‘Isn’t yours the same?’
‘No!’
‘Huh. Well, now I feel bad.’
‘Oh don’t, I’m not bitter.Much,’ I smile, as I wander into the bathroom. It’s gorgeous, with stylish dark-green tiles, softly lit by a handful of subtle uplighters, an art-deco vibe and a long marble unit with double sinks, which runs the whole length of the room.
‘Even the toiletries are nicer,’ I say, pumping body lotion onto my hands and breathing in a heavenly scent reminiscent of some Tuscan citrus grove. I realise I’ve put a little too much on, as I glance up and see Zach standing at the door, one shoulder against the frame, an amused look on his face.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you are an incredibly sexy woman, Lisa Darling?’ he murmurs.
‘Allthe time, Russo. All the time.’
He smiles. The dimple appears. My heart swoops as he walks towards me, intent in his eyes.
‘I’m all sticky,’ I say apologetically, holding up the lotion on my palms.
He stands square in front of me and takes one of my hands in both of his. Then he turns it over and slides his fingers in a firm, upward stroke along my palm until they reach the soft underside of my wrist. He begins to massage the cream into my skin, along the heart line of my palm, over my knuckles, all the time maintaining an exact, judicious pressure that robs me of my ability to breathe. There is something impossibly sensual about the movement, the way his fingers slip between my own, meandering to the dip that separates each one of them. When he is done with one hand, he repeats the same process with the other, all the while undoing me with his eyes.
‘Better?’
I can only nod. Anything approaching a comprehensible response eludes me.
We find ourselves facing the mirror, him behind me, slightly to the side, a hand on top of mine as it pushes against the cool marble. He brushes my hair away from my neck with the other as I tilt my head and he draws his fingers gently along the stretch of skin that runs from the dip behind my ear all the way along my breastbone. It skims the nub of bone on the top of my shoulder, before caressing the curve down to my arm, my elbow, my wrists.
The whole time, I’m watching him, entranced by the way we look together. His height and strength, how huge he looks next to me. The shape of my body beneath the silk of the dress, the swollen outline of my breasts, the knowledge that the only thing beneath it is a delicate thong and my warm, bare flesh.
He turns me towards him and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he scoops me up by the waist and lifts me onto the marble, making me gasp. The fabric of my skirt gathers at my hips as he runs both hands from my knees, all the way up my thighs, sliding underneath to cup me.
He pulls me towards him and I can feel the strain of his crotch. Our mouths draw together in such sensual fluidity; the polar opposite of what happened in the lift. There is nothing frantic now. It’s dreamy and meandering, an indulgence of the senses, that same woozy feeling when you’ve had too much sun.
He pulls away briefly to undo the top button of his shirt. I have no idea if his intention was to open just the one, to allow some air to his neck. Either way, I take this as my cue to reach up and, with the red gloss of my nails, I pry open the next one . . . and then another. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly. When his shirt is fully open, he wrestles one sleeve off, then the next, before throwing it on the floor.
At the sight of his torso, a pulse quickens between my legs. These are not just abs; they are a work of art. Each muscle is sculpted around his ribs. There is definition in places I never knew existed. A perfect V shape runs from the side of his hips all the way to the hair feathering into the top of his waistband. I have an acute sense of how much I’ve missed body hair on men. You can keep your waxed, perma-tannedLove Islandhopefuls as far as I’m concerned. What a gorgeous turn-on just the right amount of body hair is, a smattering across beautiful pectorals. This is what I want. And although the words sound ridiculous in my head, there’s no other way to say it: he isall man.
He comes in closer. And then—
The knock at his door makes both of us freeze. Our eyes lock.
‘Did you order room service?’ I say quietly.
He shakes his head.
‘I’m sure they’ll go away,’ he whispers, but as he kisses me again, there is hesitancy in both of us. It’s as if the exact same thought is running through our heads. Is this something to do with the kids? Neither of us have checked our phones recently. Why else would someone be knocking on his door at this time of night?
The knocking happens again.
We both pull away.
‘Do you think I should—’
‘Yes,’ I nod quickly. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing but . . . probably best.’
Chapter 34
I wait in the bathroom while Zach goes to the door. He initially tries to look through a keyhole but gives up on the idea and instead says, ‘Can I help?’
‘Oh, you’re still awake!’ It’s Andrea. ‘Have you got a minute?’
