That same warmth blossomed in my chest at the thought.
It had nothing to do with Capo being mad at Rocco. It had everything to do with the reason behind it.
Me.
He didn’t want me involved in whatever was going on.
It was the entire reason he stood like a sentry at the door, keeping watch, probably until the morning, or whenever the tailing ships were gone.
Damn…wouldwesink them? Knowing what I did of the Fausti family, I was sure that, if the ships creeping close to our ass got too close, theywouldbecome sunken treasure ships discovered hundreds of years from now.
Despite the thought, the warmth lingered in my chest at the thought of Capo protecting me from the world, and I fell back asleep in the cool room, breathing easy.
It wasn’t the sun glaring through the windows hours later that woke me up again. It was music. “Cuando Me Enamoro” sung by an extremely romantic Italian tenor, his voice coming through the sound system like he was serenading me himself.
A grin that I had no control over came to my face when I’d heard Capo’s shredded voice barely get out, “flores,” as he sang the word with the tenor.Floresmeantflowerin Spanish, and it was also my maiden name, given to me by my adoptive mother and the man who’d been her husband before he died. Even though Capo’s voice was strained when he sang the verse, I could tell he was passionate about it. The rest of the song he let the tenor sing.
Fucka me.This song was so romantic, but in an upbeat way.
I took a deep breath of clean air. The cabin door had been slid open to let in the warm sunshine. No one came on this deck unless we called for them. Good thing, too, or they’d see me naked as the day I was born. I loved sleeping without a shred of clothes on, especially since the sheets felt so good against my skin. I took another breath and smelled…Capo in the air. Fresh water. Salt and sea. If blue had a scent…my husband wore it.
Grabbing for my robe, I slipped it on and found him standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets sliding down his body, and a razor pressed to his jaw. It was one of those old-school ones—dangerous looking against the delicate nature of skin. It slid against his face, a slow but sure stroke, and then he knocked the shaving cream and hair into the sink.
Something about the razor when it glided along his skin made goosebumps pucker my arms. I could only imagine what had happened to his throat, and having something so sharp closeto the scar there made me uneasy. What if the yacht lurched or something?
His eyes met mine through the mirror, and after a second, I realized he was staring at me. I blinked and then smiled at him. When he returned it, his teeth were bright white against his tan skin and dark hair. It was only a flash, but a flash that sent electricity running through my veins. It woke me up like a good expresso would.
“We’re still alive,” I said.
“We’re still alive.”
“Are they still trailing us?”
He turned back to the mirror, going back to his ritual. “Sì.Not for long, though. At the next port we’re getting off, and the treasure will be moved.” A slight tilt of the head, cold metal taking a path down his jaw, then a burst of fragrant shaving cream and hair discarded again. “We’ll be there shortly.”
I nodded, but I wondered briefly if the night was the last those ships would see. The morning, too.
The thought made me go silent, and I continued to watch him as he shaved. One more go, and his eyes met mine again.
“Do it for me.”
It wasn’t a question. I shook my head.
“I don’t know how. I don’t want to hu?—”
“You won’t,” he answered before I could finish. “I’ll teach you.”
He was teaching me so much…about what it meant to truly live, and so much about romance, even if he hadn’t intended on teaching me about that.
With a shaky breath, I took a step closer to the counter, coming to stand before him. He took my hand and placed the handle in it.
“This looks old,” I said, eyeing it with uncertainty. “Not the razor itself, but the style of it.”
“It belonged to my grandfather,” he said.
My eyes rose to meet his, and then a second after fell to the sharpness of the razor again.
“Are you going to grow a handlebar mustache?” His grandfather’s had been pure silver, and against his olive skin, truly beautiful.
