My hand moved up the hills and mountains of muscle on his arm as I studied the details of his tattoos, a sword that was used by gladiators, words written in Latin I didn’t understand, and when my eyes moved to his chest, I saw the outline of Sicily ... right over his heart. “That’s cute.” I traced the outline of the island like I could feel the mountains and the sea beneath my fingertips. “It must have taken a long time for you to do all of this.”
“I started when I was young, to my mother’s horror.” A little smirk moved over his lips. “It’s a miracle she’s still alive, raising two boys identical in every way you can imagine.”
“Well, your sister seems nice.”
“Because she’s an angel,” he said. “Did well in school. Helped out at home. All about the family.”
She’d been nice enough to me, but I could tell she preferred Isabella. She wanted only her as her sister-in-law, not anyone else. Now that I knew they’d hooked up some time recently, I understood why his sister still hoped they’d find their way back to each other. And that was probably why his mother didn’t show preference, because she had no idea.
If she did know, would that have changed anything?
His hand left my hip and moved to my flat stomach, cupping it like a husband touched his pregnant wife’s belly. “Hungry?”
“Why? Can you feel it rumble?”
He smirked. “A little.” His hand continued to rub over my skin, and while I should feel self-conscious with him touching me like that, it made me feel somewhat petite. “Want to go out?”
“I dunno. Kinda tired.” Now that I was in this warm bed with this gorgeous man, I didn’t want to leave.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything.”
He left the bed to fish his phone out of his pocket, his rock-hard, tight ass on display.
I wanted to bite a chunk out of it.
He came back to bed with the phone and fired off a quick message before he set the device on the nightstand. “Be here in about an hour.”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“You ordered from one of those food delivery apps?”
“No. Told my assistant to do it.”
“You have an assistant?” I asked in slight surprise.
“Yes.”
“Like ... a female assistant?” He seemed so self-sufficient that he wouldn’t need an assistant. But I forgot he had a demanding job, so he probably did have help. Help with his home, groceries, laundry, all kinds of stuff.
Amusement moved into his gaze. “You need time to heal, and now you’re jealous?”
“I’m not jealous. Just curious.”
“You’re in luck, because I don’t employ women.”
“You don’t? Seems a little sexist.”
“Maybe. But my intentions are good.”
“How so?” I asked.
“It’s a dangerous business. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them. I like women a hell of a lot more than men, so ...”
“Because you can’t help yourself?”
