Page 32 of Married With Malice

“Are you trying to take a nap?” Luca says.

Weird as it sounds, I need a few seconds to understand he’s speaking to me. My brain is temporarily scrambled. I’m still sprawled across the bed on my belly. And I still don’t have my charger.

Luca turns around. The towel in his hand hides a very vital part of his anatomy. I wish the towel would disappear. I hate myself for wishing this.

He smirks as if my thoughts are being broadcast in a cartoon bubble over my head.

In this prone state I’m feeling rather disadvantaged. Mustering a scrap of dignity, I push up to a sitting position.

Luca’s green eyes trail slowly over my body. This yellow bikini isn’t exactly substantial. Then again, neither is his towel.

I swing my feet around to the floor and stand. “I’m not taking a nap. I’m just here to get my charger. And a change of clothes. You should try wearing some too.”

He mulls this over. “You want me to wear clothes?”

“Civilized people usually do.”

“Okay.” He drops the towel.

And I’d like to say my reaction is cool and aloof, that I just stand here with my chin up and my face uninterested.

Instead, I gasp and turn my head so fast I’m lucky to avoid whiplash. But not before I get a big (and I mean BIG) eyeful of what was hiding underneath that terrycloth.

I should just run out of here and forget the charger. I can buy another one. I can buy other clothes. This room is a dangerous place.

“You can look now,” says Luca. “I’m civilized.”

He’s wearing a pair of black trousers. Underneath his pants he’s wearing dark blue briefs. The reason I know this is because he left his pants open. Unbuttoned and unzipped. Like he’s daring me to stare.

“And I borrowed your charger.” He takes a step back and gestures to the sink. “It’s right here.”

Luca turns to face the mirror above the sink. He combs his short black hair back and picks up a small brown bottle of cologne. He slaps some on his jaw, which is cleanshaven as usual. His pants are still undone. He’s also still shirtless.

Clearly, he’s not going to bring the charger to me. I’ll need to go and get it. If I walk away in a huff then it feels as if Luca has won a petty victory. I can’t let that happen.

I approach slowly, the way one might do when trying to navigate around an uncaged tiger. The bathroom now smells like sandalwood tinged with spice. If sex appeal could be bottled it would smell like this.

Luca moves a few inches to his left to give me room.

He could have moved a lot more.

He could have just handed me the charger.

He could be wearing a fucking shirt!

The reality of Luca is always much larger than my mental picture of Luca. When I’m barefoot, as I am right now, he’s a full head taller. His shoulders are broad enough to guest star on an NFL offensive line. Standing inches away from all that raw power is unnerving. Especially when there’s a lot of skin on display.

His phone is still plugged into my charger. As I pull the cord out, I wonder what kind of secrets are held in my hand.

“Something on your mind, Anni?” he says.

I set his phone down. It’s getting to me, the way he thinks he can saunter in and out of here as he pleases and act like we’re college roommates or something.

“Did you have fun in Miami?” I say, hating the edge of sarcasm in my voice.

“Not really.” He shrugs his impressive shoulders. “A family associate asked if I had time to visit for an important chat.”

“A chat.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Is that slang for clubbing and fucking?”

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