by Carrie Elks
‘You’re going out? Where, who with?’ He frowned, sitting up. Like Cesca he was dressed for the sun, wearing a pair of trunks and not much else. His skin had already taken on a deep colour, his ability to tan quickly an inheritance from his Italian mother.
‘With Cristiano,’ Cesca said quietly. ‘He wants to take me out to dinner. I bumped into him in the village this morning. Apparently there’s a restaurant he’d like to look at.’
‘The guy next door? What restaurant is he taking you to?’
Cesca shrugged, flinging an arm over her eyes to block out the sun. ‘I don’t know, some place on the lake. I’m not even sure if I want to go.’
‘Then don’t.’ The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. The thought of her going on a date with that smooth bastard from next door made him feel physically sick. Sam wondered if it was simply protectiveness, the same sort of emotion he’d get at the thought of one of his sisters dating. That had to be it, didn’t it?
‘I already said yes. And he’s been nothing but kind to me, it would be rude to turn him down now.’
‘And last time you went out, he got you drunk,’ Sam pointed out. He was trying to keep his voice even, but it was getting increasingly difficult. ‘What if he does it again and . . . takes advantage of you?’ He spat out the last words. ‘Jesus, Cesca, don’t you even know how to take care of yourself?’
She sat up suddenly. Her face was screwed up, turning a deep shade of red. ‘Of course I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years. And for your information I wasn’t intending to drink at all. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Of course it’s my business.’
She swung her legs around. He tried to ignore their leanness, the way her skin glowed beneath the scrutiny of the sun. ‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’
‘Are we?’ She looked confused.
‘Well, after spending weeks cooped up here together, I thought we were more than acquaintances.’ For some reason her denial of their friendship cut him deep.
‘I know that . . . ’ She trailed off, looking down at her feet. Her nails were painted an eye-catching pink. ‘It’s just I never really know what we are. Boss and employee, combatants, friends. You seem to swing from one to the other without giving me any kind of advance notice.’
‘I do?’ His voice was softer now.
She shrugged. ‘It feels like it.’ A piece of hair had escaped from her topknot and was curling around her neck, reflecting the sun. ‘Maybe I’m not sure how I see you, either. It’s not that long ago that I hated your guts. Every time I heard your name mentioned I wanted to throw something.’
He laughed. ‘That’s understandable. I wasn’t that impressed by you the night we met, either. It’s not the first time somebody’s been disappointed I’m not my father, but it was the first time it annoyed the hell out of me.’
‘I wasn’t disappointed you weren’t your father. I wasn’t exactly keen on meeting him either. And now I’m even less inclined to make his acquaintance.’
Sam turned until he was sitting opposite her. Their knees were almost touching. ‘I thought we weren’t talking about that.’
She smiled. ‘I’m not talking about it,’ she pointed out. ‘You are. You’re the one who brought him up.’
He frowned. She was right. What was it about this girl?
‘Stop changing the subject,’ he said, his face flushing. ‘We were talking about your date. This guy, Cristiano. I don’t trust him.’
‘Why not? He’s a respectable businessman. And even if he wasn’t, I can look after myself.’
He allowed himself to breathe. ‘Yes you can. And that’s the only reason I’m not stopping you from going on this god-damned date tonight.’
She looked affronted. ‘Who do you think you are, my dad? I’m going on this date because I’ve decided to. What you think about it is completely irrelevant.’ Her tone wasn’t quite as angry as her words suggested.
‘If I didn’t want you to go, you wouldn’t.’ He was playing with her now. Enjoying her response, and the frisson of something dangerous between them. It lit him up, like a bonfire crackling in the night-time. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘How would you stop me?’ she breathed. Her eyes were sparkling, her lips full and open. She was a challenge waiting to be met.
‘I could use my charm.’
She shook her head. ‘It has no effect on me.’
He licked his lips, feeling the parched skin beneath his tongue. ‘There are other ways.’
‘What other ways?’ Her knees were touching his. He could feel the smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her body. It was tantalising.
‘I could stop you physically.’
He was aware of her gaze on his body. She was sizing him up, looking him up and down. It took everything he had not to start flexing his muscles.
She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Physically? How?’ Her toes brushed his. It shot a spike of excitement through his veins.
‘I could lock you in your bedroom.’
‘I’d climb out of the window. It’s nothing I haven’t done before. It’s amazing how agile you can be when the landlord comes calling for his rent.’ She was teasing him. He could tell it from the mischievous expression on her face.
‘Then I’d have to tie you up.’ He looked her straight in the eyes. He saw them widen at his suggestion, then her chest hitched with a deep breath. Her eyes, so excited before, became heavy-lidded. It took a moment for her to formulate a reply.
‘That might work,’ she said slowly. The words lingered in the air long after she closed her lips. The idea was like an invisible thread, weaving between them, pulling them together. He pictured her lying on her bed, half-naked, her body bound and trussed.
Jesus, what was going on here?
Her flush deepened, spreading down her neck and to her chest. His eyes followed its progress, lingering on the swell of her breasts. The fabric of her swimsuit was so thin he could see almost everything through it. Including the way her nipples hardened.
