Read Online Breathing Room by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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named Marta seems to be living there now, which I don't like but am prepared to tolerate."
"Marta...Paolo's sister."He spoke as if he'd dredged up a distant memory. "Yeah, I guess that is part of this property."
"I don't care who she is. I paid my money, and I'm not leaving."
"Why are you being kicked out?"
"Something about trouble with a sewer."
"I'm surprised you want to stay, considering what happened between us. Or maybe you're just pretending to be pissed off."
His words jolted her back to reality. Of course she couldn't stay. She'd violated the essence of who she was with this man, and it would be unbearable to run into him again.
A crushing sense of disappointment joined her other painful emotions. In the farmhouse garden she'd experienced her first peace in months, and now it was being ripped away from her. She still had a little pride. If she had to leave, she'd at least do it in a way that wouldn't let him think he'd won. "You're the actor, Mr. Gage. Not me."
"I guess that remains to be seen." A crow cawed a warning note from the gardens. "If you're staying, you'd better keep away from the villa." He rubbed his thigh with the barrel of the pistol. "And don't let me find out you're lying. You won't like the consequences."
"That sounds like a line from one of your horrible movies."
"Glad to know I have a fan."
"I've only seen them because of my ex-fiancé. Unfortunately, I didn't make the connection between his bad taste in films and his sexual wanderlust until it was too late."
Now, why had she said that?
He propped an elbow on the arm of the chair. "So our sexcapade was your way of getting back at him."
She began to deny it, but he'd hit too close to the truth. "Let me see..." He laid the pistol on the table. "Exactly who was the wronged party two nights ago? Was it you, the vengeful female, or me, the innocent pawn in your lust for revenge?"
He was actually enjoying himself. She rose so she could look down at him, then wished she hadn't, because her legs still weren't steady. "Are you drunk, Mr. Gage?"
"I'm way past drunk."
"It's barelyone o'clock."
"Ordinarily you'd have a point, but I haven't been to bed yet, so this is technically still nighttime drinking."
"Whatever works for you." She had to either sit down again or get out of here, so she headed for the door.
"Hey, Fifi."
She turned, then wished she hadn't.
"The thing is..." He picked up the polished marble ball that had been resting on a stone plinth next to him and ran his thumb over it. "Unless you want my fans crawling all around that little farmhouse, I suggest you keep your mouth shut about my being here."
"Believe it or not, I have better things to do than gossip."
"Let's make sure it stays that way." He squeezed the marble ball in his fist in case she hadn't gotten the message.
"Overacting a bit, aren't you, Mr. Gage?"
The menace evaporated, and he laughed. "Nice meeting you, Fifi."
She made it to the salon door without bumping into anything, but she couldn't resist one glance back.
He was tossing the marble ball from one hand to the other, a gorgeous Nero fiddling while Rome burned.
*
The stitch in her side forced her to slow down before she reached the farmhouse. Gravel had sifted through the toes of her Kate Spade sandals, probably the last pair she'd ever be able to afford. She was glad she hadn't crumbled in front of him, but the fact was, she had to leave. If she packed up now, she could be back in Florence by four o'clock.
And then what?
The house came into view. Bathed in golden light, it looked solid and comforting, but also somehow magical. It looked like a place where the vision of a new life could be born.
She turned away and followed a branch of the path into the vineyard. The deep purple grapes, fat with juice, hung heavy on the vines. She picked one and put it in her mouth. It burst against her tongue, startling in its sweetness. The seeds were so small she didn't bother spitting them out.
She pulled off
"Marta...Paolo's sister."He spoke as if he'd dredged up a distant memory. "Yeah, I guess that is part of this property."
"I don't care who she is. I paid my money, and I'm not leaving."
"Why are you being kicked out?"
"Something about trouble with a sewer."
"I'm surprised you want to stay, considering what happened between us. Or maybe you're just pretending to be pissed off."
His words jolted her back to reality. Of course she couldn't stay. She'd violated the essence of who she was with this man, and it would be unbearable to run into him again.
A crushing sense of disappointment joined her other painful emotions. In the farmhouse garden she'd experienced her first peace in months, and now it was being ripped away from her. She still had a little pride. If she had to leave, she'd at least do it in a way that wouldn't let him think he'd won. "You're the actor, Mr. Gage. Not me."
"I guess that remains to be seen." A crow cawed a warning note from the gardens. "If you're staying, you'd better keep away from the villa." He rubbed his thigh with the barrel of the pistol. "And don't let me find out you're lying. You won't like the consequences."
"That sounds like a line from one of your horrible movies."
"Glad to know I have a fan."
"I've only seen them because of my ex-fiancé. Unfortunately, I didn't make the connection between his bad taste in films and his sexual wanderlust until it was too late."
Now, why had she said that?
He propped an elbow on the arm of the chair. "So our sexcapade was your way of getting back at him."
She began to deny it, but he'd hit too close to the truth. "Let me see..." He laid the pistol on the table. "Exactly who was the wronged party two nights ago? Was it you, the vengeful female, or me, the innocent pawn in your lust for revenge?"
He was actually enjoying himself. She rose so she could look down at him, then wished she hadn't, because her legs still weren't steady. "Are you drunk, Mr. Gage?"
"I'm way past drunk."
"It's barelyone o'clock."
"Ordinarily you'd have a point, but I haven't been to bed yet, so this is technically still nighttime drinking."
"Whatever works for you." She had to either sit down again or get out of here, so she headed for the door.
"Hey, Fifi."
She turned, then wished she hadn't.
"The thing is..." He picked up the polished marble ball that had been resting on a stone plinth next to him and ran his thumb over it. "Unless you want my fans crawling all around that little farmhouse, I suggest you keep your mouth shut about my being here."
"Believe it or not, I have better things to do than gossip."
"Let's make sure it stays that way." He squeezed the marble ball in his fist in case she hadn't gotten the message.
"Overacting a bit, aren't you, Mr. Gage?"
The menace evaporated, and he laughed. "Nice meeting you, Fifi."
She made it to the salon door without bumping into anything, but she couldn't resist one glance back.
He was tossing the marble ball from one hand to the other, a gorgeous Nero fiddling while Rome burned.
*
The stitch in her side forced her to slow down before she reached the farmhouse. Gravel had sifted through the toes of her Kate Spade sandals, probably the last pair she'd ever be able to afford. She was glad she hadn't crumbled in front of him, but the fact was, she had to leave. If she packed up now, she could be back in Florence by four o'clock.
And then what?
The house came into view. Bathed in golden light, it looked solid and comforting, but also somehow magical. It looked like a place where the vision of a new life could be born.
She turned away and followed a branch of the path into the vineyard. The deep purple grapes, fat with juice, hung heavy on the vines. She picked one and put it in her mouth. It burst against her tongue, startling in its sweetness. The seeds were so small she didn't bother spitting them out.
She pulled off
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