He didn't wait for a response, turning and striding toward the bathroom door near the bedroom, then shutting it behind him.
A moment later, the muffled sound of running water filled the suite.
Giana let out a breath, and the tension in her shoulders eased. She wandered toward the archway leading to the bedroom, peering inside.
Rodrigo's bedroom was as starkly elegant as the sitting room. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, covered in dark blue, luxurious linens.
A heavy oak armoire stood against one wall, and another door presumably led to a walk-in closet. The only personal touch was a large, framed black-and-white photograph of a storm over Venice on the wall.
Giana stared at the bed. The thought of sleeping there, surrounded by his scent, felt intensely intimate and forbidden. The warm and dangerous heat was back in her stomach.
This is insane. You can't be having this reaction to him after so long.
Shaking her head, she retreated to the sitting room. The fire was burning steadily now, casting a warm, golden glow. She sank onto the sofa Rodrigo had just made up and held her hands out to warm them.
A short time later, the water shut off in the bathroom, and Giana did her best to ignore the sudden flutter in her stomach.
The bathroom door opened, carrying the clean, herbal scent of soap before Rodrigo emerged. Giana's breath caught.
He was shirtless, a black towel slung low around his hips. Water droplets glistened on his skin, tracing paths over the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, catching the firelight. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist, the muscles of his abdomen etched in sharp relief. Dark, crisp hair dusted his chest, trailing down in a fine line below the towel.
But it was the ink that held her gaze. Intricate tattoos of swirling patterns that resembled stylized ancient architecture, geometric designs reminiscent of fortress walls, covered his upper arms and shoulders. A raven was inked across his left pectoral muscle, its eyes seeming to gleam in the low light. The art was beautiful and brutal, just like him.
He was drying his hair with another towel, his movements easy, unaware of her scrutiny for a moment. Then his gaze found her, frozen on the couch, and he stilled, the towel pausing mid-rub.
Time slowed. The crackle of the fire was the only sound. The air hummed with a sudden, electric charge.
Giana's face flushed hotly, but she couldn't look away. The raw masculinity of him, the sheer physical perfection marred only by a few pale, thin scars, one high on his ribs, another snaking over his right shoulder blade, was overwhelming.
It wasn't a simple attraction. This was a visceral punch to the gut, worse than any blow she had taken in training.
Beneath the shock, something else stirred. An old, familiar itch deep in her fingers. The urge tocapturethis. The play of firelight on wet skin, the stark lines of muscle and ink, the contrast of strength, and the unexpected vulnerability of him standing half-dressed in his own space. The angles of his face, the intensity in his eyes that was fixed on her.
She hadn't felt the desire to draw, to create, in years. Not since she had graduated from university and he had given her the laptop to take down Gabriella.
Art had been her escape, her solace, the one normal thing she could cling to when her world was burning down. After she had graduated, Gabriella was always breathing down her neck, and the creativity in her had died. The numbness that had followed felt like a limb had been severed.
But now, staring at Rodrigo, the dormant artist in her woke with a jolt.
Sketch him, it whispered, fierce and sudden.Capture the monster and the man. Capture the contradiction.
Rodrigo lowered the towel from his hair. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes held hers, intense and searching. He didn't move to cover himself. He just stood there, allowing her to look, the water still gleaming on his skin.
"See something you like?" His voice was low, a rough caress in the quiet room. There was no mockery in it, only a dark, knowing amusement.
The flush on Giana's face deepened, fueled by the sudden, unexpected rush of creative hunger and the lingering memory of his body pinning hers.
"Just assessing you for potential weaknesses," she retorted, her voice steadier than she felt. "For future reference."
Rodrigo's lips curved into a slow, genuine smile. It transformed his face, softening the harsh lines, making him look younger and less troubled. He took a step closer, the movement bringing him fully into the firelight's glow. The tattoo of the raven seemed to ripple on his chest.
"Dangerous pastime," he murmured. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his damp skin and smell the clean, soapy scent mingling with his own warmth.
His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up to her eyes, holding hers captive. "Perhaps I should demonstrate a few more vulnerable points?"
The suggestion, wrapped in that low, velvety voice, sent a shiver down Giana's spine that had nothing to do with fear. Her pulse hammered against her ribs.
He took another half-step, closing the distance further. The air between them crackled, and the playful tension shifted, thickening into something hotter, more charged. He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. His knuckles grazed her cheekbone, a fleeting, electric contact.