‘Would you like me to tie you up, Cesca?’ His voice was as gritty as an unmade road. He was playing with fire. She knew it and he knew it, yet Sam couldn’t help himself. He kept stretching out his fingers until they burned.
‘I’d like to see you try.’ There she was, feisty as hell, staring up at him through half-closed lids. ‘I’m not the sort to get caught very easily.’
‘I bet you’re not.’
She lifted the stray piece of hair, tucking it back into her topknot. The gesture pulled at her chest, making her breasts rise, coming tantalisingly close to escaping from her swimsuit. Sam couldn’t tear his gaze away.
‘I’m up here, you know.’
Finally he looked up, smirking. ‘Oh, I know exactly where you are.’
She tipped her head to the side. Her lips held the hint of a smile, but there was more to her expression than that. She was interested, fascinated, even. The way she was looking at him made Sam want to drag her straight up to the house and to his room.
‘And where’s that?’
‘Sitting opposite me, staring up at me, talking to me when you should be thinking about your date.’
She pulled her lip between her teeth, chewing on it. ‘What makes you think I’m not thinking about my date?’
‘Because you haven’t mentioned his name in the last ten minutes.’
‘You’ve been talking non-stop for the last ten minutes. I haven’t had a chance to form a thought.’
Her sass made Sam laugh. ‘If you were really into him you wouldn’t be sitting here flirting with me.’
‘What makes you say that? A little flirting is harmless, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything, not really. Just a way to pass the afternoon.’
Her denial made his hands curl into fists. Of course flirting meant something, or at least it did right then
. ‘I can’t imagine you flirting with that guy next door like this.’
Her lips curled up. ‘You think I won’t? He’s handsome, he’s funny, and he speaks with the most glorious Italian accent. And he’s rich. There’s that, too.’
‘I’m rich.’
That made her laugh loudly. Her body shook as she chuckled, until Sam found himself joining in. ‘Hey, I can do an Italian accent, too.’ He said it with a New Jersey twang.
‘And you’re funny, don’t forget that.’
He flashed her a sour smile. ‘It’s just the handsome thing, then. He wins.’
‘Oh, as if you don’t know how pretty you are,’ she scoffed. ‘You’re the face that launched a thousand teenage fantasies.’
It was his turn to sneer. ‘Oh come on.’
‘Don’t try to deny it, pretty boy. I’ve heard about the MTV awards.’
He grimaced. ‘The less said about that, the better. And anyway, who wants to be pretty? It’s not exactly masculine, is it?’
‘What would you rather be? Handsome, beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous? I can use those if you like. Either way, you’re a good-looking bastard and you know it.’
‘They’re only looks.’
‘Easy to say when you have them.’
‘Well you’re not exactly hard on the eye,’ he told her. ‘After all, Don Juan next door has asked you out on a second date.’
‘It’s not exactly a date.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Anyway, why do you care so much?’
‘About what?’ He sat back, feeling like he was being found out.
‘About whether I go out on a date or not.’
‘I don’t care.’ He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. ‘I just don’t want to see you getting taken advantage of.’
‘So you offer to tie me up instead?’ She looked up at him. ‘Because that’s not taking advantage of me at all.’
‘I’m not going to tie you up,’ he said quietly, though the image in his brain was still too alluring to ignore. ‘I only want you to be safe.’
Lies, all lies, and he knew it. Cesca probably knew it, too. It wasn’t protectiveness that was making him want to grab her and hide her away. More an intense jealousy that made him want to curl up beside her and hold her until the night was out.
‘I will be safe, honestly.’ She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘It’s only a night out. I’ll probably be back before midnight.’
Sam nodded, but the movement was tight. So she was going on the date, regardless of how he felt. The stupid thing was, he couldn’t blame her. She’d already told him he was blowing hot and cold, like some kind of out-of-control air-con system, and their conversation now had only underscored her point.
He liked her. Christ, he liked her, but he hated himself for doing so. He was like a schoolboy, pulling pigtails, afraid to put himself out there. What was wrong with him?
He pushed, she pulled, she pulled, he pushed, and still he found himself standing on the same, lonely spot. He was losing something that wasn’t even his, and the fact it hurt him was laughable. ‘Enjoy yourself.’ The worst thing was, he meant it. He wanted her to be happy. Just not too happy.
With that he stood up, grabbing his empty glass and the book he’d barely been able to read.
‘I will. Don’t wait up.’
She said it with a laugh, but it still riled him. He turned away so she couldn’t see his expression. ‘I won’t.’ Another lie. He scattered them amongst the truths. Because there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to sleep without making sure she was home. And if she wasn’t then he’d just march next door and drag her home if he had to. He’d probably enjoy doing it, and if Cesca’s flirting was anything to go by, she would, too.
Then he was back full circle. Face to face with the realisation that he was falling for Cesca Shakespeare, when every synapse in his brain was telling him not to. When history had told him that every time he got close to somebody, they let him down.
He wasn’t sure how long good sense would prevail.
