Page 7 of Here Comes Trouble
Her eyes widened at the threat, and he wondered for a moment whether she’d be brave enough to rise to the challenge. He sensed from her earlier frustration that she was hungry for an interview with him, so perhaps this would push her to say yes.
He hoped so. He really wanted her to come now he’d suggested it.
She started twisting her fingers together while she thought about it, but when she caught him looking at her hands, she crossed her arms defensively in front of her. ‘Okay. I’ll come to Italy and sit for a portrait, but I want an in-depth interview, not just the usual pat answers you reel out for everyone else.’
He raised an eyebrow. There was no way he was giving her anything deeply private, but he could break his no-discussing-anything-personal rule just this once. It would be worth it if it meant finally breaking his dry spell and getting this exhibition off the ground.
‘Deal.’ He went back into the studio and jotted down the address of the villa on the banks of Lake Garda, which he was borrowing from a friend for a few weeks while he worked on his exhibition in peace and isolation. A complete change of scene was exactly what he needed right now in order to get his head straight. He felt stifled here in London. He craved space and sunshine and fresh air.
Coming back out, he handed her the slip of paper and she took it with a trembling hand. Was she nervous? The thought of it surprised him. She seemed so put-together with her neat clothes and strident manner.
‘Maybe we should formally introduce ourselves,’ he said, flipping her a mischievous grin and smiling as a pink hue tipped her cheekbones. ‘Xander Heaton.’ He extended a hand and she put her own small, cold one into it. Her grip was firm though, which surprised him. Usually women did that limp-handed squeeze that left him feeling like he was an overzealous brute when he shook hands with them.
‘Jessica LaFayette. My friends call me Jess,’ she said, giving him a tight smile.
He grinned. ‘So which should I use? I’m doubtful I’ve made it into the friends bracket yet.’
‘Jess is fine,’ she said. ‘But I might withdraw the privilege if you do something to annoy me.’ She flashed him a more relaxed smile this time, a hint of playfulness flashing in her eyes.
He laughed at that. ‘You have cold hands, Jess,’ he said, enclosing hers in both of his.
‘But a warm heart,’ she said, giving him an apprehensive smile before pulling her hands firmly out of his grip.
She was going to be a fascinating subject to get to the heart of. The mere thought of it excited him. She was exactly the breath of fresh air he needed.
He was finally on his way back to the big time, baby.
2
Twenty-four hours later Jess stared out of the windscreen of her hire car in wonder as the incredible scenery around Lake Garda flew by.
Pamela had been bemused at first by Jess’s claim that she would get a great exclusive out of Xander if she followed him all the way to Italy for the interview, but in the end, she’d agreed to let Jess go if she stumped for the flight and accommodation herself. She was also to visit some of the towns that bordered the lake and write some short ‘Best places to holiday in Northern Italy’ pieces for the travel section while she was there. The magazine didn’t have the resources to send their staffers off to ‘just swan around the Italian Lakes’, or so Pamela maintained.
Jess had taken it on the chin and booked herself onto the cheapest flight she could find the next day and found a room in a rather dubious looking two-star hotel, which was the only place available on Lake Garda at short notice that didn’t cost more per day than the rent on her flat for the entire month.
The memory of the encouraging look on Xander’s face when he’d asked her to come to Italy made her insides twist and swoop. In that moment before responding, she’d thought about what Pamela had said about how she needed to live a little to become a better writer, and how much she wanted to keep her hard-fought-for job at the magazine, and despite hating the idea of sitting for a picture for him – frankly it was her idea of hell to be scrutinised from all angles by a man who made her feel so unsettled – she found herself agreeing to it if it meant he’d give her what she wanted. Strike that – what she needed.
No way was she going to let this once in a lifetime opportunity slip away from her.
Before she’d left, Pam had pulled her to one side and reminded her that Xander was notoriously difficult to interview and that she should try and stay objective. She didn’t say the words, ‘Don’t let him twist you round his finger and into his bed’, but they were very much implied.
Jess had smiled to herself. As if that was ever likely to happen. Flings were not her thing and definitely not with men like Xander.
She had more sense than that.
As the villa where Xander was staying swung into view, she took a deep breath to quell a disorientating surge of jittery excitement as she took in the sight of immaculately landscaped gardens and the imposing seventeenth century building that resided like a noble queen over spectacular views of Lake Garda.
She’d never seen anything so perfectly picturesque in her life.
She could barely believe she was here to spend a couple of days hanging out with Xander Heaton: disgustingly talented artist, womaniser and undisputable contender for sexiest man alive.
Glancing down at the neat, but unfussy, trouser suit she’d put on for travelling, she acknowledged with a sinking feeling that she was not going to fit into his world.
Still, she was determined to make the most of the time she had with him. She just needed to hold her nerve and not let him intimidate her.
Ah, hell, who was she kidding? She was going to be a wreck from beginning to end. The trick was not to let him see it.
She drove up to the front of the house and parked by a long sweep of sandy-coloured stone steps. Swinging the door open, she got out and stretched her back, which ached like hell after being cramped up for hours, first on the plane, then in the car as she’d swung it through the Italian countryside.
