Page 31 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
Several minutes pass while I stand here feeling awkward at his lack of reply and his growing frustration with the hunk of obscenely expensive metal on his counter. In the end I sigh and walk up behind him. I try not to brush against him when I reach aroundhis solid back. I pop open the overlooked box of capsules and select something strong, then I flip the lid on the machine, slot the capsule in and press the ‘start’ button.
“Cup?” I ask, blinking up at him.
“Um, yeah. Here.” He keeps his gaze on me as he passes me a plain white cup. I push it beneath the canopy just in time. Bubbles spit from the pipe, then a steady stream of dark liquid pours out, the smell of fresh Brazilian coffee filling the small room. We both stare at the machine until the cup is full, then Bernadi passes it to me. I wave it away. “I don’t drink caffeine after midday.”
His jaw grinds. Leaning back against the short counter, he wraps his hand around the cup and lets his gaze rest on me with one brow slightly raised.
“When was the last time you had to make yourself coffee?” I say, biting back a smirk.
“About four years ago, right before I got a housekeeper.”
“So, where’s your housekeeper now?”
“I gave her a few weeks off. This place is too small to justify having help.”
I resist rolling my eyes. “How gallant of you.”
I step backward until my spine hits the wall and we’re standing opposite each other, about six feet between us. “So, who burned down your house?”
His gaze penetrates me as he takes a sip of the scorching hot coffee. He doesn’t bat an eyelid. “I don’t know the specific individual.”
“Does it have anything to do with the blood you were washing off your hands the night before?”
His gaze narrows on me until I feel like I’m the only thing he’s seeing. “What do you know about that?” His words sound accusatory but his delivery is soft.
“I saw you,” I say, swallowing. “Through a gap in the door.”
His gaze drops to the cup in his hand giving me a brief reprieve from the weight of his attention.
“Seems to be a thing of yours,” he says, then slowly lifts his lids until I feel like I’m suffocating beneath his scrutiny.
I wonder where my breath’s gone. “What does?”
“Watching people through gaps in doors.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Last night wasn’t the first time you watched me through a gap in a door, was it?”
My heart thumps erratically as an image of him standing in the dining room of Federico’s house flashes through my mind.He remembers?
“No,” I whisper.
He stares at me until my skin burns so intensely I have to look away.
“I suggest the next time you see me through a gap in a door…” He waits until I look back at him. “You keep walking.”
I gulp a mouthful of air. “Why?”
“Because I might start to think you want something.”
I blink and his jaw grinds. My chest rises and fallswith labored breaths and it takes some effort to push myself away from the wall. “I think I’d better go.”
“There’s a car waiting down the street. I’ll have him drive you home.”
“There no need—” I start but there’s a fire in his eyes that stops me.
He places the cup on the counter and I glance around the place one last time. “How long do you think you’ll be living here?” I ask, in an attempt to bring the room temperature down.
