“Emily,” she murmured drowsily. “My name is Emily.”
Sabato’s hand stilled. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”
She smiled slowly. “There seemed to be more important things to focus on.”
“I see,” he nodded swiftly, and resumed his sponging of her body. “It suits you.”
“It’s my grandmother’s name. We call her Milly though. To avoid confusion.” Her words were weak from tiredness.
“How old are you, Emily?” He repeated his question, adding more lotion to the loofah and transferring to her shoulders. Emily shuddered as he brought it down over her breast and washed them. Though his touch was gentle, her skin was raw from his ministrations.
“Twenty two.”
More guilt. More of the good Sabato chastising the bad. Her eyes lifted, but it was slow, as though the lids were weighed down. “And you?”
“Thirty one.”
She reached out and ran her fingers down his cheek. She stared at him thoughtfully, her expression impossible to decipher. Until she yawned, and then finally, he understood. He needed to let her sleep. No matter how much he wanted to keep making her face contort with pleasure, her body writhe beneath his, he needed to let her rest.
He reached down and pulled the plug, then grabbed a fluffy towel from behind the door. “Stand up,” he commanded.
“I don’t know if I can,” she half-joked, gripping the side of the bath for support. Her body was weak from the sensations that had been crashing against it all day.
He made a noise deep in his throat and reached into the bath. He lifted her against his clothes, barely noticing that she was soaking him. He placed her on the end of the bed, then returned to the bathroom to retrieve the towel.
Gently, he dried her, moving softly over her body. He wanted to stir her feelings up anew. At this proximity, it was almost impossible to resist moving his hand over her core another time. But she yawned anew, and he suppressed his own desires. He lifted her again, this time, placing her in the middle of the bed. “You need to sleep,” he whispered.
She nodded, wearily. “I should go home. I have things to do.” Her voice was slurred, as though she’d been drinking. She was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Watching her was soporific.
“What things?” He pried, taking advantage of her state of relaxation.
“Work and getting ready for work.”
Curiosity sparked in his chest. What work? Something other than waitressing? Housekeeping? “What do you mean?”
“I have to be back at five tonight. To work.”
And though he’d spent the last few hours driving her to the edge of sanity and beyond, he felt angry at the very idea of her working again. Another long shift in his hotel would mean she had to leave him. He shook his head. He couldn’t allow it.
“Go to sleep, Emily. I will wake you.”
“You aren’t going to join me?”
He paused at the door. Now that was a seriously tempting offer. He looked at her naked form and made a couple of snap decision. Perhaps if he’d thought them through more fully, he might have realised that he was yet again allowing a certain part of his anatomy to guide his mind.
But he didn’t. “I just have to make one call, then I will return.”
Emily fell asleep with a smile on her face.
He dialled his assistant’s number by heart. “Alexandra, I’m at The Hanover. I need you to arrange for a member of their staff to take the weekend off.” He realised, as he was speaking, that he didn’t know Emily’s surname. It was a common enough moniker, and it alone would not be enough to free her from her work commitments. His eyes landed on her handbag and he reached inside, pulling her wallet out. It was small and pale pink. Soft, like her. He smiled as he pulled her drivers licence out. “Her name is Emily Parker and I have arranged alternative plans for her weekend. Please make whatever excuses you need to. Oh, and Alex? Be discreet.”
He needn’t have issued the last directive. Alexandra had worked for him for years, and in that time, she’d handled all manner of requests on his behalf.
He slid Emily’s wallet back in her bag with a sense of satisfaction, then walked towards his bedroom. Of all the women he’d seen that night, she alone had taken his interest. And she was in his bed. Sweet, responsive, sensual Emily Parker.
Sabato stripped down to his boxers, pausing only briefly to admire her sleeping form before slipping in beside her. The bed was comfortable and he’d been up for thirty hours. He should have drifted off to sleep almost instantly. But knowing she was there beside him was a drug akin to caffeine. His brain was firing, his body was energised. He propped up on an elbow, and stared down at her face.
What about her had made him so crazy with lust? She was beautiful, but so were lots of women. Petite, graceful, and self-possessed, he’d marvelled at the way she’d concealed her obvious disapproval of so many of the boring conversations she’d overheard. Almost concealed her disapproval, he should have said, for he had noticed. Then again, he’d been watching her more closely than most.