‘And if I promise the wait will be worth it?’
‘How long a wait?’
He laughed before moving his mouth to her breast. ‘Not long.’ He flicked her nipple lazily, sending arrows of pleasure barbing through her body.
‘Do you realise I haven’t even seen you naked?’
Heat slashed his cheeks with dark colour and then he pushed to standing, his eyes on hers the whole time. Their eyes locked as he moved his hands to his belt buckle and unfastened it, as he slid his trousers down, as her eyes saw his naked arousal for the first time. Olivia sat up a little straighter, fascinated, compelled, and utterly turned on.
‘I—’ She was at a loss for words. Helplessly, her eyes drifted to his and stayed locked there as he finished undressing, then stood, stark naked, like an incredibly sculpted statue, a Roman deity, all muscled and mouth-watering. Her eyes flickered lower, across his broadly muscled chest, to his tapered waist, taut thighs, manhood, and lower to his shapely calves. Her heart was in her throat when she dragged her gaze back to his face.
‘And now you have seen me naked,’ he growled, heat simmering in his eyes, pooling between them. She swallowed past a constricted throat then stood, matching his body language, slowly removing the last of her clothing, until she was also naked in this palatial bedroom with panoramic views over Rome.
The air around them crackled with a challenge, an invitation, and she felt Luca’s tension as he decided what to do. Finally, he held out a hand to her. ‘Come. Let me show you something.’
He led her from the bedroom, down the corridor, both as naked as the day they were born.
‘What about Signora Marazzi?’
‘What about her?’
‘What if she sees—?’
‘I suspect she left almost immediately.’
‘I suppose she’s used to your philandering habits.’ Olivia giggled softly, wondering why the sound was oddly forced to her own ears.
He threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘This way.’
She noticed he didn’t respond to her statement. Well, so? What could he say? They both knew the lie of the land—he was a bachelor, through and through. Nothing about this was new for him, except the whole ‘marriage’ part, and even then, he’d been married before. Something rolled through her, something dark and fierce, surprising her. It was a mix of curiosity and something else, something fiercer, compelling her to understand about his first marriage, about his life before her, about the experiences that had shaped him. But that was none of her business. Per their agreement, she had no right to ask, and certainly, no expectation that he’d answer.
The hallway opened onto a landing and a narrow set of stairs. She followed behind his naked form, admiring the muscled firmness of his rear as he moved up two flights then pushed a modern steel door open. They burst onto a rooftop terrace, shielded from view by hedges that grew in large terracotta pots. At the centre of the paved terrace was a pool, submerged, and the most striking turquoise colour Olivia could imagine. The afternoon sun bounced off it tantalisingly, invitingly, so she glided towards it on autopilot.
‘How stunning,’ she murmured, not realising that Luca had followed. He placed his hands on her hips, drawing her back against him, so his arousal pressed between her buttocks. She closed her eyes on a rushed gasp, her pleasure only increasing when he brought one hand around to her breasts, lazily stroking her nipples before moving his mouth to the crook of her neck, whispering and tasting her there until she was moaning softly into the afternoon sun.
‘Swim with me,’ he suggested.
She wanted to do so much more than swim with him, but when he released her and dived into the water, she stood there, watching his lithe athleticism, spellbound by his masculine beauty, before she did the same, splashing into the water with a heady sense of euphoria. Her wedding ring glinted as she swam, catching her eye, the diamonds so clear and sparkling.
It was a sign of possession she’d always railed against, but on this day, in this minute, wearing this man’s ring, Olivia couldn’t say she minded, at all.
‘That was incredibly delicious.’ She dabbed her lips with the linen napkin, then placed it in her lap.
‘Signora Marazzi is an exceptional cook,’ he agreed.
‘Does she make all your meals?’
‘Or I eat out.’ He shrugged.
‘You never cook for yourself?’
‘No. I never learned.’
‘It’s not rocket science.’
‘Perhaps. But there’s no need.’
‘What about during your marriage? Don’t tell me your wife was chained to the kitchen?’