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“It’s a wrinkled mess. We need to look the part.” I held up my left hand and wiggled my ring finger. “You said so yourself.”
“Fine.” He turned back to his luggage. “I guess you want me to wear the jeans I wore on the plane.”
“If all you have other than those is tac pants, then yeah.”
Cal picked his jeans up from where he’d tossed them on an upholstered chair in the corner, shook them out, and slid them on. “Where’s the iron?”
“Probably in the closet.”
To get there, he had to brush past me, squeezing too close in the small walkway between the bed and the dresser, and I held my breath, not wanting to breathe him in. Things had been more charged between us since we left Reuben’s, and I wasn’t sure there was anything, short of fucking it out, that would break the tension.
The breakfast Carlo promised was sent up as Cal ironed my shirt, and I ate a hazelnut-and-chocolate-filled croissant and sipped a cappuccino while I watched Cal out of the corner of myeye. His body was gorgeous, miles of smooth bronze skin over toned planes of muscle, and my mouth watered, wanting to taste him.
“Why are you staring at me?” He lifted the iron, and a hiss of steam billowed out.
“I’m not.”
He scoffed. “Yes, you are.”
“I’m just making sure you don’t burn my shirt.”
Cal sighed and rolled his eyes. “Former military, remember? I know how to iron.”
“Right. Sorry.” I tried to turn my attention back to my coffee, but it was hard to look away from the bunch and pull of Cal’s muscles as he moved the shirt around on the ironing board and pressed it to within an inch of its life.
He hung the shirt on a hanger and sat on his side of the bed, grabbing a pastry off the breakfast tray.
“Are you not going to put it on?”
“I will after I eat. Just in case.”
I nodded. “When you’re done, I’ve mapped the route to Azzura Scivolo’s villa. It’s right off the Rio Marin.”
It was Cal’s turn to nod. “Who’s driving?”
With anyone else, this wouldn’t have been a conversation, but of course, Cal was going to make it an issue. “Me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Have you piloted a boat in Venice before?”
“No. Have you?”
“No, but I take my cousin Hadrian’s boat out all the time. I’m used to navigating around Seattle, and that’s pretty much the same thing.”
“The same thing? Like Australia and New Zealand are the same thing?”
Cal crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. Exactly.”
“You are such an idiot.”
“Whatever.” He held out his hand and made a gimme motion. “Give me the keys. I’m driving.”
Just to be a dick, I pulled them out of my pocket and dangled them in front of Cal, the foam key chain swinging. “These keys?”
“Yes. I’m clearly more qualified than you are. Give them to me.”
“I told you before, but apparently, I need to say it again. I’m taking point on this op, which means you follow my lead.” I jingled the keys, teasing Cal like a matador taunting a bull with a red cloth. “Which means I drive.”
“Like hell.” In a move I would have assumed was too quick for him on land but should have expected anyway given the way I was teasing him, he lunged at me, grabbing for the keys. I turned at the last second, still holding them out of reach, and he tackled me onto the bed, trying to pin my arms so he could steal the keychain. But he forgot we were evenly matched, and the second he thought he had them, I rolled us so I was on top and regained the upper hand.
