Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire Read Free Page A

to deal with at all, Cass concluded with amusement.
    As she walked back to the house she glanced at the upstairs windows. She could just imagine all that brute force naked beneath the shower. She’d always had a down-to-earth attitude when it came to men and sex, though living in the remote beauty of the Lake District with her godmother had hardly provided her with a wide pool of men to choose from. And when she had chosen, she’d got it wrong. She’d had one or two unsuccessful attempts to make a go of a relationship, but the men had disappointed her in a way she couldn’t really explain. There had been nothing wrong with them. They just hadn’t fired her imagination, and she had always dreamed of being swept away.
    One thing was sure, nothing could have prepared her poor frustrated body for the arrival of a force of nature like Marco di Fivizzano.
    Sheathing her knife, she wiped a hand across the back of her neck. Would he need a cold shower after meeting her? Somehow she doubted it. She guessed she was more of a wasp he’d like to swat than a beautiful butterfly he’d like to do other things with. Sex radiated from him. Even clothed in what had to be the most expensive tailoring known to man, there was something primal about him—something dark and hidden at his core—an animal energy that suggested he would consider any woman fair game.
    But not this woman.
    Because she had more sense?
    It was time to stop daydreaming and get on with making his meal.
    * * *
    He took an ice-cold shower. His senses had received an unexpected jolt thanks to a most unlikely woman. He smiled grimly as he soaped himself down, imagining the type of chaos she would be creating in Maria’s pristine kitchen round about now. He could only hope she’d washed her hands. He didn’t care for soil in his food.
    He shook his head and sent water droplets flying. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a towel. He felt refreshed—reinvigorated. Food followed by a few hours of vigorous sex would suit him perfectly, but it would take more than an untried girl to tempt his jaded palate. Pausing by the window, he stared out. His eyes narrowed with interest. Maybe he’d written her off too soon. She was sheathing a knife like a female Indiana Jones, and her capable, no-nonsense manner fired his senses.
    * * *
    She beat the living daylight out of the eggs. She had to do something to calm herself down before Genghis Khan arrived. It didn’t help that all sorts of wicked thoughts were parading through her head—some including a spatula and a pair of iron-hard buttocks.
    What was wrong with her?
    She cleaned off the egg spatter from the wall, only for her thoughts to wander off in a new direction—to the day when she had made her first omelette. She’d been six years old and hungry. She knew now that the eggs needed watching or they’d catch and become bitter and inedible. Her first omelette had been black but she’d eaten it. She’d been hungry enough to eat the pan as well. She’d seen enough domestic disruption to last her a lifetime, and had her godmother to thank for knowing her way around a kitchen now. Anyone as sensible and good-humoured as Cass could learn to cook, her godmother had insisted when Cass had expressed doubts.
    Cass had lost confidence when her parents’ lives had descended into drug-fuelled chaos, but her godmother had rebuilt her brick by brick; cooking and gardening, nurturing and caring, providing the cure. These activities that were at the root of everything good, her godmother had explained, and the rewards were not only plentiful but you could eat them as well.
    That had been the start of Cass finding pleasure in watching things grow. And that was why she knew she could deal with Marco di Fivizzano. Nothing he could throw at her could compare with Cass’s life before she’d lived with her godmother. There were no whirlwinds in her life now,