Page 42 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“Thank you.” Dante snatched the envelope with their keycards off the counter and steered Zoe to the elevators.

“What was that all about?” she asked, ducking out from under his embrace as the elevator doors slid shut, leaving them alone in the car.

He pushed the button for the top floor.

“What was what all about?” he countered, knowing full well what she was getting at but not having a rational explanation for his caveman behavior.

“The way you treated the desk clerk. Like he was dog doo on the bottom of your Ferragamo loafer. What did he ever do to you?”

“It’s not what he did to me,” Dante grumbled. It was what he did to her. Looked at her like he was a hungry dog and she was a thick, juicy steak. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t all that different from the way Dante looked at her on occasion. But, irrationally, he didn’t want anyone else to have that privilege. And if that made him the biggest hypocrite in southern Italy, so be it.

The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors opened. Dante didn’t waste any time exiting the car. He glanced at the number scrawled on the envelope the clerk had given him and headed down the hall.

“Then what is it?” Zoe persisted, tagging after him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those rich, entitled assholes who takes perverse pleasure in treating people in the service industry like crap.”

“Hardly.” As a restaurant owner, he’d seen enough of that kind of behavior to last him a lifetime. “My grandmother always says you can measure a man by the way he acts toward those who can do nothing for or to him. And animals,” he added, thinking of Mr. Abruzzi.

He reached their suite and inserted the keycard into the slot on the door. The lock clicked softly, and he pushed the door open, shouldering his way inside. “Do you want to shower first, or should I?”

He supposed showering together was out of the question. His cock twitched at the thought, and he willed it to stand down.

Zoe followed him in and let out a low whistle. “Wow. The clerk wasn’t kidding about this room. It’s incredible.”

Dante had barely registered their surroundings, but now he took the time to take them in, trying to see them through her fresh, unjaded, interior designer’s eyes. She was right. The room was magnificent, light and airy with high ceilings, white walls, and sea-blue majolica tile covering the floor. It was furnished with tasteful, timeless antiques, and on the far wall a huge set of sliding glass doors led to a balcony with a panoramic view of the Mediterranean.

When had he become so uninterested that he stopped appreciating the finer things his privileged life afforded him? He made a mental note to thank Francesca in person before they left the island. And Zoe for reminding him to stop, take a breath, and put things in perspective.

“I think we’ll manage,” he said wryly. Although there was still the issue of the one, albeit enormous, bed. It could be the size of theTitanic, and he’d still be hard pressed—pun intended—not to want her close to him. He blinked back images of their naked bodies, sweaty and entwined, and dropped his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Now about that shower—”

“I hate playing the “ladies first” card, but I’m totally going to. I have to get out of these wet clothes. And I’m dying to see if the bathroom lives up to the rest of this place.”

Yeah, he wanted her out of those wet clothes, too. But what he had in mind once she was naked wasn’t checking out the walk-in shower or whirlpool tub. “I’ll order up something from room service. There should be a menu around here somewhere.”

“I’m not picky, and I’m hungry enough to eat a cow. Whatever you order will be fine.” She disappeared into the bathroom, then poked her head out for one last parting jab. “We can continue our discussion of your treatment of that poor desk clerk and your friend Gianni over dinner.”

He was hoping she’d forgotten about the clerk. And she’d thrown in Gianni, too. He’d better add some wine—something like a crisp, fruityfalanghinaor a tart, savorysangiovese—to that dinner order. Maybe with a hot shower to relax her and a little alcohol in her system, she’d let go of her fixation on his bad behavior.

He crossed to the antique secretary, picked up a leather binder with the hotel’s logo embossed in gold, and opened it, leafing through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Oh my God!” Zoe’s voice floated out through the bathroom door. “This shower is fan-freaking-tastic. It has dual rainfall shower heads with LED lights. And a TV.”

Dante chuckled. “I’m glad it lives up to your expectations.”

She turned the water on, and he focused on the menu in his hands to avoid the mental picture of the spray sliding over her breasts and down the cleft between her buttocks. After a few seconds, he snapped it shut and dialed room service, ordering a bottle offalanghinaand a four-course meal of antipasto, ravioli caprisi,pezzonga—a local fish—and lavenderpanna cottafor dessert, with instructions to have it sent up in an hour. Then he made another quick call to the front desk and watched the storm through the glass doors, not wanting to sit on the expensive furniture in his still soaking shirt and shorts.

“Bathroom’s all yours.”

Zoe stood in front of the partially open bathroom door, steam wafting out behind her. She wore a white waffle robe that looked a size too big, the sleeves rolled to her wrists and the neckline gaping to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. Her damp hair hung in loose curls around her face, and her bare feet poked out from beneath the hem of her robe. Overall, the effect was of a sexy water nymph.

He did another head-to-toe scan, forcing his eyes not to pause on her lips. Pink, pouty, and slightly parted, just begging to be kissed. If he looked too long, he’d be drawn in like a moth to a flame. “That was quick.”

She shrugged. “I’m not a three-hours-in-the-bathroom kind of girl. More like get in there, get it done, and get out.”

He lowered his voice to a seductive growl, not able to resist the urge to tease her, to test her, to see if she was as affected by him as he was by her. “You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife.”

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of salmon, and she adjusted the lapels of her robe, closing the gap and hiding the perfect, pale skin between her breasts. He mentally high-fived himself.

Mission accomplished.