Page 64 of Sinful Temptations

Chewing on my bottom lip, I studied my handsome nurse as he set the tiny table and folded the napkins under the cutlery. His hands were perfect. Not too big and overgrown with hairs like some of the Italian men I’d met, and not too small and effeminate like William’s had been.

The unwelcome image of William’s hands was obliterated when Roman tasted the soup. His eyes rolled back with obvious delight and the way his tongue licked the spoon had my mind bouncing to something he could do with that tongue that would make all my pain go away.

Gah. I have seriously lost the plot.

I needed to stop this craziness before I did something totally stupid like try to kiss him again. The boxing match in my abdomen came to my rescue, providing the ideal, albeit painful distraction. Curling forward, I sucked air in through my teeth in a lame attempt to combat the pain.

“Oh, jeez, Daisy. Do you want me to find a doctor?”

The concern in his expression had me feeling awful for not being truthful. I huffed out a sigh. “I’m not exactly sick.” Idragged my eyes away. “It’s ummm . . . it’s just that time of the month.”

“Oh. Well, in that case . . .” He slapped his hands together. “. . . I should have added more spice to myPappa al Pomodoro.”

“Maybe.” I huffed and chuckled at the same time, grateful to shift the conversation in a direction that didn’t have me thinking of the medicinal benefits of his tongue. “And bought two bottles of bubbles.”

“That can be arranged.” Laughing, he strolled toward the bed. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”

Clutching his hand, I rolled my legs over the side of the bed and stood. The pain in my insides had me bending over and waddling to the table like some of the elderly women I’d seen walking the cobblestoned streets of Italy’s ancient, fortified towns.

Roman pulled a chair out, helped me to sit, and adjusted the plate in front of me.

I’d tasted this dish a few times in my travels, but none looked as thick or as luscious as this one. I leaned over the bowl and inhaled. My mouth salivated at the heavenly scent. “This smells delicious.”

He sat opposite and collected his spoon. His eyes danced from mine to the bowl and his brows inched up. “Taste it.”

Roman was waiting for my reaction to his cooking, and I felt like it was some kind of test. I spooned a mouthful onto my tongue. The flavor was incredible.Pappa al Pomodorowas a Tuscan bread soup. The secret to this recipe was very ripe tomatoes, day-old Tuscan bread, and subtle spices. Roman’s version was perfect. “Oh, wow. This is incredible.”

His smile radiated through his dark beard.

I ate some more and meant every appreciative moan I made. “It’s so good.” Dabbing the napkin to my lips, I reached for my champagne.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s Mamma’s recipe.”

“You’re so lucky. My parents never taught me anything about cooking.” My gut cramped so hard; I pictured my rotten mother with a voodoo doll of me that she was shoving needles into.

Roman reached over and placed his hand over mine. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’ve never seen you like this before.” The tenderness in his touch nearly brought me to tears.

“No, I’ve never been this bad. Not sure what’s going on.”

“I know exactly what you need.”

My mind flashed to us getting naked and him spooning me until all the pain went away. The visual shocked and delighted me with equal intensity. I cleared my throat. “What?”

“A distraction.”

The dazzle in his eyes had me clutching the stem of my glass, ready to gulp down some liquid courage. “Like what?”

“Well . . . you’ve never told me about growing up or your family. I’d love to hear about them. Now seems like the perfect opportunity.”

“Oh, jeez.” Bloody hell. His idea of distraction and mine were a billion miles apart. I gulped down the delicate bubbles, praying for a miracle. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Sì. I do.” He opened his hands as if inviting me in. “You know all about my family, yet you never talk about yours.”

“And there’s a good reason for that.”

He frowned at me like I had a toothpick in my eye. “Come on. How bad can it be?”

Scooping up more of his delicious soup, I pondered how to put it lightly thatbadbarely began to describe my childhood. Huffing, I rolled my eyes. “It’s boring for starters.”

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