Page 42 of Caesar DeLuca
“Oh god…” she sighs. “Has anybody ever told you you have a comfortable chest?”
“Just how many people do you think I let lay their head on it?”
A giggle bursts out of her. “I forgot who I’m talking to.”
“We’ll see how much you remember tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t want to remember any of it. I have a feeling I…” She pauses for another yawn. “I’ve said way too much.”
“We have that in common.”
“You’re a good man, Caesar. You said you’re not… but you are.” She nestles even closer, settling into the pocket of heat we’ve created. Her expression turns serene. “You’re tall and rich and handsome… but you’re smart and interesting. You’re honest about who you are.”
Ariana drifts off without notice. She goes from rambling in my arms to snoring lightly as sleep claims her. I stroke her cheek and then ease her back against the pillows. Covering her with the blankets, I make sure she’s nice and cozy.
I turn off the lights and draw her bedroom door shut. I’m back to where I was earlier, walking toward my room.
It finally hits me what I’ve just been told. Ariana’s rambles that disguised a confession. The same realization I’ve been blocking out all night.
Ariana’s more than just my type. She’s the woman I want.
Which is exactly why nothing can happen between us. I have obligations to my family. None of those involve falling for a beautiful stranger, no matter how tempting she is.
15
ARIANA
Igot drunk last night and Caesar put me to bed.
The thought is sobering enough, it pierces the drunken fog inside my head. A gasp escapes me as I stare at the morning light illuminating the snow outside.
I must’ve drunk more than an entire bottle of wine last night. Caesar and I had worked ourselves up to a third bottle before I was so drunk, he cut me off.
My face falls into my hands. He’d escorted me up to my room, and I’d had my panties out air drying. My retainer sitting on my nightstand. Every other embarrassing, personal detail laid out for his viewing.
I’d flirted with him. Both downstairs and on my bed.
“Fuck.”
The single word falls from my lips. A rare cuss word that’s not usually part of my vocabulary, but considering what’s happened, it’s warranted.
I spend time cleaning myself up. I shower, change out my sheets and make my bed, and slip into clothes that are casual. A baggy t-shirt and old jeans I’ve worn when painting the house.
What else can I do but pretend it’s business as usual?
I go about my morning like I would any other day. Except I’m starting it much later than I normally would. The clock’s almost striking noon when I’m barely finishing chores and gathering ingredients for a meal.
The silence in the rest of the house feels louder than most mornings, which says something considering I’m a recluse. Is Caesar even here still? Did he get out of here once he realized he was dealing with a needy loner that can’t hold her wine?
I rub a hand across my brow, regretting ever drinking last night. I just had to flirt with him!
Ugh. Desperation is never a good look.
I’ve thrown together ingredients for a turkey chili and have it bubbling on the stove when knuckles tap against the back door in my kitchen. The sound feels abrasive and out of nowhere and makes me flinch.
My surprise wears off a second later when I look up and catch the gaze of the man in the door’s glass cutout.
“You left?” I ask, opening the door.
