Baby By Accident(48)
“Buongiorno.” Her new husband didn’t even glance her way, his focus on the steaming pan in front of him. He wore an old pair of jeans that hung low on his waist and a plain, red T-shirt with a splashy orange logo for some beer she’d never heard of. The cotton was old, too, and lovingly highlighted his biceps. “Take a seat and I’ll get you some herbal tea.”
She hesitated in the arch of the kitchen doorway. “How do you know I like herbal tea?”
He finally looked her way, his eyes clear and alert, as if sleeping on a couch was a daily occurrence. “I asked your friends.”
The old anger at betrayal surged. “You’ve gotten quite close to my friends.”
“They are a part of your life,” he said with a simple lift of one shoulder. “So, of course, I made the connection.”
“They’re the ones who told you about my wedding plans, didn’t they?”
“Si.” Shifting his attention, he poured hot water into a fat ceramic mug. The smell of mint and orange drifted right into her nose.
Her stomach embarrassed her by letting out a loud rumble.
His black eyebrows rose. “Hungry?”
“Yes.” Before she showed the blush threading up her neck, she turned to the round kitchen table and sat down. “These are odd chairs.”
“Chinese.” He strode over and placed the mug in front of her. Steam wafted into her face. “I found them when I traveled there two years ago on business.”
The back of the chair arched in at the small of her own back and then moved out to provide support for her shoulders. “They’re surprisingly comfortable.”
Vico’s only response was a low grunt, his attention returned to the cooking.
Lise sipped on the tea, wondering what they were going to talk about for two whole weeks. Business? The baby? Having sex? None of those options appealed. At least she had her laptop…wait.
She frowned and stood before walking down the hall to the bedroom. Nothing there. Pacing into the living room, she glanced around, her heart suddenly galloping in her chest.
“Looking for something?” He appeared in the archway, his face bland and innocent.
“You didn’t.” She looked behind the leather couch and the two armchairs.
“Didn’t I?”
Swinging around to confront him, she scowled. “Where is my laptop? And my mobile phone?”
The conniving slug disappeared into the kitchen without answering.
She paced to the doorway. “I need both of them. We’ll have to return to London.”
“No.” He chuckled. “We’re not going back for two weeks.”
“I have to monitor the finances. You know that.” She wanted to go over and punch him, but something in the way he held himself, as if he’d enjoy the contact, kept her from chancing the encounter.
“No, you don’t.” He flipped the pan, four eggs flying into the air before landing with a splatter of butter right back in their place. The elegance of the trick distracted her. The way his sinewy forearms twisted, the way his dark hair swished on his broad shoulders as he followed the eggs with his intent gaze, the way his mouth quirked in a grin when the trick was completed.
Lise took her wandering attention and shook it back into control. “I do. I’m responsible.”
He slid two empty plates from the warm oven. “Sit down and let’s eat.”
“Don’t ignore me.”
“Believe me.” He shot her a look filled with wry amusement. “I never ignore you.”
Amusement, yes. And also a blast of heated awareness. To avoid the message, she sat down on the black wood chair again. “I’ll eat, but then we’ll return to London.”
A red ceramic plate, one that matched the mug holding her tea, landed in front of her. The eggs were accompanied by a mound of thick bacon and several slices of fresh tomato. Her gaze moved further down and took in the fact his feet were bare. Bare and beautiful. His toes were long, nails cut short, a lacing of black hair reaching along the arch.
Ogling his feet? Honestly?
She jerked her focus back to the food. Her tummy gleefully congratulated her on the new focus by giving out another growl.
His laugh came from above her. “Eat and then we’ll talk.”
Why not? She was hungry for the first time in eons and she didn’t want to waste the experience. Nibbling on the bacon, she relished the salty, smoky flavor. The tomatoes were fresh, she could tell by the firm skin and tart taste.
A smaller plate was placed on the side of her breakfast.
His hand rested for a moment on the table, giving her enough time to wander into focusing on him once more. His fingers were long, exactly like his toes. The nails were cut short, too, except this time the hair lingered behind his wrist, making the skin of his hand look like oiled leather. A small, white scar on his thumb only accented his maleness.