attack of pure humiliation.
He kicked the door to the en-suite bathroom fully open and deposited her gently on the chair by the window.
Immediately, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt and Sunny nearly leaped out of the chair in horrified consternation.
‘What are you doing?’ she yelped and he shot her a dry look.
‘I’m getting out of my wet clothes to forestall an attack of pneumonia. Where are your dry clothes?’
‘I changed in the bathroom downstairs. They’re...they’re in my backpack. Please, there’s no need for all of this.’
He didn’t answer. Instead, he continued getting out of his clothes as he vanished out of the bathroom and she distantly heard him shouting to Flora to hunt down the backpack and bring it up. When he reappeared, he had changed and the bath was now completely run. Lots of bubbles. Sunny could barely bring herself to look at it.
‘You’re probably in a state of mild shock.’ He tested the water with one hand and just then Flora appeared with the backpack and hovered by the door.
‘I was teaching Sunny how to swim,’ she offered.
Stefano shot her a frowning, questioning look. ‘She doesn’t know how to swim? You’re eight and you swim like a champion... We’re going to have to have a race one of these days. I can’t believe...’
‘I know. It’s silly.’
‘It is a little odd.’
‘Would you two mind not discussing me as though I’m not here?’ Sunny was burning up with embarrassment and even more so when Flora looked at her with an eight-year-old’s sympathy.
‘You were doing really well until...’
‘Yes...well...’ There was no way she was going to get into any conversation about how Stefano’s sudden appearance at the side of the pool had thrown her into a tailspin. ‘If the two of you wouldn’t mind, I’ll have this bath now...’ Not, she wanted to add, that she needed one.
But the bikini, drying on her, was cloying and uncomfortable and she felt horribly exposed in it, her nipples tight from the damp cold, pushing like bullets against the fine, stretchy fabric. When she glanced down she could see her own shadowy cleavage and her bare stomach and her legs.
She wanted to burst into tears but, instead, she stared down at the pale tiled floor and almost collapsed with relief when they both left the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind them, a door which she made sure to lock.
She sank into the bath, which was blissful because she had been colder than she had thought, and she closed her eyes, letting the warm water wash over her.
What was happening to her? It had been a shock for her to discover, having written off her sexuality, that she could find a man so blindingly attractive. But this wasn’t just any man and she knew that even if she might react to those incidental touches, that sort of reaction was purely on her side.
Stefano Gunn was out of her league. Over the past two years, after she and John had broken up, many men had looked at her, made passes at her, some crude, others more subtle, but she had never been interested. None of them had penetrated the hard outer shell she had taken pains to develop around herself and she still couldn’t understand how it was that Stefano, without even trying, had managed to do so.
She had always considered herself immune to the superficial tug of lust. She had learned lessons from her flawed parent and then, later, having to always be on guard against the covert, greedy glances of her foster father, she had developed an edge of cynicism that had never left her.
Even the more open, healthy appreciation from the boys she had met when she had been at the boarding school and after, at university, had failed to get past her inherent wariness and when the one man she’d felt she should have been able to really open up to had failed to excite her in that way, she had firmly shut the door on physical attraction.
Stefano didn’t look at her at all and yet...flustered her. When he did look at her, it was as if she was plugged into an electric socket and there was no part of her body that didn’t respond.
Was it because he was so out of her league? Because there was no danger of him taking any interest in her?
Was it the sort of silly schoolgirl crush that made teenagers stick posters of pop stars on their bedroom walls? Was that it? Something passing, harmless and hardly surprising?
She uneasily told herself that that was exactly what it was because she knew that when and if she ever tested the waters again, ever felt inclined to go on a date, then it would be with someone safe, someone who wouldn’t make her feel vulnerable and out of control. True, John had filled that specification but because that particular relationship hadn’t worked out didn’t mean that the parameters for all future relationships should change. They shouldn’t. Logic decreed that.
And when had she ever not listened to the unwavering voice of logic?
Listening to her head, paying calm heed to what it told her when her own young life had been in such disarray through no fault of her own, had always worked.
Feeling a bit better, she opened the door and there he was, lying on the bed in a pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt with his computer on his stomach. He snapped it shut and eased himself off the bed.
‘I was beginning to think about breaking the door down to make sure you hadn’t drowned in the bath...’
Caught on the back foot, Sunny could only stare. He looked so effortlessly elegant. The low-slung jeans did amazing things for his physique and the T-shirt clung in a way that showed off the muscled strength of his arms. And he was barefoot. She hurriedly looked away.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Sunny said stiffly. She eyed the open door and headed towards it. ‘Perhaps—’ she cleared her throat ‘—I might have a quick word with you.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t asked me why I’m back so early. Did you start floundering because you weren’t expecting to see me?’
‘I...’ They began trotting down the stairs, she quickly, he taking his time but still keeping pace.
‘Because I wouldn’t like you being so nervous in my presence that it becomes life-threatening.’
Sunny rounded on him, arms folded. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘How is it that you’ve never had swimming lessons?’
‘I... I...’ She went red and looked away. ‘Where’s Flora?’
‘Happily ensconced in front of the television in the sitting room. I told her you would probably need a little time to gather yourself after your skirmish in the pool. I thought that swimming lessons were compulsory for all schoolchildren...’
‘They probably are!’
‘Did you have an early aversion to water?’
Sunny glared. ‘I would have loved to have had swimming lessons,’ she gritted. ‘But that never happened to me.’ She spun on her heel, heart beating wildly inside her and made for the kitchen. She would have to hand in her notice. How could she not? What sort of babysitter ended up having to be rescued from a dangerous situation by the young child she was in charge of babysitting? He would never trust her around his daughter again.
And maybe that was for the best, she thought. He did weird things to her, things she didn’t like, and if he wasn’t around then life would get back to normal without that jumpy, sickening feeling inside her that she’d been carrying around for days.
And maybe, she further thought, she could address some of his curiosity about her. Curiosity about why she spent all her time working, why she needed money so badly, why she’d never learned how to swim...
Maybe it would be a good thing for those glaring differences between them to be brought out into the open. The way she’d