and take care of her, he was doing it himself. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known. He was calm and sure, always confident, giving her the feeling he could handle any problem that came along—that he would handle any problem—with his cool efficiency.
“Do you want me to carry you or do you want to try to walk? It’s a bit of a distance.”
His arm had already slid around her, making her feel safe. Sometimes when she walked across the room, she felt as if she was listing to one side with the weight of the straps holding her shoulder in one place.
“I’d like to walk.”
What woman wouldn’t want to be carried by Vittorio? The feeling she got when she was cradled close to his chest was indescribable. When he moved, it was like floating through the air. Still, she had to be rational and start doing a few things for herself—like walking. She also wanted to check out the house and start paying attention to Vittorio—really get to know his likes and dislikes. She had the feeling that he was very particular in the things that mattered to him and she wanted to know every single thing she could about him. It was time she started giving back to him, especially if he meant what he said about a relationship between them. Sometimes she thought she might have hallucinated that conversation.
Vittorio didn’t protest her decision to walk, but stayed on the side of her good shoulder, his hand resting on the small of her back. That was so like him. She loved that he always made her feel as if she wasn’t alone. Just by being close he gave her the illusion of safety. She glanced down at the floor, a beautiful cherrywood in contrast to the high ceilings, glass and white walls. For the first time she realized he was barefoot.
Her breath caught in her throat. Vittorio Ferraro was barefoot. She had never seen him in anything but his three-piece suit and exquisitely polished shoes—at least she didn’t think she had. Had she been too self-absorbed to notice him dressing informally in his own house? She glanced down at her own feet. She had clothes in the closet, thanks to him, but she hadn’t thought about shoes. She normally wore heels to work, but at home, she was much more casual, preferring bare feet, but that was because after wearing heels all day, she couldn’t stand anything on her feet.
Vittorio was wearing faded denim that looked soft and vintage, with a few real threadbare spots, as if he’d owned the jeans for a very long time. They were button up versus having a zipper and the top button was undone. They rode low on his hips and shaped the powerful columns of his thighs. She liked his casual look. His shirt was tight, stretched across his thick chest, as if every muscle was straining to break free.
She searched for something to say that made sense, so she wouldn’t blurt out how much she liked his casual clothes. “I need to call my boss.”
“That would be a good idea. Katie has called several times, mostly to inquire about your progress, but I could hear a sense of urgency in her voice this last time.”
She liked that he didn’t protest her needing to check in with her boss. She didn’t want to think he was trying to take over and control her life. “I’ll call her after breakfast.”
She made an effort to pay attention to where they were going. The house was so big with so many doors that she was really afraid if she was left on her own, she’d get lost. Already, she could smell freshly brewed coffee.
“I missed half the rooms we passed because I was looking at your feet.” If he didn’t have her hand pressed to his ribs, she would have slapped it over her mouth. So much for not blurting out ridiculous things.
“I’m looking at yours. I think my feet are at least twice the size of yours. Maybe more.” There was amusement in his voice.
His ability to find humor in things was one of the most endearing traits about him. She flashed him a smile and then regarded their feet as they walked along the gleaming floor. He was right, her foot was probably half the size of his. “How tall are you?”
“At least a foot taller than you,” he pointed out.
She made a face at him. “I suppose I’ll have to concede