FABIANA
The sauna was heaven.I was lying on the top bench, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily over the edge, when the door opened.
Cool air swept over my damp skin. I pushed up to my elbows to see who it was and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Cosimo stood in the doorway, shirtless, nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his waist.
I gawked at him. My gaze drifted over the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his stomach, and the sharp V of muscle disappearing beneath the towel. The crown of thorns wrapped around the base of his throat was only the beginning of a dense network of dark ink that splayed over his golden skin. The tattoos wrapped around his torso and climbed over one shoulder and down his arm.
My mouth went dry. It was one thing to feel that body press against me in the tiny storage closet that I returned to in my dreams. It was another to see it in all its naked glory.
When I finally managed to lift my eyes to his face, his brows were drawn together, annoyance dancing inside his gaze.
“Out, Nettle.”
There was a version of me that would’ve scrambled to leave, that would’ve accepted his tone at face value, but that version of me wasn’t around anymore. She’d vanished when he trusted me with his secret at the wedding, when he’d kissed me at the altar like he’d forgotten the entire church was watching.
So I didn’t quite believe the annoyed veneer anymore. Not when there was something tense beneath it. Something strained. Almost wary.
My heart pounded as I shook my head. “I was here first.”
His jaw tightened. I readied for an argument. Cosimo Ferraro didn’t strike me as a man who gave up territory easily, especially not in his own house. He hovered on the threshold, his hand on the door handle, and without meaning to, I let my gaze drift down again.
Three years. He hadn’t slept with anyone for three years. I didn’t think men like him—young, fit, virile—dealt well with that kind of thing. How did he manage?
Maybe he takes good care of himself.
Another rush of cooler air slipped inside, brushing over my burning cheeks. “You’re letting out all the heat.”
His eyes narrowed. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “It’s big enough for the two of us.”
It was big enough for ten, but it sure didn’t feel that way as he crossed the sauna and sat on the same upper bench as me. Notbeside my feet where there was a lot more space, but near my head. Close enough that if I turned slightly, the top of my head would brush his thigh.
“Seriously? There’s plenty of room.”
“This is my spot. You’re welcome to move.”
“And this is mine.”
“You’ve been coming here often enough to have a spot?”
“Every day.” I closed my eyes, because the view of his boulder-like shoulder and the cord of muscle running up the side of his neck was enough to make my pulse race in an unhealthy way.
“You didn’t mention you liked saunas when we’d talked before the wedding.”
“I didn’t, until I was forced to live in Arctic conditions.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the temperature in this mausoleum of a house. I have to write over two hundred thank-you notes for the gifts from the wedding. A quarter in, my fingers were turning blue and my teeth were chattering.”
“You couldn’t put on a sweater?”
“I put on two. And wrapped myself in a blanket.” I cracked one eye open, immediately regretted the view of his bare chest, and closed it again. “What’s the deal? Are you trying to save on your heating bill? Having financial problems? I’m starting to think you married me because of my trust fund.”
A quiet huff of amusement left him. “The cold keeps me sharp.”
“You’re barely even home. Why should the rest of us have to suffer while you’re not even here?”
