He plucks our empty wine bottle out of the bucket filled with water. The ice melted a long time ago. “I can see that. How are you feeling? Headache coming on already?”
Martina bristles at his tone. I sense she doesn’t like that he’s treating her like a child in front of his handsome guest. “Of course not. This isn’t the first time I’ve had wine.”
His lips thin. “Not the first time, but it’s been a while.”
“Everything is fine.”
He drops the bottle back into the water and pokes Martina on her shoulder. “You got a lot of sun,” Damiano says. “Your skin is about to be burned. Maybe it’s time to call it a day.”
The man behind him zeroes in on the fading fingerprint before slowly tearing his gaze away. When he realizes I noticed, he narrows his eyes at me as if to say I should wipe my memory clean. A wave of frost runs through me, but I hold his eye contact and arch a brow.
“I said everything is fine,” Martina snaps.
Her tone takes Damiano aback. He frowns at her and then me. “One day with my sister, and your attitude’s already rubbing off on her.”
“Better mine than yours.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “We need to have a word.”
“I’m not done drying myself,” I say, rubbing the towel over my midriff.
He crosses the distance between us with two long steps, grasps the towel, and tosses it away. “You are now. Mari, maybe you remember Giorgio? You met a long time ago. He’ll keep you company while Valentina and I talk.” He wraps his warm palm around my elbow. We leave a panicked-looking Martina with Damiano’s dark-haired guest and return to the house.
“If I think the time you’re spending with my sister is doing more harm than good, I’ll put an end to it,” he says.
I huff a laugh. “You can’t blame me for your sister not wanting to be treated like a child. She’s eighteen, not eight.”
“Her age is irrelevant. Mari always listens to me.”
Irritation flickers inside of me. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier.”
“See what?”
“That you’re just like the rest of them. All that talk of wanting to make me yours… It’s that insufferable machismo all mafia men seem to possess. Here’s some news for you: the women in your life don’t exist solely for you to boss them around. That includes your sister.”
His grip on my elbow tightens. “My relationship with my sister is none of your business. And from what I can remember, you liked it when I bossed you around.”
“I’m dripping all over your floor,” I inform him as we cross the living room, while I try my best to ignore how good he smells and how his hand burns against my skin.
“That’s the least of your problems.”
“It’s not a problem for me at all. I’m simply pointing out a safety hazard in your home.”
When we get to the kitchen, he shoos the cook away and corners me against a wall. His eyes blaze as he takes in my nearly naked body. The tips of his leather shoes brush against my bare toes. “Are you worried about me?” he asks. “And here I was thinking you’re probably spending your nights scheming how to kill me.”
“You wish I spent my nights thinking about you,” I say. My voice comes out too breathy.
A drop of water runs down the valley between my breasts, and he tracks it with his gaze. My skin still tingles from the sun, but the electric charge running through my veins is all him.
He works his jaw, trying to tame something that wants to burst out of him. He seems conflicted.
Then his palm lands to the side of my head, and he leans in, lifting his gaze off my body. I think he might kiss me, but instead he takes my hand and raises it to study the scabs around my wrists. The fire in his eyes dims.
“You took off the bandages.”
“They would have gotten wet during my swim.”
Turbulent emotions skate over his face. Very slowly, he laces our fingers together and I stop breathing. Outside, a bird chirps.
I’m torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to push him away for how he’s treated me. Hurt blooms inside my chest. I’ve told him everything. He knows I had nothing to do with capturing Martina. Why won’t he let me go?
“Please let me leave,” I whisper.
He sucks in a breath and drops my hand. “No.”
I place my palms on his chest and try to shove him away, but his body behaves as if it’s made of granite. He doesn’t budge.
He takes my chin and tilts my face toward him. A powerful shiver runs through me.
“Cold?” He flicks his gaze down to my bathing suit where I know he’ll find the sharp outline of my nipples.
I can’t allow him to know the effect he’s having on me. “As I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m dripping wet, and the AC is on.”
He leans forward and presses his warm body flush against mine. I gasp when my breasts connect with his hard chest.
“Better?”
“No.”
He snakes one arm around my waist and places his other hand at the nape of my neck. “How’s this?”
It feels like Pop Rocks are popping over the entire expanse of my body. “Awful,” I breathe.
“Liar,” he says with a smirk. His eyes flare with desire and the fact that he’s not even bothering to hide it this time tells me he thinks he’s winning this game.
He’s wrong.
“Get off me,” I say.
“As soon as I do, I’m taking you back to your room. Is that what you want?”
I bite my lip.
“Ah, so you don’t want to go back upstairs?”
“No,” I admit.
“You don’t like your room?” He traces circles over the small of my back.