ButIshouldcare, right? I can’t stop gawking, so a rapid escape is necessary.
“I’m going to use the restroom.” I quickly maneuver myself around his body towards the door, not looking back.
“What, no good morning?” he teases.
I beeline to the bathroom down the terracotta tiled hallway, choosing to ignore him, his large erection, and the fact that he called me by a random woman’s name in his sleep (twice). I open the door and immediately splash cold water on my face. Given my body temperature, I’m shocked the water doesn’t sizzle when it hits my skin. Bracing both hands on the sides of the sink, I let it drip down my chin and count to ten.
After a few moments, I pluck a washcloth from the stack in the cabinet and press it to my cheeks, soaking up the remaining water. I grab the toiletries I set next to the sink yesterday and brush my teeth and hair. Adding some dry shampoo and covering my face in tinted sunscreen, I feel much more ready to face the day—and Giovanni.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I shuffle down the hallway in my cotton pajama shorts and tank top. I attempted a modest short sleeve and pants set around him last night, before realizing it was way too hot for pragmatism.
I slowly crack open the bedroom door and—oh my God—his shirt is off. His back is facing me, and I allow myself to indulge for a moment. Leaning my body against the doorframe, my gaze drags down his body. First, to his expansive shoulders and muscular arms, then to his thick hips jutting out over the elastic of his boxers, and then I finish my eye-fuck tour at his ass.
“Am I giving you enough of a show, or should I spin around?”
Startling, I smack my head against the doorframe.
“Shit!” I yelp, attempting to rub away the soreness in my temple.
“First my shirt at the shop, now my body… You’re quite the objectifier, aren’t you? Maybe I should file a complaint with Lamont,” he muses, slowly turning around. “Get HR involved.”
Instantly averting my eyes so as to not play into his accusation, I scoff. “Oh, please.”
He hums. “Say it again.”
“Saywhatagain?”
“‘Please.’” He winks. “You never say it to me. I could get used to it.”
I did not need the image of naked Giovanni in my mind, but now it’s there, right alongsidesay it again. I actively try not to notice the goosebumps decorating my arms. I can’t go back to the bathroom, so I accept defeat and shut the bedroom door behind me.
“Let’s just not talk while we get ready,” I grumble.
“Why?”
“I just need to find my clothes so I can get out of here,” I mutter, but all of a sudden everything I need in this room has grown legs. I can’t find a single sock.
“Anything I can help with?”
“No, you’ve done quite enough.” I crawl on the floor to look under the bed.
“Looking for those, by chance?”
I stand up and find Giovanni nodding toward a pair of my black panties, which somehow ended up next to his side of the bed. Must’ve happened during my middle-of-the-night heatstroke.
I blush, pick up the panties off the floor. “They were a casualty of my 2:00 a.m. rapid change into something lighter.”
“It was, hmm?” he muses, a twinkle in his eye.
My jaw drops.Where is this flirty tone coming from? And why can’t I keep up?
He pushes off the wall with his shoulder before walking toward the door. “I’ll let you get changed then.”
“And the angels rejoiced,” I reply, throwing on my clothes as soon as the door shuts behind him. After a quick tidy of thethings I scattered while looking for socks, I head to the kitchen for breakfast.
“There’s cornetti and fruit on the table.” Maria gestures to a huge spread of pastries that resemble croissants filled with cream and bowls of grapes and figs. “I would’ve made cappuccini, but Gio said I’m not allowed to make your drinks anymore,” she adds with a blush.
“Giovanni!” I hiss, pinching his arm.
