WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel Read Online Free PDF

away the mess I’d made at the table. There was still no sign of Rocco and no word from him either. A quick phone call telling me what time he’d be arriving wouldn’t have gone amiss, but then again I don’t suppose Rocco was worried by such trivialities. He’d probably completely forgotten I was coming, anyway.
    Outside, the sky had darkened; it was too late to go for an exploratory wander in the unfamiliar countryside. Instead, I picked up my phone to call Lexi. She’d be dying to know how I was getting on. I tapped in her number. Once and then again, and then a third time just to make sure. She wasn’t at home, nor was she answering her mobile. Typical, just when I was in the mood for a good natter! Alone in a strange house with nothing to do and no one to speak to, what else was there to do?
    I wandered upstairs past the door that led to my bedroom and along the corridor. Really, I’m not the nosey type by nature, but it was such a lovely house and I was just curious to know what I might find behind those closed doors. Like Goldilocks I knew I was heading for disaster, but I just couldn’t help myself. I peeked in awe into each of the four double bedrooms that looked as if they’d been prepared for an inspection from Homes and Gardens magazine, then into the huge family bathroom with its inviting spa bath, his and hers basins and a walk-in wet room. My little shower at home was tiny by comparison. If you dropped the soap, then you really had problems, having to turn into Harry Houdini to retrieve it.
    Finally, I reached the door at the very end of the corridor. I knew instinctively whose bedroom this would be. With my fingers gripping the handle and my heart in my throat, I eased the door open and tiptoed into the vast master bedroom, Rocco’s room. The first thing to hit me was the smell, not unpleasant, but very masculine. Musky and earthy. Eau de Testosterone.
    The room had a lived-in air. There were books on the bedside cabinet, photos dotted on the chest of drawers, a black dressing gown hung on the back of the door and there was a bed of mammoth proportions. On the walls were paintings of naked Rubenesque women reclining seductively in the way of . . . naked Rubenesque women. It felt like an exclusive men’s club and me an unwelcome visitor. Drinking in the atmosphere I twirled around slowly and almost fainted on the spot when I looked straight into the searching eyes of Rocco.
    ‘Christ!’ I gasped.
    On the wall, overlooking the bed, hung a huge canvas black and white print of the master. With his customary intensity, he was challenging the camera, his eyes heavy and brooding. It was a picture I’d seen before, although where I couldn’t remember. Probably on the cover of a magazine or on the back of one of his cookery books. I shivered.
    Returning his gaze, even in the safety of a photo, felt strangely unnerving. He wasn’t traditionally handsome; how could he be with that strong Roman nose? And those wild curls that looked as though they’d never met with a brush. The strong outline of his jaw gave his face a hard edge and those vulpine eyes bristled with danger. Handsome, maybe not. But mesmerising, charismatic and hot? Oh yes, all three with cherries on top.
    I sat down on the bed, sinking into the deep yielding mattress and picked up the books from the cabinet. A biography of the painter, David Hockney, a book on nineteenth-century Italian poets and one on freshwater fishing. I knew Rocco enjoyed his country pursuits, but art and poetry? Obviously he was a man of hidden depths.
    I’d slipped off my pumps and tucked my feet beneath me on the bed, nestling into the pillows. I don’t know how long I sat there, idly flicking through the books, enjoying the last of the daylight filtering through the shutters, but it must have been some time. It only occurred to me when I was startled by a movement in the doorway.
    I looked up and gasped, dropping the book that had been resting on my lap.