Page 22 of Tower of Temptations

"Different rotation tonight." I kept my voice steady despite the heat building under my skin. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Vincenzo."

"The security specialist." She shifted slightly, and I caught the subtle catch in her breath when our eyes met. "I've seen you around."

"Let me give you a moment to change." I forced myself to turn away, though the image of her bare shoulders and slim legs was already burned into my memory.

"Thank you," she murmured, disappearing behind the dressing screen.

When she reemerged minutes later, I forgot how to breathe for a moment. She'd chosen a thin silk camisole and shorts that revealed miles of smooth skin. Her damp hair left water marks on the silk, but it was the notebook clutched in her hand that caught my attention—she'd been writing in the journal, not just primping. She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow.

"The hot water runs out after ten minutes," she said matter-of-factly. "You might want to fix that."

"Your hair's dripping," I managed, voice rougher than I'd meant.

"I know." She brushed the heavy golden mass over one shoulder, drawing my attention to the elegant line of her neck. "I'm not used to managing it myself. Vittorio's stylist usually..."

"Let me help." I gestured to the vanity chair. Through the mirror, I watched her hesitate for a moment before settling in. Her reflection looked almost shy as I gathered her hair with practiced movements, lifting it away from her neck. My fingers worked through the strands with careful efficiency, separating them into sections.

"You seem... experienced with this." Her eyes met mine in the mirror as I reached for a towel.

"My sister taught me." I began gently drying her hair, mesmerized by how it caught the light— pure gold shot through with darker honey tones. "Said I had good instincts for it."

"Your sister?" Her voice softened as I worked, tension visibly melting from her shoulders.

"Left home young, but she was the one good thing there." I concentrated on each section of hair, watching goosebumps rise on her skin where my fingers brushed her neck. "Had to learn a lot of things—cooking, laundry, hair care."

"She taught you well," she murmured, eyes half-closed as I worked.

"She had to be both sister and mother sometimes." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her eyes found mine in the mirror. "That must have been hard."

"Life isn't always simple." I reached for her brush, noting how her breath hitched slightly at the first stroke. "Though your situation with Vittorio..."

"Is different." She leaned back slightly, eyes closing as I worked through a tangle. "Sometimes he was almost kind. Like he wanted to be a real father. Other times..."

I watched her pulse flutter at her throat, cataloging every reaction as I brushed. Each stroke seemed to relax her further, making her sink deeper into the chair. When my knuckles grazed her bare shoulder, she shivered.

"Cold?" I asked, though we both knew that wasn't it.

"No," she whispered, opening her eyes to meet mine in the mirror. Something dark and wanting flickered in their blue depths. "The others... they're not what I expected. None of you are."

"And what did you expect?" I let my free hand rest on her shoulder, thumb tracing small circles on bare skin.

"Men like Vittorio's." Her voice had gone breathy. "Cold. Cruel. But Giuliano is... different. And Nico..." She hesitated.

"And me?" I couldn't stop my hand from sliding up to her neck, feeling her pulse race under my fingers.

She turned in the chair then, face tilted up to mine. This close, I could see every gold fleck in her eyes, count each damp eyelash.

"You're the most different of all," she whispered, and something in her voice made my careful control slip.

The brush fell forgotten as I cradled the back of her head, feeling the contrast between cool, damp strands and the warmth of her skin. When she leaned into my touch, the small movement undid me.

I tilted her face up, studying her reaction. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat, matching my own racing heartbeat. She rose slowly from the chair, bringing us chest to chest. My free hand found her waist, steadying her. Through the thin silk, I could feel how she trembled slightly.

My thumb traced her bottom lip, and her breath caught beautifully. Just as I'd imagined it would. I brushed my lips against her temple first, testing, tasting. Salt and steam from her shower still clung to her skin. When I reached her jaw, she tilted her head, offering better access.

"I knew you'd be responsive," I breathed against her neck, feeling her shiver. I nipped gently at her pulse point, drawing a surprised moan that sent heat through my veins.

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