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‘Your side,’ he said, his lips twitching.
‘Not going to happen.’
‘Can’t blame a man for trying. By the way, what are you wearing?’
‘This old thing?’ She looked down at the cotton shirt that reached below her knees. ‘Just something I found in your dressing room.’
‘You’ve been going through my clothes?’
‘I would apologise—but a), you went through my clothing at some point to get my dress size, and b), you didn’t bother to arrange a decent set of pyjamas for me. There’s no way on earth I’m going to wear those scraps of lace I assume are supposed to be nightwear.’
And no way was she going to admit that she had gazed at them for an inordinate amount of time, wondering what it would be like to wear such sexy, exotic apparel.
‘So you thought you would help yourself to one of my shirts?’
‘Got a problem with that?’ she asked, raising a brow in challenge.
His eyes sparkled. ‘I happen to think you look incredibly sexy in my shirt.
‘Oh, go away.’
Chuckling, he disappeared into the en suite.
Rosa flopped onto her back and gazed up at the ceiling. When she had pilfered his shirt she had felt a sense of vindication at getting herself out of a pickle. Now the heat cresting through her made her wonder if she should have stuck to a pair of knickers and a T-shirt. Except the T-shirts in the dressing room were all tiny designer numbers that would cover her shoulders but not much else.
She had thought half a bottle of wine would send her into an immediate slumber, and silently cursed herself for having coffee.
Much as she tried to keep her mind occupied, away from any errant thoughts about what Nico might be doing in the bathroom and what state of undress he might be in, she was all too aware of the shower running.
She forced her mind to concentrate on anything but Nico, determined not to think of him naked, lathering under the steaming water. Anything would do. The economy. The pink designer shoes she had spotted on Bond Street.
She might as well tell herself not to think about purple elephants.
Grimacing, she forced herself to take deep breaths before jumping off the bed and helping herself to a bottle of water from the discreetly placed fridge.
She was getting back into bed when the bathroom door opened and Nico appeared, wearing nothing but a tiny towel across his snake hips. A waft of warm, citrusy steam followed in his wake and she sucked in a breath, moisture filling her mouth.
His black hair was damp, his golden skin a deeper bronze after a day of glorious sunshine. Seriously, had there ever been a finer specimen of the male form? He was truly magnificent—a Roman statue brought to life.
And, no matter how dispassionately she tried to see him, her body seemed to go into some form of meltdown. Could he not just put some bloody clothes on?
He looked at her and raised a brow.
‘Please don’t tell me I said that aloud?’ she begged.
‘Do you have a problem with my body?’ he asked, with the arrogant look of one who knew his form was damn near perfect.
‘Only when you’re not wearing clothes.’ That was a lie. She had a problem with him clothed too. But near-as-dammit naked...?
‘Why? What is wrong with me?’
‘Nothing.’ And that was the precise problem.
Rosa had never considered herself a shallow person, but right then she wished he had a massive paunch and a hairy back. Anything had to be better than the reality, which was that she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through the black silken hair covering his broad, muscular chest and taste his smooth skin.
Just like that, her belly flipped, and heat went rampaging through her blood. For a moment she stood paralysed, treacle-thick desire rooting her to the floor.
The beautiful golden chest in front of her eyes rose sharply. As if drawn by a magnet, she looked up, Meeting his gaze, she sucked in a breath.
The intensity in those green eyes...
Dear God, if she had wanted proof he really did desire her for herself, and not out of some stupid game or pride, it was there, resonating out of him—as pure and tangible a desire as she had ever seen.
The very air around them thickened. Heat was licking her bones, flowing low, deep into her pelvis, forming a physical ache in her core.
Every inch of her felt alive, as if she could feel the charge of every electron ever created on her skin. And her breasts...
Not since they had first started to develop had she been so aware of them. Without looking down she knew the nipples had puckered, were straining against the fabric of his shirt.
‘Do you have a problem with me sleeping naked next to you?’
A problem? Yes, she would say she had a problem with that—the problem being her own desire to strip his shirt off and get naked with him.
