the kitchen.
He found Zoe dripping and shivering by the range, her arms wrapped around her sides. She dropped them as soon as she saw him.
‘This kitchen is huge,’ she remarked. ‘I’m not sure where to begin.’
Leandro shrugged. ‘You just need to clean it.’ He thrust the sheets and towels into her arms. He couldn’t keep himself from noticing the lithe perfection of her body, tanned and taut and so very bare. She wasn’t curvaceous, but she had enough of a rounded shape to please a man and make his mid-section tighten uncomfortably. ‘Once you’re dressed, we’ll go out to eat. Perhaps tomorrow you can go to the shops for food and whatever else you’ll need. Do you cook?’
Zoe raised an eyebrow. ‘That wasn’t in the job description, but I can rustle up a few meals, if that’s what you’re asking. Is it just the two of us here?’
Although the question was basic, it seemed to reverberate through the air, conjuring up an uncomfortable intimacy, and Leandro instinctively sharpened his tone. ‘Yes. I’ll see you in a few minutes.’ He turned on his heel, striding quickly out of the room before Zoe had a chance to say another word.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE shouldn’t be looking forward to sharing a meal with as ornery a creature as Leandro Filametti, yet Zoe was honest enough to acknowledge that she was. She gazed briefly at her reflection in the tarnished mirror in her bedroom, happy enough with her appearance. No need to impress her employer, she decided, knowing that any attempt to do so would most likely achieve the opposite effect. She’d settled on a pair of jeans and a yellow silky top with skinny straps. She left her hair loose and damp, and eschewed any makeup. Leandro was waiting, probably counting the minutes or seconds to determine how tardy she was. He seemed the type.
Humming under her breath, Zoe headed downstairs. Just as she’d expected, Leandro was waiting in the foyer, and Zoe saw immediately that he’d changed. He wore a cream-coloured button-down shirt and tan trousers—a boring outfit if there ever was one. And yet on him it looked far too appealing. The sleeves were rolled up to expose strong, tanned forearms—how did someone closeted all day doing research get tanned?—and the trousers emphasised a trim waist and long, well-muscled legs.
Zoe tore her gaze away; there was no point ogling her employer. She didn’t want to get involved with someone like Leandro Filametti, who could only see her as the hired help—a drudge to be treated with disdain or at best grudging respect. She knew how that scenario played out. But he was nice to look at.
‘There is a restaurant in Lornetto, the nearby village,’ Leandro told her. ‘We can walk, if you like.’
‘Sounds great,’ Zoe replied breezily, causing a brief frown to pass over Leandro’s face like a shadow. What a stickler, she thought, with a little burst of annoyed amusement. She wondered what kind of research he was doing. He was probably an accountant, or something equally dull.
Yet there was nothing dull about the flash of awareness that tingled up her arm when he took her elbow and guided her down the crumbling steps of the portico. He dropped it as soon as they’d navigated the wrecked stone, but Zoe was still conscious of a strange, shivery warmth where he’d touched her.
She shrugged the feeling away, determined not to be distracted. She hadn’t come to Italy for a relationship; she’d come to get away from one, and she’d do well to remember that.
The sun set as they walked down the lane, leaving vivid violet streaks across the sky, and although the air was still warm and scented with lavender there was a hint of coolness too, as the evening breeze rolled in from the mountains.
They walked in companionable enough silence for a few moments along the lake road—La Ancina Strada, from Roman times, according to the guidebook Zoe had leafed through—until a village—no more than a huddle of stone buildings along a narrow cobblestoned street—came into view.
There was certainly something charming about the scattering of tables under a faded striped awning, Zoe reflected as Leandro guided her to an outdoor café along an even narrower side street. Dusk had fallen, and the night cloaked them in cool softness as he pulled out her chair. There was, she thought with an uneasy sort of pleasure, something almost romantic about the situation.
That notion was quickly dispelled as Leandro took a seat across from her, folded his hands in businesslike fashion and launched into an extensive list of her duties.
‘I’m selling the villa,’ he stated bluntly, ‘as soon as it’s in decent condition. You are required to keep it as neat and clean as possible. I understand the difficulty, since so much of it is in disrepair, but there will be workmen coming in to deal with much of the damage, and as their work continues so yours should become easier.’
Zoe nodded, although she hardly thought navigating workmen, falling plaster and all manner of unknown hazards would make her job easier.
A waiter came, and without a glance at her Leandro ordered for both of them. Annoyance prickled along her spine at this presumption—although she recognised fairly that she knew an appallingly little amount of Italian.
‘What did you order?’ she asked after the waiter had left. ‘Just out of curiosity.’
‘A local pasta dish,’ Leandro replied with a shrug. ‘Made with tomatoes and basil—simple enough.’
Zoe nodded. She wasn’t about to kick up a fuss over something so small, yet it still irritated her that Leandro had ordered for her without even asking. It spoke volumes about how he viewed his station in life … and hers.
And yet, she asked herself, determined to be honest, why should she care? She’d had years of experience in menial work; her impressive listing of chambermaid and waitressing jobs was undoubtedly what had secured her this position in the first place. Yet for some reason, in the enforced intimacy of their situation, it rankled.
‘May I have a drink?’ she asked a little pettishly, and Leandro’s eyes narrowed, his lips thinning in obvious disapproval.
‘The waiter will bring water—were you thinking of something else?’
Zoe almost said she’d like a glass of wine after the day she’d had, but she decided she’d pressed enough. She shrugged her acceptance instead and switched subjects. ‘Why are you selling the villa? Is it a business investment?’
Leandro’s expression hardened briefly and he shrugged in reply. ‘Something like that.’
Zoe took a thoughtful sip from the water glass the waiter had placed on the table. ‘Why is it in such a state?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? No one has lived in it for years.’
‘Yes, but …’ Zoe set down her glass. ‘Why not? It’s beautiful, and it’s the type of property that would go in a heartbeat—or so I would have thought.’
‘You know very much about real estate in the region?’ Leandro asked with an arched eyebrow.
Zoe shrugged. ‘I read gossip magazines. Celebrities are always buying up places like this for millions.’
‘This villa hasn’t been for sale.’
There was an ominously final note in Leandro’s voice that made Zoe wonder what he wasn’t saying. Still, she decided to drop the subject.
‘You mentioned getting supplies in—would I find them here?’
‘Probably not. Lornetto is no more than a fishing village. There is a market town across the lake—you can take the boat.’
‘The boat?’ The idea of jetting across the lake on her own gave Zoe an unspeakable thrill.
Leandro must have sensed it, for he narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you ever driven a powerboat?’ he asked. ‘It is a small one, but still …’
Zoe opened her eyes wide. ‘I’m sure I can manage.’
A