I slap his shoulder playfully. “That was hardly an introduction to the family.”
“Do you want an introduction to my family?” he asks, taking a few steps into the large sitting area, apparently not wanting to put me down to stand on my own two feet yet.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. That’s the beauty of a vacation fling: there’s no need for all that meet-the-family stuff.”
He stills for a beat before continuing farther into the room. “Right.” He rests my butt against the cool stone of the kitchen island, then stares at me, his features serious again.
When did the fun banter disappear?
“What?” I ask with a tilt of my head. I’m confused by the sudden change of mood.
He brushes a lock of his dark-brown hair back from where it’s fallen forward over one brow. “I was wondering if you’d like a shower? Or are you hungry? Your bag will be delivered soon.”
My hands drop from his shoulders to his arms. “Umm, a shower sounds good. Then maybe food.”
“Good. Easy done.” He lifts me down from my perch and directs me to the bedroom and en suite.
The rainfall shower feels amazing after the hot day and nearly two hours on a crowded train. The large clawfoot bath to the side of it would be even better, but I don’t want to hide in Gio’s bathroom for hours. And that bath was made for lingering in.
I twist off the tap with more force than necessary after standing under the warm stream of water longer than normal. A little part of me hoped Gio would join me after our steamy kisses earlier, but he hasn’t, and I’ve given up waiting. Something shifted when we were inside his suite, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what caused it.
Burying my face in a thick, fluffy white towel is heaven after the thin ones in our cheap accommodation, and I rub my skin pink as I plan my moves to fix whatever went wrong. I know Gio wants me, and I sure as hell want him, so this should be easy. I unhook one of the hotel bath robes from the back of the door. It’s a little large, but that doesn’t matter. Especially when I slip my arms in the sleeves and loosely tie it around my waist. There’ll be no doubt in Gio’s mind that I’m completely naked beneath the robe.
The final touch is to undo my hair from the ponytail and run my fingers through it so it cascades around my shoulders. Then, with a deep butterfly-settling breath, I walk barefoot out of the en suite, past the king-size bed, and into the sitting room.
Gio is lounging in one of the single high-back chairs, swirling ice cubes in a glass of amber liquid. The expensive suit jacket and red silk tie he was wearing earlier have been tossed on the sofa, and the top few buttons of his white dress shirt are open.
At the sound of my approach, his head swivels in my direction, and his hungry eyes devour me, feasting on every inch of deliberately exposed skin. I relish it. I want to parade and spin before him until the flames in their depths turn from looking to touching.
I move to stand before him. “The shower pressure was amazing after the dodgy plumbing we experienced at the Airbnb in Rome,” I say, while stretching my arms high above my head and knowing that the bathrobe is gaping enough to give him a peek inside.
“Come here,” he demands.
Grinning, I take the last few steps to be able to crawl onto him, my legs straddling his lap. “Is here close enough?” I ask, with one brow raised.
“It’s never close enough with you.” And then he slips his free hand inside the robe to cup my breast.
Emboldened by his smoldering gaze and touch, I place my hand over the one still holding the glass and lift it to my lips for a sip.
The whiskey burns a delicious path down my throat, turning my cheeks pink. “That feels good.”
“This?” Gio raises the glass in his hand. “Or this?” he asks, pinching my nipple.
“Both. And I want more.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Invariably,” I admit, arching my back so my chest pushes forward. He places his glass carefully on the side table beside his chair.
With that hand now free, he feeds it beneath the robe to cup my other breast. I melt into his firm touch.
“And what is it that you want, Tori?”
“You,” I declare. “Every goddamn inch of you.”
His grin widens, that sexy dimple creasing his cheek. “I plan on feeding every inch of me down this pretty throat of yours,” he promises as he reaches up to trail a finger along the column. “Then, and only then, will you get what you want. I want to hear you beg for me to fill you.” The sexy words trigger a new flush of heat to pinken my cheeks.
Dirty talk, in my previous experience, has always sounded lame. But with Gio’s words delivered in that Italian-American blended accent, it’s more of a promise of what’s to come, and I can’t wait for him to deliver.
