CHAPTER TWO
Sandro moved in front of the mirror and applied peroxide to a small cut near his hairline. He winced as the wound smarted. The beautiful, angry woman still stood in the small powder room with him, and he suddenly realized something. “I don’t know your name.”
He frowned as he fiddled with the Band-Aid, trying to get the paper strips off. His fingers were too big “I am Sandro Leone.” He put down the bandage and extended his hand.
She didn’t lift her hand. “What do you mean impossible? Of course you have to leave. I have the rental until January seventh.”
“I have two friends meeting me here tomorrow. It’ll be Christmas Eve.” It had been hard enough to convince them to come in the first place. Any hint of chaos and they’d both cancel and be on their own.
“Go to a hotel.” Her big dark eyes gleamed with determination. Which sparked a flare of heat in his gut. He liked a woman with fire. And the way she’d attacked him suggested that she had more than a few sparks.
“There aren’t any. And who wants to stay in a hotel over Christmas?” He softened his voice. “It’s a big house—ten bedrooms—how many are there in your party?”
She stiffened and pushed an imaginary strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m here on a sabbatical. To write a book.”
“Over Christmas?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “You can’t be alone on Christmas.”
“I can be alone whenever I want, thank you very much.” She crossed her arms over her chest—which threw it into tempting relief. She was pretty, with a high forehead, big dark eyes with long lashes, a proud mouth and smooth brown skin.
And she was here all alone? Over Christmas? He snuck a glance at her ring finger—empty.
Interesting.
And sad. She was far too lovely to be alone. And though she wore a baggy sweatshirt and what looked like men’s pajamas, he had enough experience with women to predict that she had the kind of body that would stop traffic.
“Since it’s such a big house perhaps myself and my friends—there are just two of them—could take over the third floor. The more the merrier, right?”
She lifted her chin. “The third floor has the best view.”
He felt like he was making headway. “Okay, then you have the third floor and we’ll have the second-floor bedrooms.”
“Wait a second, I didn’t say you could have any bedrooms. Call Zadir and tell him he made a mistake. Let him find somewhere else for you.” She handed him another Band-Aid. He took it, deliberately brushing his fingertips against hers. Heat flashed between them—as he suspected it would. From the way she snatched her hand back, he could tell she felt it, too.
“He’s in Ubar. It’s in the Middle East, and there’s a big time difference.”
“That’s a plus. It’s the dead of the night here.”
“And it’s right before Christmas. I’m sure he has his hands full with family and other obligations.”
“Since when do they celebrate Christmas in the Middle East?” This woman seemed remarkable unsusceptible to his usually robust charms.
But he didn’t give up easily. He made another attempt to peel the paper backing off the bandage. These things were made for people with tiny, delicate fingers.
“They had the Christmas party of the century last year. I was there. I know, how about if I pay your rent, so your stay here is free?”
Her eyes sparkled with indignation. “I don’t need your money, thank you.” She picked up the Band-Aid he’d discarded, deftly peeled off the paper and stuck it to his forehead, then pulled her hand back with lightning speed before he could enjoy the heat of her fingers. “What I need is peace and quiet.”
“We’ll be very quiet. My friends are both total geeks. That’s why they need someone like me to make sure they’re not alone at Christmas. I make a pretty decent Christmas dinner. I’ve done it before.” He shot her a winning smile.
She stared at him. “What if I want to be alone at Christmas?”
He studied her face for a moment and saw the hesitation in her eyes, the trembling frustration in her lips. He spoke softly. “Nobody really wants to be alone at Christmas.”
On her blog Serena wrote a lot about “turning frustration into determination,” but she was beginning to hate this guy. “I do. Your wound is bandaged. Please get in your car and leave.”
“But I just drove three hours from the airport and that was after a connecting flight from Atlanta and a nine-hour flight from Zurich. I’m not sure I’m even safe to drive at this point. Can I crash on the sofa until daylight?”
He probably had no idea that she had been sleeping on the couch when he showed up.
Could she really send a stranger out onto the unlit backcountry roads with no sleep? That was not how she was raised. She softened. “Okay. Just until you get enough rest.”
His mouth creased into a smile broad enough to be a little cocky. “I appreciate it. I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”
She shrugged. It wasn’t his fault. “A misunderstanding. Are you hungry?” She started to feel like she’d been a bit harsh. Perhaps she should have tried communicating with him before smashing a vase over him. Still, he’d half frightened the life out of her.
“I ate on the plane so I’m fine, but thanks.”
He had a nice face. Too handsome for any sensible purpose, but a warm, open expression.
Sandro, wasn’t it? He didn’t seem like a total jerk. “I’m Serena.”
She decided to keep her last name to herself in case he was into Googling people. Hopefully, tomorrow morning he’d disappear and no one would be any the wiser that the New York Times best-selling author of a book on Living Your Best Life was holed up on the Georgia sea islands, wishing she could figure out how to follow her own advice.
She turned and left, partly driven by a desire to pick up the shattered evidence of her overreaction and partly to get away from that penetrating gaze.
She hoped the blue porcelain vase wasn’t a priceless antique, because it definitely wasn’t fixable. She collected the pieces in a bag from her trip to the local market on the way here. Sandro crouched down and plucked a large piece from the other side of the arched doorway. “I guess I’m lucky this thing wasn’t made of steel. You packed quite a punch with it.”
“You took me by surprise. I assumed the worst.” She felt kind of embarrassed now. “I’m glad I didn’t have a gun. I’d probably have used it. I’ve watched too many scary movies.”
“It is lonely out here.” He picked up some more pieces and cupped them in the palm of one big hand. “I didn’t realize how far the house was from everything.”
“Not many people know about this area. Most of the locals are Gullah people. This house and two others like it are the only new ones out here.” She’d learned that while looking for the most remote rental house she could find.
“Who are the Gullah people?”
“You’ve never heard of them?” Other people’s ignorance often annoyed her.
“In my defense, I’m from Europe.” A wry smile crinkled his eyes. “A tiny country called Altaleone.”
“Oh. You do have a slight accent now that I think about it. The Gullahs are descendants of African slaves who’ve lived in this same isolated spot for centuries and retained aspects of their traditional culture. It’s a unique and fascinating place.”
“I look forward to seeing it in daylight. I noticed there were few lights between here and the highway.”
She stood up, her bag now full of all but the smallest pieces. Hopefully, she could find a vacuum cleaner somewhere. “Thanks for helping. That was kind of you. Does your forehead hurt?”
He shrugged. “Not much.” His eyes twinkled. “I think I’ll survive.” He emptied the shards from his hand into her bag. “If you don’t mind I’m about to fall asleep standing up.”
“Oh, of course. Do take the sofa.” She gestured toward the one she’d just been sleeping on. She didn’t want him settling into a bedroom. Then she’d never get rid of him. “I’ll be upstairs. Please don’t do anything to frighten the life out of me.”
His apologetic smile disarmed her. “I’ll do my best. See you in the morning.”
An alarming prospect.