“Mmmm,” I reply faintly. I search around me for any stray bits. “I think that’s all of it.”
He pushes to standing, and from my position still kneeling, I get an eyeful of the cut of his trousers.
By which I mean, the outline of his dick underneath.
I make an involuntary sound of inappropriate desire as my clit does a weird pulse from looking at that bulge.
I scramble to my feet, and now I’m staring at his chest, as though I could cut away his shirt with my laser eyes and see his abs.
There’s an awkward silence.
“I, uh.” I hold out my hands, cupped. I crane my neck to see his face and promptly lose my ability to think straight. He has a sprinkling of grey in his hair too, which somehow only enhances my attraction. He’s mature and sexy. “Your cheese?” This man makes me borderline non-verbal. “The cheese you picked up, I need your?—”
“Let me help,” he says in a deep voice that I feel down to my toes.
I nod and practically run upstairs. In the other bedroom, Francesca is begging and pleading with Alpi.
I approach slowly, crouching down again.
“Here, Alpi.” I hold out a piece of cheese.
“Oh, good call,” breathes Francesca.
The dog pauses in his playing, but doesn’t move.
“Al Poochino,” the man says in a low rumble from behind me. “Take the cheese.”
“Uncle Dante!” Francesca exclaims.
Ohhh, he’s the bride’s uncle. That makes more sense, because he’s got a touch of silver in his black hair.
“I came to see how my favourite niece is getting on, and I found chaos and cheese,” Dante says, catching my eye and giving me a small, secret smile.
Alpi cautiously sniffs the air before approaching me.
“I’m going to take the bag as you give him the cheese,” he says very softly, coming to my side.
The scent of spew must be overwhelming, because he doesn’t surrender his precious bag until he’s right on the cheese. Theinstant he releases it, Dante grabs the bag, and I scramble to my feet.
“You’re such a trouble-maker!” Francesca cries, and picks Alpi up, then turns to us. “Thank you! I’d give you a hug, but?—”
“You get ready and I’ll see you in a minute,” Dante instructs her, and a moment later he and I are alone.
“So what is this?” Dante regards the bag curiously, and lifts it towards his face.
“Don’t open it!” I yelp.
His green gaze flicks between me and the bag, surprised, and I get the impression that no one dares tell Dante what to do.
Then his nostrils flare and his expression changes.
“It’s vomit,” I say, internally cringing so hard I might break a rib. “He was…” I mime shaking my head around and growling like Alpi did.
His mouth twitches with amusement. “I’ll deal with it.”
And then he’s gone too, and I wonder if I’ll get to talk to him again, and emptiness settles in my tummy that the answer could easily be no.
I go to find my boss, who is heavy breathing in one of the lounges, and tell her it’s safe—the smell makes her sympathy-sick apparently—dispose of the unused cheese, and return to the room where the bridal party is getting ready.
