Page 16 of Resisting Mr Black

He casually brushes his hand across his thigh. “Like I said yesterday, I want to get to know you better. I want to know all there is to Sophie Ward.”

My fingers curl around the edges of the cool wrought iron arms of the chair at his declaration and the sweat from my palms feels clammy against the metal beneath my hand.

“These gardens are better maintained than the inside of the hotel.” He curls his long fingers around the cup and raises it to his lips.

I’m relieved his interrogation seems to have ended but annoyed it’s been rather one-sided. “So, I’ve shared loads of info about me and I still don’t know anything about you.”

His dark brows raise a fraction as he takes a sip of coffee, then he lowers the cup to the saucer. “You haven’t shared ‘loads of information’, but it will have to do for now. What do you want to know?”

Everything.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

A crease appears in his brow as if I’ve asked a really stupid question. “No.”

I want to ask him about the blonde in reception earlier but worry I’ll come across as a jealous weirdo, so I don’t push it. “Have you ever?”

“No.”

Another red flag pops up in my head. “So, you’re thirty and have never had a relationship?” I can’t believe it’s due to the lack of offers and his response confirms my initial impression that he’s a Playboy. A commitment-phobe. A love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t met the right woman… yet.” Those brown eyes are studying me carefully, and he emphasises “yet.”

Excitement and nerves dance in my stomach and I tear my eyes from his because I can’t look at him any longer. I clear my throat. “What about your parents?”

His right eyebrow twitches ever so slightly. “Dad died five years ago. Mum’s still alive. I’m an only child.”

“Are you Italian?”

He takes a while to reply and I get the distinct impression he’s choosing his words. “I’ve Italian in my blood line.”

I sense his guard is about to snap up but I’m on a roll. “What about Art? That’s an unusual name.”

He drags his fingers through his thick hair and his left foot begins to twitch. He doesn’t like being questioned, for some reason. “It’s short for Arthur. My dad’s name.” His brown eyes slide to me. “Enough questions.”

There’s a warning in his voice. He’s telling me rather than asking me to stop. I get the impression I won’t get very far trying to push him anymore today, so decide toswitch subjects. “How come you met with the estate agent this morning, when you told me you were reconsidering selling the place?”

“I arranged the meeting before I came here yesterday and decided to keep the appointment.”

“You changed your mind about selling the place after you visited yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You.”

I stare back at him blankly. “Me? What did I say?”

He shifts round slightly in his chair to face me and my stomach twists as I’m hit with the full force of his beautiful face. “What you said about this place being left to me and it being part of my family history made me think.”

---