The villa is perfect—perched on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, surrounded by lemon groves and bougainvillea, with walls high enough that no one can see into our private paradise. Which is good, considering I haven't worn clothes in two days.
Inside, I can hear Santino moving around, probably looking for me since I slipped out of bed while he was still sleeping.
The sliding glass doors open.
"There you are," his voice carries across the terrace, rough with sleep. "I woke up and you were gone. Thought maybe you'd finally decided to leave the villa and explore."
"Why would I do that when the view is so good right here?" I don't open my eyes or move from my position, sprawled out like a cat in the sun.
I hear his footsteps approaching, then stopping abruptly.
"Damn," he breathes. "Liana, you're—"
"Naked? Yes. We have a private pool, Santino. I'm taking advantage of it." I crack one eye open to look at him. "Unlessyou're going to tell me that's not appropriate for a married woman?"
He's standing there in just his gray sweatpants, hair messy from sleep, staring at me like he's never seen a naked woman before despite the fact that we've spent the last few days doing very little besides being naked together.
"Appropriate?" He laughs, moving closer. "I don't give a damn about appropriate. I'm just trying to figure out how I got this lucky."
"You married me," I point out. "After I spent weeks trying my best to drive you insane."
"You still drive me insane." He sits on the edge of my lounger, his hand immediately going to my hip, tracing patterns on my sun-warmed skin. "Just in different ways now."
"Better ways?"
"Infinitely better ways."
I stretch lazily, enjoying the way his eyes track every movement of my body. "You know, this is almost like that honeymoon I suggested. Remember? The resort in Jamaica? The clothing-optional resort?"
His hand stills on my hip. "I remember. I was scandalized."
"You were horrified," I correct, grinning at the memory of his face when I'd suggested it during one of my attempts to shock him into ending our engagement. "You looked like I'd suggested we join a cult."
"You suggested we go to a swingers resort for our honeymoon," he says dryly. "I think my reaction was reasonable."
"It wasn't a swingers resort. It was clothing-optional. There's a difference."
"Not much of one in my mind." His hand starts moving again, sliding up my ribs. "The thought of another man seeing you naked made me insane. But I'll admit, the clothing-optional part has its appeal. As long as it's just the two of us and no one else gets to see you like this."
"You’re possessive," I accuse, but I'm smiling.
"Absolutely." He leans down to kiss my shoulder. "This view is mine alone. Which is why I'm keeping you locked up in this villa for the entire two weeks. Can't risk what you might do if I actually take you out in public."
"Afraid I'll drag you into trouble?"
"Terrified," he says against my skin, his lips moving lower. "This villa is the only place you're going for the foreseeable future. Just you, me, this pool, and absolutely no clothes required."
"What about that elaborate itinerary you planned?" I arch slightly as his mouth finds the curve of my breast. "Museums, restaurants, historical sites, wine tastings—"
"Fuck the itinerary," he mutters. "I'd rather stay here and worship my wife."
"Santino Marcello cursing and abandoning his plans?" I thread my fingers through his hair. "Marriage has corrupted you."
"You've corrupted me," he corrects, looking up at me with dark eyes full of heat. "Completely and thoroughly. I had two weeks of cultural experiences planned. Educational tours. Five-star dining. Everything a proper honeymoon should include."
"And instead?"
"I can't stop touching you long enough to leave this villa." His hands slide down my sides, over my hips, spreading mythighs. "Can't stop wanting you. Can't think about ancient ruins when you're right here looking like every fantasy I've ever had."
