Suddenly, tension thickened the air between them, and it became hard for Sally to breathe. She felt a ripple of heat run through her, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the day.
Zac seemed to fill the small studio with his presence, and however unwillingly she was being drawn towards him despite all her best efforts to deny the fact. His dark eyes lingered on the open lapels of her robe, and jerkily she pulled the belt tighter, remembering she actually was naked underneath…
Embarrassment and the hot flush of arousal combined to make a tide of pink stain her pale face.
He stared at her for a long moment, and she wished she had done something with her hair instead of leaving it to dry in a mess of curls—ridiculous, she knew, but he had that effect on her.
‘You would not cost the man his job. I know you are not that mean-spirited, Sally,’ he said with certainty. He was right, damn him. ‘As for throwing me out—you haven’t a chance. But you are welcome to try.’ And he walked towards her, throwing his arms wide. ‘This should be interesting,’ he prompted and grinned at her. Her heart missed a beat at the devilish charm of his expression. ‘Give it your best shot.’
He was looming over her like some great monolith, legs slightly splayed, arms outstretched. She knew he was laughing at her, but still she had an incredible urge to walk into his arms.
‘Very funny,’ she snapped, and looked away. She knew when she was beaten. But as she stepped to one side an imp of mischief made her smack his forearm with the bunch of roses she still held in her hand. As a tension reliever it worked…
‘That hurt!’ she heard him yelp, and this time she did laugh as she dashed to the kitchen to put the somewhat battered roses in water.
She took a vase from the cupboard where she kept her glass-wear, and, filling it with water, put the roses in one at a time. They were magnificent blooms—or had been, she amended, before they had met the strength of Zac’s arm. And suddenly she felt a little guilty as she placed the vase on the windowsill.
‘Truce?’ He came up behind her, and she turned. He was too close, his big body crowding her. She caught the elusive scent of his aftershave—or was it simply him?—and her pulse began to race. She had difficulty holding his gaze.
‘You have already drawn my blood.’ He held up his arm.
Sally looked down, and to her horror realised she had. His bronzed, hair-dusted forearm bore a small scratch, and she saw the thin line of blood and felt even guiltier. ‘I’m so sorry—let me put a plaster—’
‘Not necessary.’ He cut her off. ‘But in recompense the least you can do is let me feed you.’
Warily, she looked up into his darkly attractive face. She didn’t trust him, and worse she did not trust herself around him.
‘I do mean only to feed you.’
He seemed to possess the ability to read her mind. ‘Okay,’ she finally said—mainly because she was thoroughly ashamed of herself. She wasn’t by nature a violent person, but Zac Delucca brought out a host of violent sensations in her she had never realised she possessed. And, given that she had ripped his arm open with the roses he had bought her, it seemed the least she could do…
‘Good.’ And, reaching into the cupboard she had left open, he withdrew two glasses. ‘I will deal with the wine and let you get the cutlery we need. Everything else is provided.’
‘Fine. Do you want to eat here?’ she asked, glancing at the fold-down table and two stools against one wall of the kitchen, where she usually ate, and then back to Zac. She grimaced. If he stretched his arms out again he could reach from wall to wall.
‘It is a bit cramped, but it is either here or the living room.’
‘The living room,’ he decided, and, swinging on his heels, walked out of the kitchen.
Sally opened a drawer and withdrew knives, forks and spoons, wondering what she had let herself in for. She had let her guilt at lashing out at Zac override her common sense and agreed to him staying. Now she was not so sure
. He disturbed her on so many levels. He had barged his way into her home uninvited, and yet the memory of the steamy kiss they had shared in the car still lingered. And if she was honest she would not mind repeating the experience. Anyway, what harm could it do to share a meal with him?
An hour later, licking her lips after finishing off dessert—a perfect Tiramisu—Sally was confident there had been no harm at all…
Actually, it had been a great meal. When she’d exited the kitchen with the plates and cutlery, Zac had already filled the occasional table with an assortment of dishes: delicious pasta, fresh crusty bread and Veal Milanese, as well as salad and the dessert.
He had got the food from his favourite Italian restaurant, owned by a friend of his, he’d told her, and had made her laugh with stories of the proprietor and his family. Then he’d opened a bottle of wine and filled her glass and his, and made a toast to friendship.
Zac had been charming—a perfect gentleman. He had taken care not to so much as touch her, and there was still a foot of space between them on the sofa. Nothing like the arrogant man she had met last Friday, who had hardly kept his hands off her.
In fact, apart from Al, she could not remember ever feeling so relaxed in a man’s company. But then maybe seeing her with no make-up, wet hair and wearing a tired old robe had dampened Zac’s ardour, she thought with a wry grin, and told herself she was glad. But a little voice in her head whispered that it would be nice to feel his arms around her once more…
‘That was wonderful,’ she said, casting a sidelong glance at Zac. He was lounging back on the sofa beside her, his long legs stretched out before him, a glass of wine in his hand. His big body was at ease, and she had the fanciful notion that he looked like some great half-slumbering jungle predator.
‘An apple and a stale cheese sandwich are no substitute for a good meal,’ she went on, telling herself she was being ridiculous, fantasising about Zac. Picking up her glass of wine, she drained it and replaced it on the table. She raised a hand to her mouth as a yawn overtook her. Too much wine and not enough sleep, she thought, and murmured a polite, ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ he drawled, turning towards her, a smile curving his hard mouth. His dark eyes met hers and she smiled lazily back, feeling strangely comfortable with Zac. Then his gaze dropped to where the soft blue fabric of her robe hugged the firm mounds of her breasts, unexpectedly making her shiver with sensual awareness.