Paradise Nights: Taken by the Bad Boy. Kelly HunterЧитать онлайн книгу.
you’re good,’ he said in admiration.
‘Yes, I am.’ Her accompanying grin rammed that particular point home. ‘Now you. If this wasn’t a strictly platonic dinner deal where would you have taken me?’
‘For you?’ He didn’t have to think hard. ‘The Trevi Fountain in Rome. I’d buy you a gelato and give you a bright new penny so you could toss it into the fountain and make a wish. And then we’d walk wherever our feet took us—a sidewalk trattoria or a bustling restaurant— and everyone in the room, myself included, would say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for beautiful sirens in sky-blue dresses.’
‘Oh, you’re very good,’ she said wistfully.
‘Thank you. I aim to please.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ she murmured as she slid the bucket back beneath the tap. ‘You interest me, flyboy, I’ll give you that. There’s just one thing I can’t quite figure out. Something that doesn’t quite fit your carefree and extremely appealing image.’ She smiled archly and sent a shaft of heat straight through him. ‘What you said to Sam … the way you listened to him, helped him … the way you told him to get back to you.’ She turned and headed for the door with a sway to her hips that was truly distracting. ‘It was nice.’
CHAPTER TWO
NICE? Nice? Pete Bennett had been called a lot of things by the women who sauntered through his life, but nice had never been one of them. It didn’t feel like a compliment. Okay, so he could, on occasion, be nice. Nothing wrong with that. But what if nice mutated into caring? What if caring morphed into really caring? Then where would he be?
Nope. Better to disabuse the bucket goddess of all nicehood fantasies immediately. Rolling his shoulders back for good measure, and with the spell she’d woven about him still clouding his mind somewhat, he headed across the courtyard after her.
The kitchen in the whitewashed cottage consisted of a fridge, a sink, a wall full of shelving laden with fresh food and a square central bench that doubled as a table. Simple, cosy, and, to Serena’s way of thinking, all about the food. She’d put a chicken—liberally seasoned with garlic and oregano—in the oven earlier, along with half a dozen salt-licked potatoes. A loaf of crusty bread and the fixings of a salad sat on the bench waiting to be sliced, diced, and tossed into a bowl just before serving. Serena came from a family of cooks, chefs, restaurateurs, and foodies. Cooking might not have been her first love, or even her second, but in her family there was no excuse for poor cooking.
Pete had followed her into the kitchen and now stood leaning against the doorframe. Judging by the dangerous gleam in his eyes, he’d used up his daily quota of nice on Sam. Serena didn’t mind a bit.
Nice was a bonus, certainly, but sexy, playful, and thoroughly entertaining would do just fine.
‘Call me curious,’ he said, ‘but if renting Vespas to tourists isn’t your lifelong ambition, why do it?’
‘Family,’ she muttered, taking a chunk of feta from the fridge and setting it on the bench alongside a wickedly sharp cutting knife. ‘All the grandchildren do a six-month stint helping out here. It’s my turn.’
‘What happens when all the grandchildren have had a turn? Does it rotate back to the beginning?’
‘Theoretically, that’s when the great-grandchildren step up. Unfortunately, the oldest great-grandchild is currently six and Nico and I are the last of the grandchildren. I think everyone was hoping one of us would fall in love with the lifestyle and offer to stay on indefinitely. Nico might,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘But not you?’
‘No. One more month and I’m gone.’
‘Where?’
“Well, now, that will depend on the jobs going at the time.’ And her chances of landing one of them. ‘I’m a photographer by trade. When it comes to education I majored in languages, with a slice of international politics on the side.’
He didn’t look as astonished as some. The ones who thought that, with a face like hers, she was far more likely to be on the other side of the camera. The ones who thought that, with a body like hers, brains were an unnecessary extra. ‘Right now I’m working on a postcard series for the Greek tourism authority but as soon as I finish my stint here I’ll be chasing a photojournalism slot, preferably with one of the global media groups.’
‘You’ll do well,’ he said.
‘I will?’ She couldn’t quite hide her astonishment. Not the usual reaction when she told someone her plans.
‘Yeah. Your looks will get you noticed, your intellect will tell you when there’s a story to chase, and your people skills will get you the information you need. It’s a good choice for someone with your particular skill set.’
Serena sliced the bread, sliced the cheese and stuck them together before holding it out to him with a smile. ‘Just for that you get an appetiser. Possibly even dessert.’
He took the sandwich with a grin. ‘I hear it’s a very competitive field. You’ll need ambition as well. How bad do you want it, Serena?’
Bad enough to have queried every major global newspaper and some not so global ones about upcoming positions every month for the last five months. ‘Trust me, I’ve got the ambition thing covered. Maybe in the past I’ve let family commitments keep me from pursuing this type of career, but not this time. This time I’m determined to get where I’m going.’
‘Just as soon as you get off this island,’ he said with a hint of dryness that she chose to ignore.
‘Exactly.’
‘So technically speaking, apart from the Vespas, the postcard photography, and keeping an eye on your grandparents, you’re a free agent this coming month.’
‘That’s me.’ Damn but he was appealing. ‘And my grandparents are visiting both sides of the family on the mainland at the moment. They left this morning, so you can count them out of the equation for a couple of months. You?’
‘I’ll be flying these skies until Tomas recovers the use of his leg. Six.eight weeks. Maybe longer.’
‘And then?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s an offer from an Australian mining company to run a charter-flight operation for them in Papua New Guinea. It’s a good offer.’
‘Yes, but is it ethical?’
‘What they’re doing or what I’d be doing?’ he countered with a quick smile, and Serena figured she had her answer.
‘So you flit,’ she said dryly. ‘From one flying job to another.’
‘I like to think there’s a big-picture plan somewhere in amongst it all,’ he said mildly.
‘Ever thought about settling down?’
‘You mean some place permanently or with a woman?’
‘Either.’
‘No.’
Serena closed her eyes, muttered a prayer. As far as potential short-term romantic interludes were concerned, the man was utterly, mouth-wateringly perfect.
‘Did you just whimper?’ he said, eyeing her closely. ‘I thought I heard someone whimper.’
‘No whimpering here.’ Much. ‘What can I get you to drink? Water, wine?’ She gestured towards the glass of white wine already on the bench. ‘I’m already set.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, just headed for the fridge. She thought it best to keep busy, keep that whimpering to an absolute minimum. Water, wine, she grabbed both and set them in front of him. ‘Help yourself.’
He did, reaching for a couple of tumblers on the shelf nearby before pouring water for them both. He snagged another