bleak. My happy bits cooled off. His expression was utterly bleak. Cold as ice. I could wax poetic about his looks all night, but it wouldn’t change the fact that this man was ultimately a stranger. One who was remote and closed off as a frozen wall. I grew up with men who wore that expression. I’d run from those men. And today, he’d all but run from me. I needed to remember that and keep my distance.
Slowly, I backed away. Down below, Lucian moved around, whether to gather his clothes or swim again, I didn’t know. I didn’t look. I shouldn’t have looked to begin with, shouldn’t have let myself get caught up in the fantasy of him.
CHAPTER SIX
Emma
My little house had a kitchen, but I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever need to use it. I woke from a surprisingly restful sleep, given that it was haunted by images of a certain naked man swimming endless laps, to find the sun shining and my spirits high. When someone knocked on the door, I wrapped myself up in a robe and answered to find Sal carrying a big wicker picnic basket.
“Breakfast,” he announced with cheer.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, taking the basket from him.
“Girl, do not, under any circumstances, say no to the house kitchen.” He wagged his brows. “Trust me; you will be missing out.”
Given the delicious aroma of fresh bread wafting up through the lid, I didn’t doubt his word. “Would you like to share some? I can make coffee.”
“Sure. But there’s coffee in the basket. The house doesn’t approve of drip brew.”
“Wow.” No wonder it weighed a ton.
I let him in, and together we emptied out the contents onto the kitchen counter. Along with French press coffee and fresh rich cream, there was a pot of thick honey yogurt, a plate of glistening fruits—melon, honeydew, and cherries—a small jar of strawberry jam, and sweetly scented rolls.
“Pain aux raisins,” Sal informed me. “Amalie’s favorite.”
“They smell delicious.” I leaned in a little, lowering my voice. “Don’t tell her, but I hate raisins. So you can have at them.”
“Oh, I won’t tell Amalie a thing,” Sal promised solemnly. “But the house has a way of finding out what you like.”
“You say that like the house is its own entity.”
“When it comes to the kitchen, it might as well be.”
I laughed and started to set our goodies onto the silver tray provided. “Does she have a temperamental chef?”
“Very temperamental. But you needn’t worry about him. If your paths happen to cross, I’m certain he’ll be a big pussycat around you.”
“No thanks. I deal with enough egos in my profession.”
Sal clearly struggled with a grin, but he merely picked up the tray, and I grabbed the silver coffee carafe and pretty porcelain cups.
We took our breakfast out onto the terrace and set it on the little café table. Part of me wanted to avoid this spot with its perfect view of the pool, but that was cowardly. Besides, he wasn’t out there now. I tried not to feel disappointed. Or guilty.
“So . . .” Sal took a bite of melon. “What are your plans for today?”
“To do absolutely nothing.”
“Good plan.”
I tasted the yogurt and nearly moaned. Jesus, everything here was spectacular. Rich and creamy with just a hint of honey, it melted on my tongue and woke my taste buds up. A sip of coffee with hints of chocolate and caramel had me sighing in appreciation. “On second thought, I definitely need to fit in some exercise, or soon I won’t fit my clothes.”
“Blame Amalie’s new chef. I’ve put on ten pounds this month alone.” He patted what appeared to be a small potbelly hiding under a billowing silk blouse with a vivid-blue-and-purple pattern.
“Is that Pucci?” I asked, then resumed devouring my yogurt.
“You know your fashion.”
“Alice, one of the costume designers, would talk nonstop about fashion.” My good humor flitted away on the breeze as I realized I had no idea when I’d ever see her again.
Sal must have noticed, because he looked me over with kind eyes. “You miss the show when the season comes to the end, don’t you?”
He didn’t know I was never going back. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t. That didn’t mean I couldn’t admit to some things.
“Yes. Every season, I never think it will be hard . . .” My eyes misted, and I blinked fiercely. “It’s ridiculous, really. An actor’s life is moving from role to role. We