“Thank you, by the way,” I say as we wait for a golf cart to bring us back to our bungalow.
“For what?”
“For complimenting my dress earlier.” I look down at it and swipe at a few wrinkles that formed while I ate dinner.
He stares at me for a beat before saying, “I didn’t mean it.”
My face scrunches up in confusion. Before I can respond, he continues, “What I really wanted to say is thatyoulooked beautiful in that dress. I complimented the dress when I actually wanted to compliment the woman wearing it.”
His face is so sincere I could cry. I actually think I feel my tear ducts betraying me, so I look down and say a soft thank you just as the loud motor of a golf cart alerts us of its arrival.
We ride in silence as I let his words sink in. Antonio thinks I’m beautiful.
Not Tony, the man I became instantly infatuated with years ago. But rather, Antonio, the man I’ve been around for seven years.
We pull up to the villa and hop off the golf cart. Antonio makes it to the entrance before I do and opens the door for me. A girl could really get used to this kind of treatment.
But the second I walk into the bungalow, I’m reminded of the fun little fact I’ve been trying to keep parked all the way in the back of my mind all day.
One. Fucking. Bed.
Antonio and I will be sleeping together tonight.
Well, not really. I will probably be wide awake the entire night knowing that I’m in such close proximity to this man.
Romance novels really don’t prepare you for this kind of stuff. The fact that we’re just going to casually lie unconscious next to one another for about eight hours isn’t sexy. It’s anxiety inducing.
What happens if he crushes me in his sleep while rolling over, or if I get an involuntary leg cramp and kick him in the shin? The possibilities are truly endless.
I feel Antonio’s hand on my lower back, pushing me farther into the room. “Relax. I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.” His eyes promise the opposite.
I gulp audibly. Okay, maybe this situation just got a little sexier.
* * *
After we’ve completed our nighttime routines, we stand on opposite sides of the bed with our arms folded over our chests, like the bed has personally offended us.
“Would you mind if we slept with the patio door open and the overhead fan on? The ocean breeze feels nice,” I say.
He silently nods as he walks over to the patio door in a cotton T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Ugh, don’t even get me started on the gray sweatpants.
I turn on the fan and shut off the air conditioning, then remove my cardigan as I return to my previous bed stare-off spot.
“Hold up.” Antonio raises his hand. “You’re not going to bed like that.”
I look down at the bougie new sleep set I found in the Bergdorf Goodman suitcase. A silky pink camisole with matching sleep shorts. “What do you mean?” I’m taken aback by the return of moody Antonio.
He runs both hands through his hair, then props one on his hip as the other points at my chest. “You’re not wearing a bra, Nikki,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse.
I chuckle and roll my eyes. “Duh. Do you think girls sleep in bras? I gotta let the girls hang free when I sleep.” I smile at his obvious discomfort.
He closes his eyes momentarily while taking a couple of deep breaths. When they open, they carry a mischievous glint. “Okay, fair enough.”
Before I realize what he meant by that, he’s reaching behind his neck and pulling off his shirt in one swift swoop.
My jaw drops as he just shrugs and says, “Free the nipple.”
I put my hand up to cover my eyes. “What the hell? Put your shirt back on. We can’t sleep in the same bed with you being half naked!” I shriek.
