‘I’ll go soon.’
‘No need. I just wondered if you’d like a bath.’ He paused. ‘In case you’re sore.’
Ida drew a slow breath, trying to read his face. She’d told him she wasn’t experienced but hadn’t been explicit. Had he been disappointed?
The gentle throb between her legs, courtesy of their enthusiastic coupling, told her not to be stupid. Yet she couldn’t help wondering.
‘What are you thinking, Ida?’
Great. With her pale skin he’d see the flush rising in her throat and cheeks. It was the bane of her life.
‘No, thanks. I don’t want a bath.’
Still he seemed to be waiting, the muscles around his shoulders and neck standing taut as if something worried him. Could it be the fact she’d given him her virginity?
‘I’m not sore. I’m good. Just far too relaxed to move yet.’
Though she’d have to shift soon. She wasn’t naïve enough to expect Cesare wanted her to share his bed through the night. He’d specified sex only.
‘I’m glad you feel okay.’
He wasn’t effusive but maybe she’d guessed right, for the rigid set of his shoulders eased as he drew back the sheet and got in beside her.
That surprised her. She’d thought he’d dress again and expect her to as well.
Instantly every nerve ending sparked. In anticipation? But he didn’t touch her, instead propping himself on one arm, his gaze on her.
‘You’re not as I remember you, Ida.’
She rolled onto her side to face him, head on the pillow. He really did have the most comfortable bed.
‘You said that before. You make it sound like I’ve changed.’ Which she undoubtedly had. ‘But you never really knew me.’
‘So I’m beginning to realise.’
She waited. Now he’d pepper her with questions about her grandfather, or the strip club, or her supposed role in the blackmail.
Instead the silence stretched so long she felt herself ease further into the mattress, deep-seated lethargy and a sense of peace filling her despite Cesare’s watchful stare. Great sex was exhausting as well as exhilarating, she discovered. On top of that she was still worn out from stress and long hours working.
Eventually Cesare reached out and took her hand, drawing it across the sheet towards him.
‘What’s the problem with your hands?’
She took a moment to register his words. Then she looked to where her fingers threaded through his olive-toned ones. His fingers were long and there was a drift of dark hair on the back of his hand. In contrast her hand was pale, except for the blotches of pink and areas of peeling skin.
Instinctively Ida made to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly, his thumb stroking a slow rhythm across her knuckles.
Of course he’d noticed her hands. He’d kissed her all over. She’d just been too busy swooning to think about it.
‘A reaction to wearing rubber gloves.’
After years of wearing them for work her skin had suddenly become sensitive.
His gaze turned sharp, and she could almost hear his brain whirring, processing that information.
‘Is it painful?’
Ida blinked, surprised, though she didn’t know why.