“You don’t want to.” It wasn’t a question; his feelings were obvious.
He looked down at her. “I can think of a lot of ways I’d rather spend the day.”
Heat flushed her face. “Same.” She felt a hint of guilt for suggesting it. “But isn’t a huge part of this about convincing them you’re happily married.”
He reached out as though he couldn’t not, his finger brushing the bare skin of her shoulder then dropping lower, to the crisp white sheet. His eyes held hers as he began to tug at it, lowering it to reveal her breasts to his hungry eyes. “It occurs to me thatour absence might convince them of this better than dutifully appearing for breakfast.”
“You know, you’re probably right,” she said, and because he had removed the sheet from her body, she reached out and did the same. Unfortunately, he was wearing briefs, but she was still rewarded with a glimpse of his powerful legs and all of his chest. So masculine. So beautiful. She had told him the night before that she was not an artist, but when she looked at him, she felt an overwhelming desire to create. To draw, to somehow show his beauty to the world.
“You are looking at me as though you want to lick me.”
She laughed softly, even as heat flooded her veins. “You’re not wrong.”
“That settles it, then,” he said, moving quickly, bringing his body over hers. The sheet separated them, but it didn’t matter. She felt every inch of his hardness, his planes, his need, and her eyes flew wide. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted anyone or anything more than she did Luca Di Santis in that moment. “Today, we do not leave the boat.”
“Or ever?” she said with an impish smile.
His eyes narrowed, but he dropped his head towards hers, his eyes sparking with something she didn’t understand. “You’ll be sick of me before the year is out,cara.But for now, let us make the most of this.”
CHAPTER 11
IT WAS WATCHING HIM make lunch that reminded her. Something about the way he cut the vegetables for the platter unclogged something in her brain. A memory from a long time ago, that had become buried beneath the urgency of survival and stress.
“I wanted to be a chef,” she said, without thinking, then quickly reaching for her glass of wine to hide her embarrassment at the confession.
He looked at her thoughtfully.
“When I was a child,” she elaborated. “I loved cooking. I used to watch cooking shows on YouTube, all the time. I actually loved Italian food the most.”
“You couldn’t have pursued this?”
She shook her head. “I really didn’t have time to study.”
“But even in a restaurant?”
“I worked in the local diner, but I was a waitress. And the food wasn’t exactly gourmet.”
“Then it’s something you could still do,” he suggested.
Ally considered that. She supposed he was right, but for now, that felt like a thousand years away. She had to get through herone-year marriage first, and then she’d plan out the rest of her life.
“I am serious,cara.You can do whatever you want. You are a Di Santis.”
She rolled her eyes. “In name only, and for one year. It’s not the same as being you.”
“It is, to the rest of the world.”
“So? How does that help me?”
“There are schools in Rome. You could enrol to study.”
“Your house isn’t in Rome.”
“But I have homes all over the world. You could stay in my Rome apartment, while you were undertaking the course.”
She did her best to ignore the ice that seemed to travel the length of her spine, but her teeth seemed to want to chatter anyway. His suggestion was kind. Generous, even. But it was also a suggestion of separation, and despite everything she knew their relationship to be, and not be?—
namely, real—she hated the thought of not being in his sun-drenched villa. Not being by that glorious pool, with the glorious outlook, and this glorious man at her disposal.
