Читать книгу Her Final Fling - Joanne Rock - Страница 11

TWO WEEKS LATER, Christine was still cursing Vito Cesare’s insistence that she have pleasant dreams.

Slumping into the ancient tire swing in the backyard after another endless day of working, she stared up at the dark house where Vito worked on his computer and wished she could get a good night’s sleep for a change. But she’d been having so many confounded pleasant dreams of him that she dreaded going to bed lately for fear of the overly romantic plotting of her subconscious mind.

Wrapping her arms around the old tire, she rested her chin on her hands and kicked the swing into motion, every muscle aching from spending her day on her hands and knees finishing the hard-scaping, or structural work for the new landscape. She’d installed new patio blocks and pathways around the property, creating all new foundations and focal points for the colorful tropical gardens she had yet to develop.

But despite her bone-weary exhaustion, she couldn’t help but fantasize about the man she’d shared a house with for the last two weeks. He’d been a perfect gentleman ever since that first night when he’d helped her put away the tools in the workshop. She’d been taken aback by his sudden proximity that night, and could have sworn he’d been about to kiss her. And then…nothing.

A reminder to have pleasant dreams, and then he was off to his own room, staying out of her way day after day while she worked sunup to well after sundown creating the kind of lush foliage and private terrain she and Giuseppe Donzinetti had discussed.

She’d made it her habit to work late every night. Not only because she needed to get a lot done, but also because she hoped she’d dream about him less often if she didn’t run into him in the hallway before going to bed. She opted to clean up in the charming outdoor shower she’d found behind the outbuilding at the back of the property instead. An adorable latticework enclosure complete with wooden privacy screens, the shower stall had to have been built by the Cesare brother who had been into carpentry.

Not only did she avoid Vito that way, but she really enjoyed showering under the stars, sliding into some clean clothes, and then sneaking into the house after Vito was asleep. But tonight she was too exhausted even to make it back to her bed.

A warm evening breeze fluttered through her damp hair as she studied the dark house for some sign of life. It was only midnight and she’d noticed Vito sometimes stayed up until one or two. He left the house for long periods of time during the day, coming home at seven or eight and offering her dinner most nights.

Which she had always refused. Except for earlier in the week when he’d simply brought bags of takeout home and set them on the picnic table for her. Considering his idea of takeout had been Cajun-fried shrimp and jambalaya from a local specialty restaurant, she could hardly have refused. But even then, he’d left her alone to eat in peace.

Which had been very gentlemanly. And, if she was completely honest with herself, maybe just a teeny bit disappointing.

Had she dreamed the mutual attraction of that first day? Or had the chemistry between them been so one-sided it had skewed her perceptions?

Yawning and stretching, she told herself to quit ruminating and just get her butt inside so she could snag some sleep. Then again, maybe if she closed her eyes out here, farther away from where Vito slept, she’d be able to catch a few Zs that weren’t interrupted by sultry dreams. Surely even her romantic subconscious wouldn’t plague her with sexy visions while she was perched in a ring of vulcanized rubber.

After two weeks, maybe she’d found the key to a few hours of sleep that didn’t star Vito Cesare wearing nothing but a pair of gardening gloves and a wicked grin.

FEET SINKING into the soft earth beneath his flip-flops, Vito walked across the yard at 2:00 a.m. to find Christine slumped in the old tire swing, her chin resting on her folded hands. He paused over her, wondering what she was dreaming about. He’d wake her in a minute and steer her to bed so she could get a good night’s sleep. For now he simply indulged in the unique experience of watching her at rest.

Did she think about fire bushes and patio blocks even while she slept? Plants and landscaping seemed to be all she talked about while awake. The few times he’d tried to draw her into conversation over the last two weeks that he’d been back home, she’d quickly rerouted the discussion back to watering schedules and his yard’s soil composition.

All business, in other words.

He studied her face in the moonlight. Swiping a thumb across her cheek, he told himself he was just brushing off a stray hair and not testing the softness of her creamy skin. Although if he had been taking note of what she felt like, he would have had to admit her skin was even softer than he’d imagined. More delicate.

Debating the best way to wake her, Vito skimmed a short brown lock of hair away from her face, exposing the full expanse of her cheek to the moonbeams, along with her tempting pink lips.

He’d been trying to give her space ever since that first night when she’d outlined her boundaries as concretely as if she’d laid her damn paver stones around them. He’d hoped that maybe with time and enforced proximity, the spark between them would develop into something even she couldn’t ignore. But she was either too exhausted to look at him twice or she deliberately avoided him. He couldn’t be sure which.

And since the out-of-town guests would start arriving for the wedding preliminaries in another week or so, Vito knew he didn’t have much more time to make his move. If he wanted to woo Christine, he couldn’t afford to sit back and wait for her boundaries to dissolve any longer.

Tomorrow, he’d pick up his pace for the full-throttle rush toward the finish line and break through those barriers of hers on his own. Tonight, he’d have to settle for cruising one more test lap.

“Christine?” He laid his hand on her shoulder, debating if he should just scoop her out of the swing and carry her to bed. She had to be dead to the world after all the hours she’d been putting in this week.

Then again, he didn’t want to risk scaring her.

“Christine?” he called her name a little louder, looping an arm around her waist to test her reaction.

“Vi-to.” She moaned his name in her sleep, stretching out the word into extra syllables as if savoring the taste of it on her tongue.

His name had never sounded more provocative. And although she still seemed to sleep deeply, with her chin resting on the back of her hand curved around the tire, Vito suddenly felt very, very awake.