Kept by the Spanish Billionaire(17)

‘I’ll get some bread. Sit down.’

Amy obediently sat at the kitchen table, which was a chrome and granite testimony to expensive modern living. She wondered how a humble gardener, non humble though he might be in character, could afford such luxury and decided that James must foot the bill or, rather, his mother who owned the house.

‘Interesting…’ She couldn’t help herself. She held up the nutty roll and twirled it thoughtfully between her fingers.

‘The roll is interesting?’ Rafael asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee and swinging round one of the chairs so that he could straddle it and face her.

‘Very interesting.’ Amy’s voice was loaded with intent. ‘Involved in the food business as I am, I would suggest that this is a home-made granary roll, not your average supermarket all-air-and-no-substance look-alike…’

‘Where are you going with this?’

‘Straight to this question…’ She slit it open with her fingers and dived into the most delicious breakfast of pâtè and bread she had had in years. ‘How does the gardener afford a fridge full of the finest food money can buy?’

Rafael, having seen fit to economise with the truth when it came to his identity, could now only think on his feet.

‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a man of taste, whatever my profession, and as you can see I have no family on which to spend the money I earn.’ That much was true enough at any rate.

‘What happens if you do decide to…you know…get married, start a family? I mean, I know you said you’re no Romantic, but even boring pragmatists eventually meet the right woman and get married…What I’m saying is this…would you have to leave this fantastic place?’ She had a dreamy mouthful of pâtè and nutty bread and looked at him as she ate.

He really was striking, in a rough sort of way. Charmless, of course, she told herself, quickly remembering the way he had snapped to her about his ‘personal space’, as if he believed he had every right to dictate.

‘I can’t believe the extent of your nosiness,’ Rafael said wonderingly. ‘Trust me when I tell you this—should you ever grow bored with the catering business, then private investigator would be right up your street.’ And what did she mean by boring pragmatist?

‘It was just a question,’ Amy said, hurt. ‘I didn’t think I was invading your precious personal space. It’s no wonder you can’t get soul mate lady gardener to share your life with you! Not if you make a habit of jumping down people’s throats the minute they ask you a perfectly normal question!’

‘I don’t happen to be looking for a soul mate, lady gardener or otherwise,’ Rafael grated, thinking of cool, sophisticated, attorney ex-girlfriend Elizabeth. ‘And to answer your perfectly normal if incredibly nosey question, yes, the house is mine whatever my personal circumstances.’

‘Wow.’ Amy finished the last of the roll with some regret.

Which signalled the time for her departure, Rafael thought. And he could get down to some work. He had overslept, a first for him considering he had often worked through the night and had successfully made do with a couple of hours’ sleep before facing the day with spring in his step. He could only assume that listening to a ranting emotional female was a hell of a lot more stressful than closing a deal.#p#分页标题#e#

‘Still…I guess you must find it a bit…difficult in some ways…’

It was like seeing a trap lurking in the distance, knowing that the simple way to sidestep the threat would involve just one simple manoeuvre, and yet pushing on straight into the ambush, eyes wide open. Rafael knew that he should just ignore her loaded, obscure remark and hustle her out of the house and yet…

‘I have no idea what you’re on about now,’ he told her, getting an annoyingly speculative once over for his remark.

‘Well…’ Amy remembered his ‘personal space’ remark and realised, before she did her usual and spoke without thinking, that she was on the verge of crashing through his Do Not Enter sign with a resounding bang. She stood up, glanced around for her ruined sandals, which seemed to have been put through a wash cycle and now appeared unwearable, and walked towards the door.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to go now and leave you in peace, if you don’t mind pointing me in the right direction. I think I can manage the walk back now!’

‘You’re too late to catch any of the day trips,’ Rafael told her. For some reason it irritated him that she hadn’t finished what she had been intending to say. What was even more irritating was the fact that she had not been trying out the coy ploy by leaving him hanging on. No, he got the feeling that she had, at the last minute, reconsidered voicing her thoughts because she felt sorry for him. In the great scheme of things, no one felt sorry for Rafael Vives. At least not the Rafael Vives who inhabited the rarefied world of the extremely wealthy, the extremely powerful and hence the extremely respected.