Page 28 of Perfect Match
I’m only capable of a slow turn of my head to face him because, right now, I don’t have the energy to move more. “I know what you mean. I feel it too.”
Gio doesn’t return my smile. In fact, he doesn’t look happy at all. I get that. Everything we’ve done in this bed since I arrived yesterday seems to be moving too fast. It’s a sobering thought.
“Now,thatwas stroking. I think I might need another shower,” I joke while looking down at my messy chest and deliberately trying to lighten the mood.
His dimpled smile returns. “I don’t know, the idea of you walking around all day with my cum coating your skin sounds pretty hot.”
“That sounds like you might have some interesting fetishes, Mr. Barbieri.”
“You bet, and I’d enjoy discussing them with you, Ms. Jones.”
Something in his look tells me I might like that conversation, and I’m reminded that Charli has her interview at his friend’s private sex club tomorrow. It’s not such a stretch to imagine that Gio has visited the club, and I wonder what he’s done there.
Gio hops up. “Wait here and I’ll get you a towel.” He returns with a white washcloth and wipes me up before taking my hand and leading me to the shower.
***
All cleaned up, and I’m back in the bedroom, buttoning up my shorts, when Gio appears behind me in the mirrored reflection. He’s dressed in a linen shirt and cargo shorts, similar to what he wore the day we went to Capri, and looking just as sexy. I turn to face him, placing my hands on his shoulders while he automatically reaches for my hips.
“You’re not working today? Or is this what a businessman wears in Florence?” I ask, although I know he’s a designer-suit man to his very bones when he’s working.
“I’m not planning to work today. Because I’m hoping that you’ll agree to spend the day with me. There’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”
I’d assumed that Gio would have to work and that he’d only be free to spend time with me in the evenings. The fact that he cleared his busy schedule to spend today with me has me buzzing with the same level of excitement I felt when I rappelled fifty meters into the gushing waters of the canyon in the Swiss Alps.
“Somewhere you want to take me, that sounds mysterious. Count me in.”
“Great. If you’re ready, let’s go.”
I skip away to grab my small backpack from the chair where I dropped it last night and then spin back to face him. “Is what I’m wearing okay?”
He steps into my personal space and cups my jaw in his palm to tilt my face up to him. “Perfecto, bella. Perfecto.”
My heart skips a beat, then another, when he places a quick kiss on my lips.
Damn, Gio is dangerous to my heart based on the way his kisses make it pound. Again, I slip from his hold and return to the mirror under the guise of needing to pull my hair into a ponytail. But in truth it’s so I can catch my breath. It seems that every time he touches me or even stands close, my body turns into a needy mess.
Finally, I’m ready and following Gio to the private elevators, trying to keep a couple of feet between us so that our hands don’t somehow find each other. He swipes his card, and instead of selecting the lobby, he presses the button for one of the parking levels.
The doors open, and we step out to a row of luxury cars lined up like the who’s who of a Formula One grid. I’m still standingspeechless when a red Ferrari convertible beeps and the lights flash, indicating that it’s just been unlocked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I gasp out, then quickly cover my mouth. But it’s too late. Gio has already heard the words.
He turns, his brows drawn down. “Would you prefer a different car?”
“No, no.” The words are high-pitched with surprise; how could anyone not want to go for a drive in a red Ferrari convertible?
“A Ferrari is my dream car. I love them. And I can’t believe I’m going to get to ride in one.” I’m babbling and beginning to sound like a fan girl swooning over her favorite celebrity.
He grins again. “Get in, then, and if you want, you can drive it later.”
“No, I couldn’t do that. I’d probably damage it. Because we drive on the other side of the road in Australia.”
I inch over to the car, where Gio is standing with the passenger door open. I run my fingertips reverently along the shiny red edge of the windscreen. “This car is too pretty for even a scratch.”
Gio chuckles as I slide into the buttery-soft tan leather seat, which appears to have been sculpted for my body. But when Gio slides in beside me, my breath hitches because he looks like he was the kind of man Ferrari had in mind when they made this exquisite machine, a sophisticated wealthy Italian.
He starts the car, the powerful engine growling to life, and we’re off. Gio maneuvers the vehicle through the twists and turns of the parking garage, then out onto the even narrower city streets. His hands casually light on the wheel as he commands the vehicle with the expertise of an F1 racing driver.