It was strange, going through the motions of getting ready. A long, cool shower followed by a heated wrangle with the hairdryer. Then the anxious surveying of her clothes, wondering what she would wear, what he would like. Whether he would think she looked pretty.
But it was the wrong he. Sam, not Cristiano. God, she was such a loser.
It was sinful to be dressing for one man, while getting ready to go on a date with another. Yet she couldn’t help but think of Sam as she slicked her lips with gloss, and ran her mascara wand through her lashes.
She didn’t recognise the girl looking back at her from the mirror. So removed from the Cesca who had closed in on herself, the Cesca who had fallen and couldn’t climb back up. If she could go back to London and tell that girl that not only would she be living in the same house as Sam Carlton, but that she’d actually like him, she’d probably have been told where to go. Yet it was all true.
Their flirting this afternoon had sent a shockwave through her body, and the after-effects were still buzzing in her cells. She felt energised, alive, as if she’d woken up after a long, deep sleep, and now all she wanted to do was run around and laugh.
It wasn’t a laughing matter, though, was it? Not least because she was completely confused by Sam’s constant vacillations. It was like watching a tennis match, her neck was aching from the back and forth, and she wasn’t sure who was winning any more.
Wasn’t certain there could be a winner.
She’d arranged to meet Cristiano at the gate at eight that evening. He’d protested, explaining it was wrong for him not to pick her up at the house, that she was hurting his masculinity. She’d laughed it away, because the last thing she’d wanted was him meeting Sam. Not when he was in the kind of mood he was. She wouldn’t put it past him to say something to embarrass her, or to embarrass Cristiano, but if she was really honest, part of her wanted to see her housemate fighting for her.
But it would do her good to leave the house, to talk to somebody other than Sam. To see the real world out there untainted by his close proximity. She had to be suffering from some kind of Stockholm syndrome, didn’t she? She blushed as she remembered their conversation again and how he’d looked when he’d threatened to tie her up. The mere suggestion had been enough to make her breathless and overheated, the slickness between her legs the evidence of how he’d made her excited.
Yes, she definitely needed to get out of here. Before she did something she might not regret.
Sam was nowhere to be seen when she walked down the stairs and into the hallway, one hand clutching her bag, the other holding the thin wrap she’d slung across her shoulders. Her hair was loose, tumbling in natural waves to her shoulders. It tickled the skin there, bare except for two spaghetti straps, her dress clinging to her torso then flaring out across her hips. Printed with small blue flowers, the fabric came to a stop at mid-thigh, showing off the glowing tan she’d acquired.
Just after eight she left the villa and walked up the driveway, making her way to the main gate. She could see Cristiano’s car there, the man himself leaning on the hood. A pang of guilt hit her for making him wait up there. Still, the alternative was too awkward to contemplate.
Cristiano pushed himself off the car and was watching her, a big smile plastered across his face. In his hand he held the most glorious bunch of flowers, with pale calla lilies surrounded by cascading amaranths. Hand-tied with twine, she could tell simply by looking at them that they’d cost a fortune.
‘You look wonderful,’ he said, as soon as she walked through the gates. Inclining his head, he pressed his soft lips to her cheek. She could feel his gaze as he looked her up and down. ‘These are for you.’
Surprised, she took the proffered bouquet. As much as she’d enjoyed teasing Sam this was a date, she’d really believed it to be a night out with a friend. ‘Thank you, they’re beautiful,’ she said. ‘I should put them in water or something. I can run inside and put them in the basin. I won’t be a minute.’
‘Let me at least drive you,’ Cristiano suggested. ‘Or escort you.’
Cesca was torn. She couldn’t just leave him waiting here again . . . but then what alternative did she have? It would be churlish to simply let the flowers die, and in this weather they were bound to wilt before they’d even left the village.
‘Um, well, OK. But can you wait in the car before I run the flowers in?’
He was unruffled. ‘Of course.’
That’s how she found herself returning to the house within a few minutes, driven by the one man she’d tried to keep away from the villa. Taking a deep breath she ran up the steps, looking back at Cristiano, half afraid he would follow her in. Instead he gave her a wave and a smile, leaning his arm on the open window, his arm hairs bleached from the sun.
Cesca grabbed the hem of her dress, afraid the wind would lift it, her other hand clutching the flowers. She made it into the kitchen before she noticed him. Was already halfway to the basin before he cleared his throat. She came to an abrupt stop, releasing her dress and putting her hand to her chest.
‘I didn’t see you there,’ she said, willing her heart to stop going crazy.
‘Clearly.’ Sam’s voice was dry. ‘You almost ran me over.’ His gaze flashed over the bouquet. ‘That must have been the shortest date in history. What happened, did he make a pass before you even made it through the gates?’
She tried to ignore his mocking tone. ‘For your information, I’m just putting these flowers in water. And then I’ll be going back to my date.’
His smile got wider. ‘He’s here?’
‘No. He’s outside, waiting for me in his car.’
‘What sort of car?’ Sam sounded genuinely interested.
‘I don’t know.’ She felt cross, though she couldn’t understand why. ‘A convertible of some sort. Silver. Nice.’ Leaning down, she grabbed a glass vase from the cupboard beneath the sink.