‘It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I mean, if you’d rather be alone.’
He would always rather be alone. Except now, when his heart was splintering from the loss of his uncle and he wanted the distraction ofthis.A beautiful, warm, vibrant woman, keeping his mind occupied.
‘I don’t want to be alone.’
Her lips parted.
‘I just don’t want to talk about my family.’
Her smile was wry. ‘I understand the feeling.’
He didn’t push her. ‘Have you worked here long?’
She shook her head. ‘Just a couple of weeks. So you could say we both changed jobs around the same time,’ she quipped.
He was surprised to feel a smile flash across his face.
‘What did you do before this?’
She swallowed, and something crossed her features that made him wonder about more than just her vocation. He wondered abouther.Her life, her history, what brought someone from a foreign country to Castilona, to work in a hospital as a cleaner.
‘I was a receptionist at a school,’ she murmured, but her voice was strangled, her features tight. ‘Back in New Zealand.’
‘Touchy subject?’
She grimaced. ‘Not really.’
But he saw through her. ‘Phoebe?’
‘Okay, a little.’
‘What brings you to Castilona?’
She hesitated a moment. ‘My birth father is from here.’
He waited for her to continue.
‘I never knew him. He was on holiday in New Zealand when he met my mum. He never knew about me and she didn’t know anything more than his name. She put him on my birth certificate but had no way of contacting him. All I know is that he may be here, somewhere.’
‘And you want to find him?’
She nodded. ‘I was raised to speak the language. My mum even tried to cook some of the more traditional meals. It was important to her that I have access to this side of my heritage even though I never met my father.’
‘She must be happy you’ve travelled here then?’
‘She passed away a few years ago.’ Her voice was carefully controlled, but he could feel the emotion coming off her in waves, and his own grief was so close to the surface that he did something he wouldn’t usually contemplate. He stepped closer and lifted a hand to her cheek. As soon as his fingertips connected with her skin, he realised he’d been wanting to do this from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. She had reminded him of gossamer silk, and in the back of his mind he’d wondered if she’d feel so soft to touch. She did. Her skin was flawless and as he allowed his fingers to glide lower, she closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.
‘Octavio,’ she murmured, and now his name was soft with a plea, as though she were floating and asking him to catch her, to bring her back to Earth.
Only his body was driving him now, making him want to forget his grief, to live in the most vibrant of ways, to exist purely for feeling. His fingers shifted towards her mouth, so he could smooth his thumb across her lower lip. She let out a soft moan.
‘This isn’t a good idea,’ she groaned, but her eyes met his and they were awash with the same sense of out-of-body need that was vibrating inside of him.
‘Do you want me to stop?’
She lifted a hand to his chest, curling her fingers in his shirt as she stared up at him, totally bewildered. ‘I didn’t say that.’
His smile now was tight, his gut rolling with a visceral need. ‘Do you want me to start?’
