CHAPTER FIVE
SOMUCHFORbeing able to sleep in the same bed as Olivia without touching her. It was all he could think of. His whole body was on tenterhooks, wanting to reach out and touch her, wanting to feel her soft, supple skin, wanting to kiss her hollows, to taste her passion, wanting to make her his in every way.
He stared at the ornate ceiling, his pulse running wild in his system, as Olivia slept beside him. Thanks to the Prosecco, she’d fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, whereas Luca had ruminated on her revelation, on the fact she was completely innocent, until he was crazy with wanting.
But to sleep with a virgin...there was no way he could do it. She had no experience with men, with sex, with the euphoria that accompanied orgasms. How could they remain detached, as they needed to be, if they were sleeping together? He had to be able to walk away from this marriage in a month’s time, and to do so guilt free—something he couldn’t achieve if they complicated their arrangement with sex. And yet, for all that he’d wanted her before, knowing that she had no experience was an aphrodisiac he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to teach her. He wanted to show her body what she could feel, and he wanted to watch her as she felt her first orgasm, he wanted to go down on her until she could barely think, he wanted to lather her body in the shower then take her against the cold, wet tiles. He wanted...what he couldn’t, wouldn’t, have.
Ever since Jayne, he’d sworn off relationships. Sex was fine, anything more was where it got complicated. So? Couldn’t this just be sex? A little voice pleaded with him, but he ignored it. They were trapped in the same house for the next month—there was no guarantee they could keep things casual. Particularly not given her lack of experience. He couldn’t take the gamble that she’d be able to see sex as sex, and not start to want more. It was absolutely impossible.
Throwing off the covers, he stalked away from the bed, finally admitting defeat. He’d been wrong earlier. He couldn’t lie with her and know he wouldn’t touch. He was half afraid he’d reach for her in his sleep, without intending to, that he’d start kissing her without being aware of what he was doing, and that she’d kiss him back. Because, experienced or not, her body knew what to do, her body understood the chemistry that was flowing between them, and her body wanted to act on it.
Which was all the more reason he had to control this.
With one final look over his shoulder, regarding her sleeping frame with a surge of adrenaline, he left the room, opting instead for an uncomfortable, sleepless night on the sofa—where Olivia filled his dreams, if not his hands.
‘What is this?’
Olivia stared in confusion, at first, and then horror, as a parade of not one, not two, but six hotel staff walked into their suite, each carrying armloads of clothing.
Luca nodded towards the master bedroom, and they filed in there, each returning with empty hands.
Olivia watched, bemused, confused, but also glad to have something to think about other than the confession she’d made the night before, other than the way she’d blurted out the fact she was a virgin. Certainly other than the way he’d immediately pulled away from her as though whatever he’d been thinking about a moment earlier was now a moot point.
Could she blame him for not wanting to sleep with a virgin? He was used to sophisticated, experienced women. What could Olivia offer him?
She watched as Luca tipped one of the staff, then pushed the door closed behind them, turning to face her, arms crossed.
‘Luca?’ It was then that she realised they’d barely spoken all day. He’d been working, she’d been pretending to read, anything to avoid the elephant in the room. How in the world was she going to get through the next month?
‘You need new clothes.’ He shrugged, as though it was nothing, when Olivia had seen the designer names emblazoned on the sides of the bags.
She groaned, shaking her head. ‘I don’t.’
‘You do,’ he insisted. ‘We’re going to have to attend events in Rome, we’ll see my grandmother socially at some point. You cannot keep dressing as though you’re a kindergartner.’
She flinched at his unwitting insult. He continued to stare at her, his eyes appraising.
‘Was it your mother who insisted on this also?’
‘On what?’
‘Your clothes.’
Olivia looked down at her outfit—denim overalls and a pale yellow T-shirt—then lifted her shoulders softly.
‘Partly,’ she whispered, not meeting his eyes.
‘Because she was jealous?’
‘How did—?’ She clamped a hand to her mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘Let’s not talk about my mother right now, please.’
‘When she is at the root of so much of who you are?’
‘I know, but...’
‘Fine.’ He lifted his hands in acceptance, trouble brewing in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘Go and look at the outfits. We will have dinner in the restaurant tonight.’
She didn’t need to have any experience to know she was being dismissed, but if there was any doubt, it evaporated as he turned away from her and strode towards the table he’d been using as a makeshift desk.