Italian Boss, Housekeeper Mistress. Кейт Хьюит

desk lamp, and with a grim, determined focus bent his head to his work.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ZOE awoke to bright lemony sunshine pouring through the windows, a fresh breeze from the mountains ruffling the rather tattered curtains.

      She lay still for a moment, enjoying the feel of the sun and the breeze, before memories of last night filtered through her consciousness and started to spoil her mood.

      A girl like you.

      You say it plainly enough.

      Leandro Filametti had made it clear how little he thought of her. She shouldn’t be surprised, Zoe knew. She’d faced far worse in her years as a chambermaid or short-order cook, in the endless parade of dead-end jobs she’d determinedly revelled in. Zoe Clark—the girl without a plan.

       Tomorrow will take care of itself, sweetie. Hasn’t it always?

      And with the dead-end jobs had come the leering looks, the men who assumed a girl like her was always on offer.

      And when she’d finally chosen to be involved with someone, to give her body and yet keep her heart safe, she’d still had her ego stamped on. She pictured Steve’s sneering face before resolutely pushing the image away.

      She wouldn’t let Steve hurt her any more—she’d let him hurt her enough already—and she wouldn’t let Leandro hurt her either.

      Except last night Leandro’s carelessly delivered condemnation had hurt. It had pierced her armour of indifference, and she didn’t even understand why.

      Why was Leandro Filametti different? Why did he make her feel different?

      ‘He doesn’t,’ Zoe said aloud, her voice sounding strange, echoing in the empty room. She shrugged off her covers and jumped out of bed, determined to enjoy the beautiful day, so fresh and bright, and not to think about Leandro.

      Not to care.

      She was good at that; she always had been. And now would be no different.

      The villa was silent as Zoe made her way downstairs, stepping through pools of sunshine. She skidded to a halt when she saw Leandro sitting at the huge kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee.

      ‘Sleeping Beauty finally awakes,’ he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and acerbity.

      ‘What—?’ Zoe glanced inadvertently at the clock, and gasped when she saw what time it was. ‘Eleven a.m.!’

      ‘It must be the jet lag,’ Leandro said laconically. ‘In future I hope you intend to have a little less beauty sleep.’ He rose from the table, taking his mug to the sink. ‘If you’re dressed, we might as well head to town. I can’t spend all day fetching and carrying, and it’s already near lunchtime.’

      ‘Fine.’ Zoe pushed her hair away from her face, and her stomach rumbled audibly.

      A smile flickered across Leandro’s features, then disappeared. ‘And we’ll get some breakfast as well.’

      Zoe followed Leandro outside, through the gardens and down to the jetty, to where a weathered speedboat was moored. It was a small craft, clearly meant for functional use, yet despite its age Zoe could tell it was well made and expensive.

      Like Leandro, she thought with a trace of humour. Nothing showy or ostentatious, nothing obvious, yet he still emanated the sort of arrogant assurance that could only come from a lifetime of money and power.

      She repeated that mantra to herself as she climbed into the boat, sinking into one of the comfortable leather seats as Leandro slid into the driver’s seat and the boat thrummed to life.

      Zoe knew she should stay angry with Leandro, remind herself of all the assumptions he’d made, but with the sun sparkling on the water as if the lake were strewn with diamonds, and the day stretched out in front of them filled with enticing possibility and adventure, she found her indignation trickling away … at least for the moment. She slipped on her sunglasses as they pulled away from the jetty. The breeze was fresh, and just a little bit sharp.