“What?” My voice came out soft, something I hadn’t intended.
His voice came out the same when he said, “I like when you get consumed like this.”
“How can you not? Here?”
“Some people are more appreciative than others. Still interested even when they’ve seen ceilings and floors made of gold. Danced on them even. Curious, even after a life filled with experiences. You have a verve for life, baby. It makes me feel alive. Makes me see, not only look.”
“It’ll do?” I lifted my brow, repeating the two words he had repeated to me on more than one occasion, when our surroundings should have impressed him but didn’t.
“Nothing will do, unless you’re the one showing me. Marriage is a good teacher.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” I said.
“I know.”
A soothing peace filled the space between us, until someone in the villa started to play music. “Inamorata.”
“I know you danced to this song with Marzio,” Brando said. “But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t see or feel dead people on this trip.” He fixed me with a stern eye. As though I could stop it.
“I’ll try…” My tone came out questioning.
He grinned. “Did being on the back of my bike make you hungry, Ballerina Girl?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“I can tell. You keep sniffing around the stove. You’re on the hunt for Italian foods,” he almost growled. “Tell me what you want to do first. Eat or find our room.”
“Eat. I smell fresh pasta and wine. At least without our riding jackets and the helmets we won’t suffocate. And we can take our boots off. Then we can see if Matteo has graced our room with a naval.”
“I’d prefer atetta.”
I gave him a soft slap to the head. He grinned all the way to the table, the salty sea air enchanting him already.
* * *
Our room was as delicious as lunch. Light and airy, it boasted tall ceilings, apricot-colored tile floors, cream stone walls, and two towering wooden doors that were opened to sea and mountain, allowing fresh air to saunter in and out. Views ofLi Galli archipelagocould be seen perfectly from our spot in the world.
A slight breeze picked up, stirring the potted plants on the terrace and the bougainvillea climbing the outside walls, then tumbling in and tickling the small tendrils of hair against my overheated face; it felt like cool aloe to a vicious burn.
I looked up over the bed, its white duvet bright and inviting in the brutish sunlight, and stared at my grandfather's art. Neither naval or breast, it was the curve of a woman's pinkish pale hip, a slippery slide made for a man's large hand.
Taking a deep breath, I felt the heaviness of the heat, of a satisfying lunch, the lemony vodka that made me grin, and the coating of salt that crusted my skin. Eucalyptus and lavender floated out in a fog from the bathroom. Brando had started up the shower, waiting for me to join him with our clean clothes and toiletries.
Sunlight streamed in from the open door, illuminating the green and blue tiles, the crystal shower doors, and the gorgeous Italian standing naked underneath the spray, eyes closed, hands out to brace his weight against the relaxing rainfall of water. His thick hair hung limp in his face, as black as night, and his tan skin shimmered like darkened copper in a fountain made for making wishes. His sharp nose came down to a point. A slight flare of his nostrils sometimes gave him an even fiercer look.
Somehow when he was wet, he seemed even more dangerous. His hair and eyes were darkened to coal, and his skin almost glowed from the caress of the sun. When he smiled, a shock of white, perfect teeth contrasted with the facial hair outlining his jaw and lips.
He was an Adonis. Meant only for me. In winter, I became his Persephone. In summer, I was his Aphrodite.
He was as hard as granite, and it wouldn’t take much to shift the tide and turn him on. His passion was as wild as his rage. One or two strokes of my hand, a kiss from my mouth, or our eyes connecting would be all it took. I hadn't touched him and he was hard—a tool meant for pleasure that could bring me to the brink of pain and then back with one stroke. My womb quivered in remembrance.
Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the fragrant eucalyptus, which seemed to heighten my senses, making me feel more invigorated. But the lavender seemed to be doing the opposite. A desperate need to sleep in his arms clung to me like the thin purls of steam.
“You’ve been doing that all day,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. His eyelashes were so thick and long that they fanned out against his chiseled cheeks.
The items in my hand almost fell to the floor. I blinked at him a few times. Iridescent pearls of mist had settled on my lashes. “I—doing what?”
“Staring. Like you’ve never seen me before.”
