Page 45 of Casanova LLC

I could also see, through the building steam, his lowered head reflected in one of the mirrored walls. I stayed behind the door and took the cap. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

He closed the door.

I was about to tuck my hair into the cap when the door opened again. Slightly, but enough. “By the way, there are other sundry items in the drawer.”

I could have said thank you again. But I wanted him to linger.

They say if you can see a person’s reflection in a mirror, they can see you. It was thrilling, being naked, standing essentially shoulder-to-shoulder with him, separated by a cracked-open door. Knowing that if he dared to look up, into the mirror, he could see the foggy outline of that nakedness. So I kept him there. “Like?”

“Razors. Lotion. Combs. Mouthwash. Not that you need any of it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

But he didn’t leave this time. And he still didn’t look up.

“Which drawer?”

“Top one.” In the mirror, he lifted his arm; next to me, the real article appeared, visible up to the elbow before the door blocked the rest from view. “To the left of the sink.”

I gathered my hair at the crown of my head.

I mentally implored him to look up, to see my reflected breasts on proud display, with my hands on top of my head. The steam was building, in the room, on the mirrors; soon I’d be completely invisible. “Alessandro?”

He looked up.

I took my sweet time settling the shower cap on my head; he took his sweet time watching me. My reflection was as impressionistic as the paintings from earlier. I wondered what his artist’s eye thought of what he saw. “Yes?”

I looked straight at his hazy face in the mirror and grinned. “Huh. I forget.”

In the mirror, I saw a wisp of a grin. “Well, I won’t.”

He closed the door once more.

Oddly giddy, I stepped into the shower. I could have stayed in there for an hour, it felt so good, but having something even better to look forward to, I made it quick. There was a fluffy towel hanging on the warmer and I dried myself off.

I took off the cap and wrapped the towel around my chest when there was a light rap on the door.

It opened just enough. Again.

There was too much steam to see anything now. “Would you like a robe?”

I opened the door the whole way. “The towel is fine,” and relished the look on his face: a schoolboy caught peeking into the hot neighbor’s window. Or the girls’ locker room.

I stepped around him.

He’d turned down the lights. Lit candles. The white top sheet on the massage table was peeled back, inviting me in.

Maybe it was the lovely day we’d spent together. Maybe it was our conversations throughout it. Maybe it was the allusions to our first encounter at the rehearsal dinner. When he was just a painter who had flirted with me.

Had I liked him then? Yes, very much. Too much. Had I been attracted to him? Again, too much. But I was getting married. So lines had been drawn.

But now? What did I have to lose? There were no stakes because there could be no consequences. This was not the man I’d met. And I was not the woman who’d rebuffed him.

I was here with a man who wanted nothing more than to do what I wanted. I could flirt back. I could tease. I could be playful. I had three days to turn into a lifetime and I had this…this Casanova to do it with.

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