Free The Lamplighters by Frazer Lee Page B

Idiot.
    “I’m Marla,” she replied. “The new girl.”
    “Ah, the new girl. I should have known. I’m Pietro.”
    Marla reached out and shook the hand that he’d offered. His grip was firm but his skin was very soft, almost feminine. Only premium cleaning products could soften a guy’s skin like this—that, and never working an honest day in a lifetime. This guy has to be a Lamplighter, thought Marla, trying and failing to remember what Jessie had said about Pietro. She looked up from his hand to his face. Dark hazel eyes peered back at her from within the frame of his olive skinned face.
    “Let me fix you a drink,” he said as he turned and headed for the house.
    Here we go again , she thought as she followed him.
    Still giddy from her dance, Marla’s eyes wandered. Whoever this guy was, his ass was as pretty as his face.
     
    The drink turned out to be a smoothie. An evil voice in the back of Marla’s head seemed to be crying out for an alcoholic hair of the dog. It would certainly help take the edge off her embarrassment at being found dancing in the garden. Marla managed to ignore the evil voice, instead watching Pietro intently as he chopped bananas and juicy berries and transferred them to a blender. Marla watched as he added a little cream and a handful of ice and hit the button. The blades whizzed loudly and made little purple and yellow waves on the inside of the clear plastic jug. Pietro then poured the concoction over some more ice into a tall glass, added a straw from the cupboard and placed it triumphantly on the work surface.
    Flavors exploded on Marla’s parched tongue and she felt her shoulders relax instantly. She beamed at Pietro with the straw still between her teeth. 
    “You like?”
    “I like,” she replied. “Better than chocolate. You’ve mixed those before.”
    “I was a bartender back home for a while. Then I opened a little smoothie bar, but the local gangsters didn’t like me doing business on their patch.”
    “Where’s home?”
    “Sicily. Palermo. You’ve been there?”
    Marla winced as she remembered her ex, Carlo, and his attempts to lure her away on a dirty weekend to Rome. She’d tried to convince him to spend the money on taking her out to a good restaurant in London for once. He’d gone to Rome without her.
    “No. I’ve never been to Italy.”
    “A shame. Palermo is beautiful, full of art and history. And you can swim in the sea there. I used to, almost every day.”
    “You sound homesick. How long have you been out here?”
    “A little over nine months. Can’t swim in the sea here. It pisses me off.”
    “But you have the pool, right?”
    “Not the same, not even close. The sea is alive, a pool is just dead. Dead water.”
    “I’ve never, erm, thought of it like that myself.”
    Pietro scowled, gulped down what was left of the smoothie straight from the jug, and began methodically scrubbing it clean at the sink.
    Marla decided to break the cool silence that had crept into the kitchen. “Still, it’s a bloody lovely island, you have to admit.”
    He laughed. “Bloody lovely? Whatever you say bella ragazza .”
    “You’re making fun of me now.”
    “I just don’t see the point in being in a paradise if you can’t even swim in the fucking sea, that’s all. Then it’s like a prison. You and I can be here, in a stranger’s kitchen. I can make you a smoothie. But the instant I ask you to the beach for a swim, for a party, Fowler and his fascistas will be there with the handcuffs ready.”
    “Sounds kind of kinky.”
    Pietro snorted. She could see real anger bubbling beneath his indignation now. He was tightly wound, this one. Maybe the island life was not for him.
    “Now you are the one making fun.”
    She enjoyed the way he spoke, though. Bloddy lovvly. He had a softer voice than Carlo’s had been, but the strange clumsiness of his English was very similar. Hell, was she really going to compare the poor guy to her ex-boyfriend all afternoon?