Page 17 of The Temptation
I can’t tell if he’s trying to keep me from hearing what they’re talking about, or if he doesn’t want them to meet me. Either way, it grates on my nerves. It makes me feel like I’m some secret he’s desperate to keep tucked away.
Taking a moment, I use my free pass to observe him. His broad shoulders, his strong back muscles that strain against the fabric of his shirt, his small waist and that perfect round butt. He’s dressed in all black, like always. A button-down dress shirt and a pair of sleek trousers.
I no longer have to conjure up images of what lies underneath because I saw it all firsthand this morning, and it was a glorious sight.
Romeo De Luca in the flesh runs rings around any hero I’ve read about in my books. I almost forgot how to breathe as I shamelessly took him all in. Every inch looked as if it had been carved from stone. His muscles were defined and tense, like they held back more than just brute strength.
Like me, his chest rose and fell in a slow, hypnoticrhythm, drawing my eyes to the ink that sprawled across his skin. Tattoos that I’m sure tell stories that I’m yet to learn.
Some dark, some almost poetic, curling over his ribs and wrapping around his arms. His abs were tight and toned, as if every part of him was built for power. And don’t even get me started on that salami stick in his pants.
It was so hard and so … thick. It may have been hidden behind his black boxer shorts, but I swear I could see it pulsing through the thin fabric.
It wasn’t the only thing pulsing in that moment.
The sight of him gave me an ache between my legs like nothing I’ve ever known.
I snap out of my daydream when he turns and begins pacing in the other direction, giving me a full frontal view. My gaze moves down his arms to those strong, tattooed hands of his, and a surge of electricity courses through me as I remember the way he squeezed my arse before realising it was me.
I’m not naive enough to think there haven’t been other women in his life before I came along, but knowing he thought I was one of them made me feel sick to the stomach.
I may want what they’ve had, but I don’t want to be another notch on his belt. I want to mean something to him, like he does to me. I crave everything I know he could give me if he’d just let down those stupid walls he’s erected between us.
My eyes move down to the bulge in his trousers, and a desperate kind of hunger claws at my insides. I already know this man will be an exceptional lover and far exceed any scene I’ve read about. The thought alone has liquid heat pooling in my core.
He pauses and his head turns sharply, as if he can feel me watching him.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath when his gaze locks on the window where I’m standing.
I quickly duck down, but I know it’s in vain. He definitely saw me creeping on him. My cheeks heat as I remain crouched and move across the room to grab my phone. The moment it’s in my hand, I run from the room like a scared child.
I could busy myself with setting the table, but I like it when Romeo does that. There’s something about the way we’ve slipped into this quiet rhythm that feels almost ... intimate. It’s a routine that works, smooth and easy, as if we’ve been doing it for years.
While I plate up our food, he usually lays out the cutlery without needing a word from me. After we’ve eaten, he handles the dishes like it’s second nature.
He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, and I catch myself just standing there, staring like a starstruck idiot as his forearms flex, muscles shifting with every subtle move. It’s such a simple, everyday gesture, but when he does it, it feels like something else entirely.
Something steady.
Something ours.
I pull up my sister’s number as I flop onto the lounge. I need a Caterina fix from my baby niece.
“Luc,” Dante says as his face appears on the screen. “Is everything okay over there?”
“Yes, I’m just missing my niece.”
“Didn’t you speak with your sister a few hours ago?”
“Yes, and the baby was asleep.”
“Well, she’s awake now and currently having a feed,” he says, turning the screen around towards Arabella, who’s sitting on a chair across the room, cradling her tiny daughter in her arms.
“Move closer,” I grumble down the line.
Dante does as I ask, and when he reaches them, he hovers the phone over Caterina as she suckles happily on her mother’s breast. Her little cheeks are so round; she’s grown so much since her birth.
A stupid lump forms in my throat as I think about all the weeks of cuddles I’ve missed, stuck here while the world moves on without me.
