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Iwoke up with a start and to the vision of a glistening wet, very naked Alessandro Falcone watching me.
What the…?
But also, holy shit.
I knew he was all muscles, but I didn’t know those muscles were covered with tattoos—like everywhere.
Full sleeves on both arms, down to his knuckles. The left side of his back was covered with ornate samurai scenes, flowing together like an elaborate, highly detailed comic strip, but instead of harsh borders, one scene flowed into the next. The entire left side of his torso was like a canvas to an extraordinary piece of art while the right side was bare, apart from a string of straight, black lines—lots of them.
I gasped—completely involuntarily because I knew male beauty when I saw it—and Alessandro Falcone was the embodiment of it.
He turned around and grabbed the minuscule white towel which hung dangerously low on his hips, which had started to slip with the motion.
“Good morning, princess.” He grinned as if I didn’t just wake up in his bed with him half-naked right next to me.
I glared at him.
His smile deepened.
If I didn’t know any better, I could almost believe he was happy to see me annoyed.
I narrowed my eyes, then froze.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
Of course, he would.
I pulled up the blanket, looked underneath.
Phew. My clothes were still on.
And then everything came crashing back. Me on his lap, his fingers between my legs, my breakdown. Him carrying me to the bed, letting my tears soak through his shirt.
Holding me.
Fuck.
I sat up and turned so my back was to him and stared out of the window. “Did you sleep here with me?”
He chuckled. “Of course, princess. Where else would I sleep, what with you being my girlfriend and all?”
I glared at him over my shoulder. “I thought we didn’t have a deal.”
He snickered. “I reconsidered.”
Because he felt sorry for me. I didn’t need him to feel sorry for me. “I want my phone, my passport, and my wallet. And then I want to leave.”
“Great, do you want to take a shower while I get your purse for you?”
I stood, pushed my hands into my waist, and stared at him. He was entirely too friendly and agreeable. “And then you’ll let me go?”
His smile deepened, and he put on a black dress shirt but left it open. “I’ll do you one better; I’ll drive you.”
I didn’t believe a single word he said.
Or did my breakdown make him reconsider not only the real-fucking part but also the fake-dating part?
He let the towel fall to the floor, and hot damn. Not only did he have very muscular to-die-for thighs, but I could see everything.
