“The burgundy one, but I’ll carry it.” She marches over to the suitcase and picks it up.
“Why when you have this hunk of testosterone here, willing to do it for you?” I gesture at myself with my thumb.
“Because it’s mine,” she says simply. “And ‘hunk of testosterone’? I couldn’t let that one go.” Her eyes dance.
“My PT calls me names like that. He thinks it’s motivational.”
She snickers. “I see.”
“Don’t make a hashtag out of it.”
“Would I?”
“We both know you would.”
She holds two fingers aloft. “I promise I won’t. Scouts’ honor.” She lifts her case.
“You’re sure I can’t take that?”
“I’m fine,” she insists.
I lead her up the wide staircase, keeping an eye on her. By the time we reach the first landing—some twenty-three steps up—she’s gone all red in the face from the exertion.
I reach for her bag. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Letting out a heavy breath, she raises a hand in surrender. “I’m not quite as fit as I thought. So, here you go, self-named hunk of testosterone. Be my guest.”
“My PT, remember?”
We make our way up to the third floor, where I take her to the room that’s usually Amelia’s. The door creaks as I push it open, and as we enter the darkened space, I pull back the drapes and light floods inside.
“This is so pretty,” she says, looking around at the floral wallpaper, the wrought iron bed, and the writing desk by the window.
“It’s my sister Amelia’s room.”
“The princess has good taste. I can work at the desk, too.” Turning to me, she adds, “I’ll be very happy here for the next two nights.”
“Three,” I correct. “Then we need to be back in Villadorata.” I place her suitcase on the ottoman at the end of the bed as Toffee appears, sniffing her way across the room.
“Should I tip you?” Her luscious lips are curved in a smile, the green of her eyes pronounced by the flush in her cheeks.
And then it hits me. The room may be pristine, yet untouched by her, but knowing it’shersmakes the surrounding air suddenly seem different. In a few short hours she’ll be here, alone, brushing her hair or removing her glasses or pulling the sheets back to climb into bed.
It's a glimpse into her private side I should not be having.
As much as I prefer this version of Fabiana, as much as I feel this increasingly strong pull to her, I should have no business thinking of her as anything but the journalist here to do a job.
And now she’s looking the way she looks, her easy smile lighting up her beautiful face, the outline of the curves of her body visible under her slim-fitted clothes, and it’s clear what I must do.
Get out of here before I say—or do—something that would be wildly inappropriate, possibly even jeopardize the entire project with her.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, my lips tight as I turn to leave. “Come on, Toffee.”
Toffee darts past me into the hallway.
Fabiana places her hand gently against my sleeve. “Thank you, Max,” she says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago, making me want to turn around and collect her in my arms, to tell her how much I want her, how the feelings I have for her are growing and growing.
I can’t.
