The Baby Gambit. Anne Mather
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sure a man of your—importance has better things to do.’
‘Straight to the point, as always,’ he remarked, pressing his palms down on the warm stones at either side of him. ‘Did you enjoy your trip to Viareggio?’
‘How did you—?’ Grace began to ask the obvious question and then broke off abruptly. He had evidently seen her get off the bus, and if he was familiar with the timetable he would know which bus it was. She took a deep breath. ‘Very much, thank you.’
He straightened then, and for a taut moment she thought he was going to touch her. But all he did was push his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, arching his back reflexively, before turning to face her.
His eyes swept over her, from the top of her bare head—she had stowed her hat in her tote earlier—to the toes of her scuffed trainers and all points in between. Then he said, ‘Come on,’ when her cheeks were pink and she was intensely conscious of her sunburned knees and the untidiness of her braid. ‘Get in the car. I’ll give you a lift.’
Grace took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want a lift.’
‘Yes, you do.’ He glanced about him dispassionately. ‘Come along. I’m parked in a no-waiting area. You wouldn’t want me to have to pay a fine, would you?’
Grace tilted her head. ‘I couldn’t care less,’ she answered, and his mouth compressed with impatience.
‘What is your problem?’ he demanded. ‘Did I bruise that fragile ego of yours? It’s no sin to admit you need a rest.’
‘I didn’t need a rest,’ said Grace, clenching her teeth, but she could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her. For God’s sake, she wished she’d kept on walking. She’d have been almost at the villa by now.
‘As you say,’ he declared dismissively. ‘But I still insist that you get into the car. Now, do you want to do it without my assistance, or would you rather I picked you up and slung you in myself?’
Grace’s jaw dropped. No man had ever threatened to pick her up before. With her height, and not entirely sylphlike form, she had always been too daunting a prospect, and she stared at him as if she didn’t believe a word he said.
‘It’s not necessary,’ she said at last, annoyed to find that he had disturbed her. Not in a sexual way, she assured herself, but there was no doubt that he’d made her look at him in a different light.
‘But practical,’ he pointed out reasonably. His lips twisted. ‘Do you want Julia to think that you don’t trust me?’
Grace straightened. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one most likely to persuade her to do as he asked. She most definitely did not want Julia to think she didn’t trust him. To do so could create a rift between them she feared might never be breached.
‘Oh—if you insist,’ she muttered ungraciously, and pretended she didn’t see the mocking smile that crossed his face. Striding to the car, she jerked open the passenger-side door before he could do so, curling her long legs beneath the dashboard and wishing she’d been wearing anything else but shorts.
He joined her moments later, the gear console providing a welcome barrier between them. But Grace was still uneasily mindful of his nearness and the not unpleasant scent of his clean male sweat. It was infuriating, she thought as he flicked the ignition and the engine came to life again. It wasn’t as if she was lacking in experience where men were concerned, yet his sensuality and casual sophistication left her feeling strangely immature.
‘I trust you’re using a sun-block on these outings,’ he remarked as he put the car into gear, and Grace immediately spread her tote bag to cover as much of her burning knees as possible.
‘Of course,’ she said, although in truth she hadn’t put any of the cream on her legs. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘But you think I am?’
Grace looked quickly at him and away. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ He shrugged. ‘But I have to wonder what Julia has said to you about me for you to have such an unfavourable opinion of me.’
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Julia hasn’t given me an unfavourable opinion of you.’ She swallowed. ‘You must know she thinks you’re—’ She found it difficult to find a suitable word. ‘Marvellous!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ She looked at him again, convinced now that he was simply baiting her. ‘What is it with you, signore? I can’t believe you’re so desperate for compliments that you need to hear them from me.’
His short laugh lacked humour. ‘As I said before, you don’t believe in pulling your punches, do you, cara?’ He slowed to accommodate an elderly couple who were crossing the street in front of them and received a wave of acknowledgement in return. ‘And if it’s not something Julia has said, then I can only assume that you have taken an instant, and inexplicable, dislike to me. Am I right?’
Was he right?
Grace looked down at her bag, smoothing her long fingers over the folds of canvas, trying desperately to find an answer. She could hardly tell him why she’d taken such an aversion to him. Not without betraying Julia’s confidence, at any rate, and she couldn’t do that, however tempted she might be to explode his myth of superiority.
‘I don’t know you, signore,’ she said at last, and earned a slightly disbelieving glance from those deep-set dark eyes. ‘I don’t,’ she insisted, feeling some relief at having found a reasonable explanation. ‘And I’m not used to being familiar with men I only know by reputation.’
‘By reputation?’ He groaned. ‘Heaven protect me from women who judge me by my reputation!’
He was laughing at her now, and Grace was overwhelmingly relieved to see the gates of the Villa Modena up ahead. She realised she had no idea how to deal with him, and she was seriously worried that he was having far more of an effect on her than she would have ever dreamed possible. Indeed, she was afraid that half the antagonism she felt towards him stemmed from her own unwilling attraction towards him, and it was obviously wiser for her to ensure that she was never in this position again.
‘Anyway,’ he said now, his voice deepening to a softness that stroked her tortured nerves, ‘we can easily remedy that.’
Remedy what?
For a moment, Grace’s mind was blank, but then comprehension dawned. ‘I think you’re making fun of me,’ she said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Oh—’ As if she was surprised! ‘Here we are.’
‘Just a minute.’ His hand closed round her arm, and although it was the last thing she wanted to do she was forced to turn and look at him.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Grace...’ The way he said her name caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle in sympathetic response. ‘Look, I’m not making fun of you.’ He paused. ‘It’s obvious we’ve got off on the wrong track—’
‘Foot.’
‘What?’
‘It’s foot,’ said Grace awkwardly, wishing she’d never interfered. ‘People get off on the wrong foot,’ she added, her face burning. She shook her head at his expression. ‘It’s not important.’
‘If you say so.’ His thumb rubbed distractingly against her sensitive flesh. ‘Whatever—you’ve obviously got the wrong impression of my intentions.’ His eyes darkened with disturbing warmth. ‘I’d like us to be friends, no?’
No!
For a moment, Grace thought she’d said the word out loud, but his face hadn’t changed so she knew she hadn’t done anything so foolish.
‘Um—well, of course,’ she began,