I took another bite of pastry and tried to convince myself that I believed it. Then I stood and walked with determination to the bathroom, where the shower was running.
Time to enjoy my damn vacation.
I knocked once, more for drama than necessity, and pushed the door open.
Matteo’s head whipped around from behind the glass shower door. Water glided down the line of his back, glistening against golden skin and defined muscle. His eyes went wide when he saw me, like I was the last thing he expected and the only thing he wanted.
I leaned against the frame, arms crossed, and pretended my heart wasn’t hammering against my ribs.
I reached for the hem of my tank top, dragging it up over my head, slow enough to catch the way his gaze sharpened. Like he was watching something sacred. Or sinful. Or both.
The tank top fell to the floor with a soft whisper. I shimmied out of my sleep shorts next, standing there in nothing but lace and a rising pulse.
Matteo said nothing, but his breathing changed—deeper now. Hungrier.
I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my panties, holding his gaze as I slid them down.
His jaw ticked. His hand curled slightly against the fogged glass door like he was physically restraining himself from opening it and pulling me in.
The tension coiled between us like a living thing.
I crossed the rest of the space without breaking eye contact and opened the door, stepping into the warm cascade of water and right into the gravity of his body.
My skin sparked as the steam surrounded us, his chest rising and falling, eyes locked on mine like I was both a threat and a promise.
“Good morning,” I murmured, lips curving.
Matteo grinned. “Best damn morning of my life.”
17
MATTEO
Nicola stepped into the shower like she owned it—like she owned me.
Steam curled around her, gliding over bare skin and damp hair, water beading along her collarbone. And I swore I forgot every coherent thought I’d ever had.
“Good morning,” she said, eyes dark and glittering with mischief.
My heart stuttered. “Best damn morning of my life.”
She moved closer, not touching—just letting the air between us buzz. Her hands trailed lightly down my chest, fingers brushing through the droplets of water collecting along my ribs. My stomach tensed under her touch.
“You know,” she hummed, circling me slowly, deliberately, “You talk a big game for someone who didn’t even invite me in.”
Her voice was low, playful. Dangerous. She trailed her fingertips along my shoulder blades and down my spine, then back around my front until she was facing me again. She looked up at me through thick lashes, her lips slightly parted, and the urge to kiss her warred with the desire to let her do whatever she was planning.
I reached for her waist, but she stepped back just out of reach. Teasing.
“Oh no,” she grinned, “You just stand there and look pretty.”
“I think I’m being seduced,” I murmured, my voice hoarse.
“You absolutely are,” she tilted her head and pressed a kiss to my chest. “And the best part?” Another kiss, lower. “You’re going to let me.”
She sank to her knees, slowly, deliberately, water cascading over her like something out of a dream. Her hands trailed down my thighs, and every muscle in my body locked with tension and want.
My hand found the back of her head, fingers threading into her wet hair as she looked up at me with that knowing smirk—like she was about to ruin me and enjoy every second of it.
