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She had her back to the door when a key turned in the lock and it opened. She swung round in surprise to find Rafe Marchese letting himself into the house. He was carrying a couple of bags and the delicious aroma of newly baked bread came to her nostrils. She had thought she wasn’t hungry, but she’d been wrong.
‘Making yourself at home?’ he remarked lazily, putting the bags down on the pine table. He was wearing khaki cargo pants this morning and a navy body-warmer over an open-collared Oxford shirt. There was a disturbing glimpse of dark body hair showing in the opening, and his shirtsleeves were rolled back to display forearms that were deeply tanned and also spiced with hair.
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