‘What are you doing in here?’ Cesca walked into the library, her head held high as if she was discovering a thief. She stalked past him, her arm bumping into his, as she laid her work down on the corner of the desk.
Sam put the book back where he’d found it. ‘Last time I looked I still live here.’
She sighed. ‘Not this again. I mean what are you doing in the library? I’ve been using it since I arrived. I’d like to be able to write here in peace, if you don’t mind. It’s hard enough trying to beat writer’s block without having you standing in here putting me off.’
Sam frowned. ‘Why would I put you off?’
Cesca’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. ‘Because your mere existence is telling me the universe hates me. And it would be nice to be able to write my play without having to acknowledge that.’
For some reason her dramatics amused him. He could feel his lips twitch as he watched her sigh again. It was simply the boredom that made her interesting, he told himself.
‘Who were you talking to on the beach?’ he asked.
She lifted her eyebrows, shocked. ‘What do you mean?’ Her arms wrapped around her waist. He’d noticed her do it a few times now as a defence mechanism, but this time her actions drew his scrutiny to her body. She was still wearing that bikini and her pink and black sarong. He tried not to look at the way the bikini top covered the swell of her breasts, or how tight and toned her stomach was as it disappeared beneath the knotted fabric.
He didn’t know why her sexiness surprised him. Her body was curvy yet supple, and he found himself wanting to touch her.
‘I’m up here you know.’ Cesca gesticulated at her face. ‘If you want to talk to me, I?
?d suggest you don’t address my tits.’
‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘From what?’ Cesca asked.
‘From the man you were talking to earlier on the beach. I asked you who he was and you’ve not bothered answering.’
‘I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to.’
It was Sam’s turn to sigh. ‘I know you don’t have to answer, but I’m here for a reason, and that’s to get some peace and quiet away from all the fans and the reporters. I want to know who he is and if you told him I was here.’
Her face took on an expression of disgust. ‘Oh my God, could you be any more self-centred? Why on earth would Cristiano be interested in you? Have you thought about seeing a shrink?’
Sam didn’t bother telling her he’d been seeing a shrink for years. ‘His name’s Cristiano?’ he prompted. For some reason it annoyed him that Cesca and the man were on first-name terms.
‘Yes it is, if you must know. It’s Cristiano Gatto. He’s renting the villa next door for the summer while he takes a break from Rome. He’s a restaurateur.’
‘You learned a lot from him in a few minutes.’ Sam knew he was giving himself away, exposing his interest to her when he shouldn’t.
She shook her head. ‘Oh for goodness sake. It was the second time we’ve talked. I’ve met him before, at the café.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And for what it’s worth I haven’t even mentioned you. You’re just not that interesting.’
Sam pretended to reel back at her words, noting her irritated expression with a dark amusement.
‘I’m going out,’ she told him. ‘You know, out into the town where I can wander around and look in the shops. And maybe I’ll stop at the gelaterie and buy an ice cream, and lick all the creamy goodness until I’m shaking from the cold.’ She was taunting him now. ‘If you’re really lucky I might take a photo.’
‘I don’t need a photo of you. I know I’m going to see you in my nightmares every evening.’
She stuck her tongue out again, her face screwed up with disgust.
‘And don’t forget to buy the stuff I need,’ he reminded her. ‘I left the list in the kitchen.’
Cesca said nothing, but another roll of her eyes told him all he needed to know. He’d managed to annoy her thoroughly; they were like two kids in the playground, winding each other up until poised to pounce, in a fight to the death.
He should hate it, he knew, but there was part of him that tingled at the deliciousness of their constant sniping. Each time he made her eyes flash with anger it made him feel more alive. Boredom, that’s all it was. Just as soon as he was back in Hollywood he wouldn’t even think about her.
But for now, baiting Cesca was becoming his favourite kind of sport.
Cesca watched him leave the library, her teeth aching from being ground against each other in frustration. The man was insufferable. It was as though some scientist had sat in a laboratory, trying to work out the best combination of sarcasm and wit designed to make Cesca want to snap and snarl. And after much experimentation and honing of their work, they’d managed to come up with Sam Carlton. Her own, personal bête noire. Lucky her.