way she occasionally rubbed her shoulders or the back of her neck, as if the muscles there were cramped and needed loosening. Or—and this was by far the most disturbing of all his observations—how pink and delectable her tongue looked when it darted out to rescue a flake of croissant from her bottom lip.
Nico picked up the pen and pad and stepped back. Oui. Distance. A lot of it—and for the rest of the day, preferably. ‘You did well, Marietta. Relax now. Enjoy the sunshine.’
She looked up and he saw his reflection in duplicate in her oversized sunglasses. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Work.’
‘All day?’
‘Probably.’ He turned towards the house. Pretended not to see the sudden slight pout on those voluptuous lips.
‘What about sightseeing?’
He pulled up. ‘Pardon?’
‘Sightseeing,’ she repeated. ‘You said you would show me the island.’
He frowned. ‘If time permitted.’
Her chin rose in that tenacious way of hers that stirred irritation and something much hotter, more dangerous, inside him.
‘I’ve answered your questions,’ she said.
He curled his fingers around the pen. ‘My priority is to keep you safe until your stalker is caught, Marietta, not babysit you or play tour guide.’ Her head drew back as if he’d spat in her face, but he ruthlessly fought the urge to soften his tone. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’
He turned and strode into the house. Into his study. Where he tossed the pen and pad onto his desk with such force the pen pinwheeled across the glass surface and onto the floor.
Grunting, he leaned down to pick it up and told himself the burn he could feel deep in his gut was irritation.
Not an attack of conscience.
And not desire.
* * *
Marietta dropped her sketchpad and pencil onto the solid wooden table where she’d sat earlier with Nico and pulled out her earbuds, trading the orchestral tones of her classical playlist for the natural summer chorus of cicadas and the distant cries of gulls circling over the ocean.
She closed her eyes, breathed in the briny scent of the sea and the distinctive floral notes of the wild lavender that stained the island’s clifftops a vibrant purple and gave Île de Lavande its name.
It was beautiful here, peaceful—a world away from the crazy pace and relentless noise of Rome—but the creative inspiration she’d hoped for had proved elusive and her efforts this afternoon had been disappointing, to say the least.
She was in the wrong headspace. Upset with Nico and more so with herself for letting him affect her like this. Allowing him to make her feel guilty and ungrateful simply because she wanted to see more of his beautiful island. She understood that he was busy. Understood that he must have had to rearrange his schedule to bring her here. But this outlandish idea had been his, not hers.
And she had tried to co-operate. Had tried to prevent her temper from flaring as she’d answered every personal, invasive question he’d fired at her.
He should not look so gorgeous. Should not have sat there in his worn jeans and his white T-shirt, with his feet bare and that film of dark stubble on his jaw that gave him a deliciously rough, disreputable edge. How could she concentrate with all that flagrant male energy swirling around her like a hot mist, drenching the very air she needed to breathe?
She opened her eyes and let her gaze drift beyond the terrace towards the clifftop and the blue expanse of sea that was so vast Marietta felt very insignificant all of a sudden, and for some reason very lonely.