Sweet As Sin

41

“No. Just a couple hours’ rest. I’m sure I’ll feel better later. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said softly, taking my hand. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then led me into the gleaming marble bathroom and showed me how to work the shower, and where the fresh towels were. Then he kissed me again, on the lips this time, gently and so sweetly it shaved an edge off my anger.

“Need someone to help you wash your hair?” he murmured, nudging his nose against mine.

In return, I could only offer a weak smile. “I’m good. Rain check?”

The pause before he spoke was longer than I was comfortable with. I glanced at his eyes, regretting it instantly when I did. The darkness from downstairs had crept back into them, shadowing the normally crystalline blue with a deep, ominous ultramarine, the color of the sea before a storm.

“Okay, baby. Whatever you say.”

His voice was shadowed, too, but with what emotion, I couldn’t tell. His gaze drifted to the necklace around my throat. He picked up the trust charm between his thumb and forefinger, and stroked it contemplatively. Then his lashes lifted, and he pierced me with his stare.

Without another word, without a smile, Nico turned and walked slowly from the room.

I sank to the edge of the enormous Jacuzzi tub, dropped my throbbing head into my hands, and sighed. I hated jealousy. It was such a petty, spiteful, insecure emotion. Unfortunately, being with a man like Nico—a man who women literally threw their panties at—practically guaranteed the green-eyed monster would become a permanent resident in my brain. If I wanted to explore this thing between us, if I didn’t want to ruin it before it had even really begun, I’d have to find a way to manage it.

But how?

That question bothered me the entire time I was in the shower. I soaped my body, shampooed my hair, shaved everything that needed shaving, letting the hot water coax the tension from my muscles, half expecting Nico to walk in any minute and join me. Half hoping he would, and also half dreading it.

He never did.

When I finally finished showering, dried off, and padded barefoot into his bedroom to get the clothes from my duffel, the picture of Avery was gone.

When I awoke, the sun had shifted low on the horizon, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.

It was late afternoon, or early evening. I blinked, squinting against the light. I remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, worrying about the picture of Avery, and then . . .

Oh. Right. I’d lain down, thinking it would be only for a moment and then I’d get up and change. Apparently the moment had turned into hours. For the second time today, I was waking up on top of the covers on a bed.

Also for the second time today, someone was beside me.

I turned my head to find Nico staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. He’d changed into a pair of loose black sweatpants, slung low on his hips. He was barefoot, and bare chested. When he turned his head and looked at me, he was so breathtaking I longed for a camera. That jaw of his could cut glass.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He rolled to his side, lifted to his elbow, propped his head on his hand. He stared down at me with hooded eyes, his expression unreadable. Our bodies were mere inches apart, so close I felt the heat radiating from him.

I became acutely aware that the two of us were half naked. Beneath the thick white towel wrapped around me, I wore nothing at all.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “How long have you been there?”

“A while.” He reached up and brushed a strand of damp hair from my forehead. “Feelin’ any better?”

I inhaled and stretched my legs, assessing, then nodded. “Yeah. Headache’s gone.”

“Good.” He trailed his fingers over my brow, across my cheek, down my neck. His hand lingered over my collarbone. He began to toy with the chain around my neck. Watching it instead of me, he asked, “And how ’bout that nasty urge to bury a knife in my chest? That gone, too?”

Busted. I sighed, embarrassed and annoyed all over again. “Was I that obvious?”

Nico traced his fingers over my chest, moving from my neck to my shoulders, along the top of my cleavage where the towel was cinched, up the line of my throat. Everywhere he touched, it felt like he left a trail of sparks. My breath hitched at the sensation.

“Told you the first day I met you, baby: you lie for shit.”

He began to work the seam of the towel open where it was folded over on my chest. His fingers deftly pulled the two ends apart until the space between my breasts was exposed. He left it like that, open but not revealing more than a narrow strip of skin, and trailed his fingers lower. I was sure he’d be able to feel the jackhammer wreaking havoc inside my chest.

When I spoke, my voice was shaky. “I’m sorry for getting mad—”

“Don’t be.”

Nico’s hand moved lower, then lower still, pushing the opposite sides of the towel aside to gain access to my bare stomach. My breasts were still mostly covered, as were my girly bits down below, but the rest of my skin was now exposed from my neck to beneath my belly button.

Several parts of my body began to tingle in the most fantastic way. When Nico swirled his fingertip around and around my belly button, then dipped it gently in, I had to bite my lip to stop from moaning.