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I haven’t been able to escape his clutches, and after yesterday I don’t want to escape them anymore. Whatever Matteo has in store for me, it can’t possibly be worse than being abducted by a Sicilian mafioso who toys with you like a cheetah with its prey. Plus, I can’t thwart his plans, but I might let them play into my hand, and not into his. No man cuddles with a woman like he did last night with the end game of murdering her in cold blood or watching another man take and use her.
Well… there are psychos out there, but I’ve given Matteo the all-clear on that ailment.
After another long shower, I tug the bikini’s price tags off and put it on. It’s cute, but the gold makes me look in dire need of a tan. The dress fits perfectly, and I feel ridiculously sexy as I step out of our cabin and head towards the dining area. I’ll find a crew member there, if not Matteo himself.
“Mrs. Scalera.” A young guy meets me as soon as I step out into the hallway. “Your husband is on the deck waiting for you to join him for breakfast.”
I can get used to this. Totally. Mrs. Scalera. Wearing a ring shouldn’t make you warm to the idea of having a husband. Having several mind-blowing orgasms at the same man’s hands and tongue shouldn’t make you feel in heat at the idea of having him as a husband. Seeing the man shirtless on a deck chair basking in the sun?—
I pause mid-stride. Matteo is sitting some feet away from me, in black board shorts, his long legs stretched out, sunglasses on, typing with both hands on his laptop as he clutches his phone between his shoulder and ear. His abs flex as he talks, sits up a bit in argument, leans back, his tattoo only accentuated by the sculpture of his toned body. He talks rapidly to someone in Italian, and I hold back.
But as if he is drawn to me, he pauses his typing and looks at me. He kills the call with two curt words, closes his laptop and puts all his electronics to the side. The intensity of his stare makes me blush. For all this man has seen every part of me, has kissed me in places I can’t even fathom, his gaze has the power to strip me down to my core innocence and make me blush.
“Come here.”
I walk over, shy as he watches me in this dress that’s a bit extra. Whoever this Gigi woman is, she must be into clubbing and wearing as little as possible while doing it. There isn’t a lot to undress, but I feel stripped naked by the time I reach his deck chair. All I want to do is straddle him, have my hands on those pecs and trace the lines of his tattoo with my tongue.
“Sit.” He points to the deck chair next to him where a towel is spread out.
“Is this what we’re doing today?” This is too easy and there must be a catch. I settle on the deck chair, the heat of the sun on my skin.
“For now.” He waves at the vast open Mediterranean. “Nowhere to go.”
A waiter comes arounds with a fresh fruit tray and a selection of fruit juices, and I bite my lip. I could get so used to this.
“Get her some sunscreen,” Matteo says as he leans over me to take a slice of pineapple off the platter. “Do you want coffee, cappuccino, a latte? They’ll bring you breakfast with all the bells and whistles.”
“A cappuccino, yes, please. I’m famished.”
“Thought so. Bring her the full spread,” he says with a nod to the waiter.
“When did you wake up?”
He smiles wryly. “I hardly slept, kitten.”
Oh. “Did I—” My stomach turns, every visual of yesterday’s attack flicking on in my mind like headlights straight in the eyes. I drop my fork with the square of melon on the plate, all hunger gone. “Did I keep you up? I swear I had a nightmare?—”
His hand comes to rest on my thigh, and it should tickle but he puts just the right amount of pressure to reassure me instead. “You were fine. You are fine.” His eyes are studying me, searching, but then he lets go of my leg to pick up my fork. He holds the bite out to me. “You need to eat, sweetheart.”
I’m melting on the spot. Sweetheart? Coming from this man? He must have had something with his coffee.
I take the bite and avoid his gaze. There is something sinfully sexy about everything he does, as if he knows exactly how to twist the tension in me until all I want to do is hurl myself at him.
“Whose yacht is this?” I ask between bites. The waiter interrupts any further feeding by putting down the coffee and sunscreen on my side table. “Thank you.”
“It belongs to Carlo Trapani. I haven’t met him yet but he’s an old friend of the Don’s.”
“The Don?”
“My dad.”
“I see.” Matteo has a dad. Somehow I’ve never visualized him with one. How bizarre. “And the clothes?” I pick up my cappuccino and take a careful sip. Sooo good.
“They’re his daughter Gigi’s. The elder of his two girls. They have their own cabins with their things that just stay here permanently. The family uses the yacht a lot by the looks of it.”
“Nice. And what does Carlo Trapani do?” Matteo’s dad is a Mafia Don and Trapani is his friend. Sounds all shady to me.
“Too many questions, kitten,” Matteo teases as he pokes another piece of melon onto the fork and offers it to me. “Eat up.”
