After three days in Pepe’s Parisian home she still wasn’t as familiar with the layout as she should be, but she knew her way to the kitchen.
She hadn’t seen much of him since their drive back from the Loire Valley. Instead of keeping her chained to him, he’d had a change of heart and now insisted she be chained to Monique the housekeeper instead. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. What he had actually said, when they’d arrived back at the house after almost three hours of ice between them, was that all his meetings for the rest of the week were in Paris and that she was free to stay at home if she would prefer. Just as she’d thought he was becoming a more reasonable human being, he’d qualified it with, ‘Monique is around during the day. She can accompany you if you need to go anywhere.’
‘Where is there for me to go?’ she’d shot back. ‘I don’t speak the language and I don’t have any money to do anything. Parisian prices are stupidly high.’
He’d shrugged without looking at her. ‘I have a swimming pool and spa—you’re welcome to use them whenever you wish. Besides, if the paternity test proves your child is mine then you’ll have more money than you know how to spend.’
She’d responded by calling him a name that would have made the nuns from the convent she’d attended before moving to England blush.
The following morning he’d made matters even worse by having a top-of-the-range laptop, smartphone and e-reader delivered to the house for her. The e-reader had, from what she’d been able to ascertain, unlimited credit installed. She’d taken a perverse pleasure in downloading as many books as she could, all featuring the most unheroic, misogynistic protagonists that she could find. Hopefully Pepe would receive an itemised bill with all the titles listed for him.
She hated that he would do something thoughtful. It was the same as when he’d driven her home rather than make her fly back in the helicopter. She didn’t want him to be nice. She wasn’t going to be like her mother and forgive deplorable behaviour because of a stupid gift.
Making her way down the winding staircase, she headed for the kitchen. The house was in darkness but for the dim glow of night lights that were strategically placed throughout.
She switched on the main light of the kitchen, blinking several times as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
It felt strange being in there, in a kitchen as large as the house she’d grown up in, feeling as if she were an intruder. She had no idea where anything was but found the fridge easily enough—seeing as it was a whopping American-style fridge large enough to use in a mortuary, it would have been hard to miss.
What she really wanted was some warm milk. Grace’s mother, Billie, would make it for them when she went for one of her frequent sleepovers there. It was comforting. Now, if only she knew where to even begin searching for a saucepan...
The whisper of movement froze her to the spot. Her hand gripped the plastic milk carton.
‘You’re up late, cucciola mia,’ a deep Sicilian drawl said from behind her.
She spun around to find Pepe striding languorously towards her. ‘You scared the life out of me,’ she snapped. Or, at least she tried to snap, but her mini-fright had left her a little breathless. Seeing all six feet plus of semi-naked Pepe also did something to her pulse-rate, but there he was, muscle-bound and gorgeous, and wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans that perfectly accentuated his snake hips and showed his taut, olive chest to perfection. The silky hair that ran from his chest and down in a thin line over his toned stomach, thickened where the buttons of his jeans were undone...