He swung to face her. The full frontal view affirmed her assessment. This man, this completelynakedman, was formed like some ancient Roman god. Perfect musculature over strong bones and, oh, that...
Sonia whipped her gaze higher, fire scorching her cheeks.
Espresso dark eyes captured hers. The flames teasing her cheeks spread to her throat and breasts. And lower, much lower.
She sucked in another breath, shocked this time at herself. Her pulse thundered in her ears, yet Sonia felt light-headed as if her blood had drained to her toes. No, not her toes. There was a hot, pooling sensation between her thighs.
Horrified, Sonia registered the slight rise of decisive black eyebrows, the flaring of nostrils in that proud, streamlined nose. As if he was aware of that sudden rush of arousal in a body that moments ago had been limp with jetlag.
The tiny coffee cup paused on the way to his mouth. A firmly sculpted mouth, she noted, above a square, well-cut jaw. Then the cup rose, tilted, and she watched the strong muscles in that bare throat work as he swallowed.
Sonia blinked. Her hand rose to her own throat, then settled, splayed below her collarbone, where her heart knocked an erratic rhythm like a cage full of wild birds desperate to break free.
Since when had watching a man swallow been an erotic experience?
He lowered the cup slowly and spoke.
Sonia couldn’t make out the words. Her pulse drowned them.
He spoke again and this time she heard the lyrical cadences she associated with her brother-in-law, Matteo.
‘Non parlo Italiano.’ She croaked the words from her desert-dry throat. Explaining she didn’t speak Italian constituted one of her few phrases.
Why wasn’t he getting dressed? Why was he just standing there looking...?
Her gaze flickered back down, past the perfect symmetry of that masculine chest, over a flat belly and well-defined abs to the penis that, instead of looking wizened and tiny against all that imposing bulk, seemed definitely in proportion and anything but limp.
‘English?’
Sonia jerked her attention back to his face. Did his mouth curl at one corner? No, he looked unmoved and completely calm.
As if strange women in his apartment were an everyday occurrence.
Which wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest.
‘No, I’m Australian.’ Then, a second late, she realised what he meant. ‘Yes, I speak English.’
‘And with a charming accent, too.’ He nodded, then turned back the way he’d come. ‘Excuse me a moment.’
Sonia clutched at the back of a long, white sofa, fingers sinking into the thick upholstery. She was exhausted and surprised. That’s all. Of course her pulse raced and her brain fogged. It had nothing to do with the fact that his back view was every bit as superb as the front. The bunching clench of his buttocks as he walked...
‘There. That’s better, yes?’ The coffee cup was gone and instead he held a white towel, wrapping it around his hips as he strolled back.
Sonia’s gaze darted to those big, square hands, and the leisurely way he tucked the towel in and felt something grind tight in her pelvis. Something she recognised as arousal.
Frantically she told herself it was okay. Jetlag did strange things to the brain.
It wasn’t her brain reacting, it was her body, revving into life after a long chill winter of celibacy. Yet even that was no explanation for her response. Sonia wasn’t promiscuous. She didn’t need sex to be happy. In fact, after her experience with Eric, she’d deliberately avoided another intimate relationship. So why was every nerve in her body sitting up and salivating?
Because you’ve never met a man so casually, breathtakingly sexy in your life.
Because that dark chocolate voice makes you melt.
But oh, it wasn’t just his voice...
She whipped her attention back to his face. His chiselled, gorgeous face with hooded eyes that made her think of wide beds, sensual caresses and bold demands.
Something urgent inside shivered into life.