Page 53 of Her Dark Salvation

He pulled back, just enough to watch a droplet of sweat travel down my chest and beyond the top of my silk blouse. He followed its path until it was lost between my breasts.

He lifted his sultry gaze, captured my eyes, and a roguish smirk formed on his lips. He backed away with slow, deliberate steps and stopped just shy of the plunge pool. His hands went to the towel around his waist.

With a flick of his fingers and no shame, he untucked the end. The towel fell to the tiled floor revealing the rest of his magnificent body and the overwhelming extent of his desire.

I sucked in a breath, lightheaded from the heat and the humidity and Marco DeVita’s brazen beauty. Arms at his sides, weight shifted onto one leg, he stood unabashed, dominating the room like a Roman god sculpted to perfection, expertly carved out of marble and sin. I wanted to touch him, wanted to run my hands over his hard muscles and up and down his erection. I wanted to witness the statute come to life. I wanted to make him lose his impenetrable control.

He lifted his chin and stepped toward the pool, the profile of his naked body no less erotic than the front. I shamelessly enjoyed the view—the round curve of his firm buttocks, the thick muscles of his powerful thighs, the proud extent of his hard length.

He descended into the water, each movement a dark temptation. He sat, stretched his arms along the edge of the pool, and let his head drop back, closing his eyes.

Shock held me in place, but eventually the blood stopped rushing between my legs and returned to my brain. I stepped toward the door bemused, bewildered, and horny as hell.

“Anna?” I stopped short and glanced over my shoulder. His head still rested on the lip of the pool. “You better wear one of those turtlenecks of yours tomorrow, or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

My jaw dropped, but I slammed it shut before the groan percolating in my lungs escaped. I ripped my eyes away from where cool waters lapped his naked body. Where he made dirty promises I prayed he’d keep.

I walked out of the spa and up the stairs to the main lobby, plotting what I’d wear the next day. There was no way in hell it was going to be a turtleneck. I was ready for Marco DeVita to lose control.

ChapterFifteen

Anna

Thick maroon drapes fell from the ceiling to the floor behind Vesuvio’s tinted windows. Through the narrow gap between panels, the soft glow of chandeliers cast silhouettes onto the club’s glass façade. Slick, black veneer outlined the windows and door, and lava-red Roman lettering announced the club’s name, the secondVan eruption that spewed forth from an outline of the notorious mountain.

If the name and aesthetic didn’t make it obvious Vesuvio was Mr. DeVita’s club, the bouncer standing outside the entrance was a dead giveaway—big muscles, a stern mouth, and sunglasses.

Siobhán waited for me looking like she’d stepped off the set of aGreat Gatsbymovie, beret tilted over pin-curled hair and a trench coat cinched tight around her waist. She held out both hands, and I took them, greeting her with air kisses.

“I love your style,” I said. “I wish I could pull off something more daring.”

“Pfft.” She waved a hand and turned for the door. The bouncer opened it without a word. “Girl, with those curves, you could pull off anything.”

We walked out of the cold and into a refuge of heat, moths to the flames crackling in the glass firepit opposite the bar. Soft jazz filled the mostly empty space, the atmosphere more subdued and sophisticated than I’d expected. Men in suits and women in business attire stood around high tops sipping at martinis and globes of wine. The soft light from the chandeliers and fire glinted off the delicate crystalware. Most of the lush leather booths on either side of the fireplace were empty, only one of the spaces occupied by a couple engaged in intimate conversation.

“Come on,” Siobhán said, interrupting my survey. “There’s a Super Tuscan I want you to meet.” She stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth and led me to the few empty barstools still waiting for customers. We hung our coats on the backs of the stools and settled in.

The bartender placed his hands flat on the bar top and gave Siobhán a knowing smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey, yourself,” she purred. “Can I get two glasses of that fabulous Tuscano I tried last week?” She turned to me. “Is red okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“For you and your beautiful friend?” He spared me a glance. “Anything.” He winked and sauntered off to get our drinks.

Siobhán laughed, the sound as infectious as her presence. “What a flirt.”

“You come here often, I take it?”

“I wouldn’t say often, but regularly enough they know I manage Terme di Boston for Marco. I look at it as a perk of working for DEI.” The lines bracketing the corners of her red lips deepened with her mischievous smile.

“Nice perk.”

The bartender returned with wine poured into two crystal goblets. I swirled mine under my nose, and my eyes widened with its powerful bouquet.

“Right?” She held up her glass. “Cheers.”

We drank, and the robust red hit my tongue with a burst of flavor even bolder than its intoxicating aroma.

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