Page 34 of Tainted Princess
“I’m gonna take a shower, then. I’ll, uh, meet you in there.”
With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, followed quickly by the sound of running water.
Shaking my head at the strange dynamic we continued to find ourselves in, I made my way to the bedroom, putting on a pajama set consisting of satin shorts and a top with little cap sleeves. It was pretty and pale blue, and I suddenly felt ridiculous in it. Everything about Enzo was dramatic and edgy, from his clothes to his tattoos to his furnishings.
I certainly didn’t fit in with my demure clothes and old lady pajamas.
I paced anxiously by the window while I waited for the sound of the shower to stop. It felt awkward, getting into Enzo’s bed without him, so I stared out at the city lights while my mind created a thousand scenarios of what to expect while I shared a stranger’s bed, each more ridiculous than the last.
It was also the first time I had shared a bed with anyone other than Rico, and as much as I hated the man now, at the time, I had loved him completely.
I didn’t evenknowEnzo, never mind love him.
I was still staring out the window, imagining all the ways this night could turn out horribly, when the bathroom door slid open, casting a bright light into the dim bedroom. I didn’t turn, but that didn’t stop the floor to ceiling glass panel in front of me from reflecting the image of Enzo, dressed only with a towel around his waist, from drawing my gaze.
I watched, following his movement in the window, as he strode to the closet, his muscular chest dark with a myriad of tattoos. I pretended to be engrossed in the movement of Las Vegas before me, but I was completely enthralled by the way Enzo’s ass looked when he bent over behind me, the white towel stretching across his hips as he slid a pair of shorts up under the fabric before removing it completely and rubbing it over his wet hair.
When he was safely dressed—or more dressed than he had been—I turned, watching as he pulled back the blankets and slid into bed on the side closest to the door. Crossing my arms over my suddenly and inexplicably hard nipples, I darted into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, then made my way to the other side of the bed and climbed in.
Once we were both under the covers, we stared up at the ceiling, saying nothing. After several minutes of trying to calm my breathing, I finally whispered, “Good night, Enzo.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure he was going to answer me, but finally he reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp, before settling back down beside me with a clipped, “Good night, Francesca.”
All I could hear and feel and smell was Enzo. The heat of his freshly showered skin was like a furnace beside me, and I was grateful that Las Vegas was so fond of air conditioners; I had a feeling I’d be finding myself suffering from regular hot flashes. His shower gel was that same spicy musky sent that I already associated with Enzo, and now it was everywhere, surrounding me, on the sheets, and the walls, andhim.
I knew he was awake, and I knew he knew I knew it, but damn if I could think of anything to say.
So, I laid there, frozen by my own awkwardness, and listened to my husband breathe for hours.
It was the longest night of my life.
