Seduction In Sydney. Fiona McArthurЧитать онлайн книгу.
smell the provolone cheese and the basil. It made her mouth water and he saw. He smiled.
‘We will have a picnic in your tiny back yard. Perhaps you could lay the table and I will serve these.’
So now he was ordering her around in her own kitchen. Was opening and shutting Gran’s cupboards as he looked for dishes to serve from. She couldn’t take it all in. Was bemused by his energy and sudden good humour and becoming fixated on the way his shoulders moved and his biceps flexed as he reached for highly placed articles.
Might be best to leave him to it and grab a checked tablecloth and some cutlery and bolt outside.
The air cooled her cheeks. It was a glorious day. Funny she hadn’t noticed that this morning. Not too hot. Outside anyway.
She glanced over her shoulder and he was singing in her kitchen. She’d never heard a man singing baritone in her kitchen before and she paused as the sound teased her. Made her smile. Chased away caution again because, darn it, it was good to have so much fun.
She set the table with new vigour, wondered about that bottle of cold Chablis she had in the fridge, and a rainbow lorikeet flew down and scratched in the empty bird feeder and then glared at her.
‘Okay. Okay. I’ll get some.’ Gran had always fed the lorikeets. It was a bit early in the afternoon for this bloke but maybe he was having a bad day. She could relate to that.
She almost walked into Marco and he put his hands out to steady her. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘The lorikeet is complaining there’s no seed.’ She tried not to stare at his chest but it filled her vision. She wanted to bury her nose in him. ‘Do you need something?’
‘Glasses. I brought Lambrusca.’
All she could think of was how good his hands felt on her arms. ‘Aren’t you driving?’ No matter she’d been going to offer him white wine.
‘Not yet, and we can have a glass. You keep the rest.’
‘Trying to loosen my morals again?’ She stepped past him and his hands fell.
‘There is nothing wrong with your morals, Emily. I look forward to sharing your lunch.’
That had been rude. She turned back. ‘Sorry. I’m not good at this.’ Then she disappeared into the kitchen.
Marco watched her go. She was very good at this. He was a mess.
He didn’t follow. Gave her a moment to gather her composure. He should not have come but had been unable to stay away. He should know better.
He stared at the brilliantly coloured bird on the steel feeder, iridescent red and lime green and vibrant yellow all mixed in the lorikeet’s plumage as if painted by a colour-hungry child. So much of this country was bright and brash and brilliant so it hurt your eyes.
There might be more pain in store for him here. Seeing Emily’s pain hurt his eyes and his heart when she was upset and his stomach when she was away from him. He should go in and help her bring the food out.
She reappeared before he could move. ‘I’ve brought the wine out. It looks good.’
‘And for after … Limoncello.’ He wondered if she’d like the liqueur and looked forward to her reaction. ‘Nectar of the gods. I will help you carry the rest.’
Soon they were seated, shaded by the tree that hung over the fence from next door, and Marco felt a peace settle over him that defied description and warned him to be careful.
‘Gran always said that tree was the best of both worlds. The trunk didn’t take up any room in our yard and we got the shade.’
He glanced up at the thick, glistening foliage. Little brown birds flitted around in it. ‘Tell me about your gran. Was she a widow?’
‘My grandfather died in the Vietnam War. His family owned this whole block all the way down to the water. There’s a magnificent old home over that fence and this was the dower house. The big house left the family years ago and this little house was left to my gran, and I always think of her here.’
He glanced around and the feeling of peace deepened. ‘No doubt she is here.’
‘I’d like to think so.’
He smiled. ‘My grandmother came from a long line of gypsies and we can tell these things. This tiny house is very beautiful and full of character. Like its mistress now, and no doubt also the one from the past.’
‘Thank you, Marco. That’s a lovely thing to say.’ She tilted her head. ‘So tell me about the gypsies?’
His peace seeped away. Serve him right. ‘There’s not much to tell. My father was not one, yet still we moved a lot.’
She put her chin in her hands. A willing listener eager to hear his exotic tales. ‘It sounds very romantic.’
She would be disappointed. ‘I can assure you it was not.’
‘So what made you want to become a doctor?’
Marco shook his head and realised it would take more to daunt this woman or her curiosity. He owed her a little more than he usually gave.
Why had he become a doctor? Many reasons, but the need had been strong enough to drive him along the hard road his career had carried him. He tried to verbalise it. ‘To help others? To stretch my brain. To find solutions to pain. Perhaps a need to feel worthwhile.’
She frowned. Stretched her hand across and took his. Lifted his palm and placed a kiss in his hand as a gift. ‘Worthwhile doesn’t even begin to describe you and your work.’
Her words made his heart ache and he tried to harden himself against her. As if she knew, she shook her head. ‘All those babies, parents, grandparents who needed your help. Families like us. Like June.’
He shrugged. ‘Everyone does their part.’
She squeezed his hand and then let him go. ‘And some strive to achieve the impossible when others fear to push boundaries.’ She shrugged and smiled at her seriousness.
‘But I see this isn’t helping your mood so instead we will toast.’
She glanced around for inspiration and he watched her eyes light up with amusement. Up went his own spirits.
‘To lorikeets, and harbour boats and wild mice.’
‘Especially wild mice.’ She captivated him. ‘I will certainly toast that.’ He smiled. ‘And I am partial to the idea of your rotor. Cannot help but wonder what could be achieved without the benefit of gravity.’
She blushed and concentrated on her antipasto. ‘See. No fear to push boundaries.’
He laughed and they ate and sipped and laughed again until the afternoon shade brought a chill and they cleared up their picnic together.
The kitchen was small, and smaller still as Marco dried the dishes while she washed, and Emily tried hard not to bump into him. Every time she did, awareness grew, every ‘Excuse me’ made her mouth dry as she reached past, and gradually the laughter of the lunch changed to a slowly rising tension that burned in the pit of her belly and warned her of imminent danger.
Glances collided, hands brushed, and as the last dish dried Emily’s nerves screamed to create some distance or give in.
In the end, Marco took her shoulders and held her. Stared down with those dark eyes, like the coffee she’d made that still sat on the bench. ‘It is not coffee I want, Emily.’
Emerrrleee. She savoured the sound of her name on his lips again. Relished the power in his hands as he held her. Acknowledged the lust that rose like a wraith inside her. She wanted him too.
His hand brushed her cheek. She stepped closer. That was all the permission he needed and once more she was swept up. Spun in the confines of the kitchen, carried across and under the arch into the hall,