Page 66 of Angel

I leaned back in the leather cushions, fascinated by the bloody history of this stunning coastline.

We anchored the vessel outside the towering cavern of the White Grotto for our first swim.

Angel handed me a pair of rubber snorkeling goggles, his fingers brushing against my palm.

The brief contact sent a jolt of pure electricity through me even as he raked me up and down in my bikini.

‘Catch me if you can,’ he challenged, flashing a devastating grin before launching his sinewed frame over the gunwale.

He hit the water with a clean splash.

I dove in right behind him, the cool sea shocking my sun-warmed skin.

We came up laughing, then Angel submerged deeper, tugging at my feet to pull me under.

We play-fought and ended up with my legs encircling his waist, with only wet fabric separating us.

I caught him staring at my lips, and biting his own before he surged up to throw us back in.

The water fights only charged us up.

The attraction between us ratcheted into sneaked glances, bumps against each other, smiles.

At one point, Angel snaked his muscled arms around me from behind and buried his face in my neck.

I lifted my hands and held onto his forearm as we floated together gazing up at the sky.

I let it happen, helpless to resist.

What woman alive would say no to this beautiful Adonis?

We swam deep into the mouth of the grotto, exploring the milky ivory stalactites that hung from the cave ceiling like frozen daggers.

We returned to the deck to drain two cold bottles of local Peroni beer, and got into the food as the sun baked our shoulders.

Afterward, Carlo fired up the engines again, cruising past the legendary Faraglioni Rocks.

The three massive limestone stacks erupted from the sea like ancient titans.

I scrambled to snap a dozen photos on my phone, laughing as Angel ruined my scenic shots by crowding into the frame.

It was a playful side of him I hadn’t seen in forever.

Why did he have to be so captivating?

My chest compressed with a familiar ache.

I wanted this joy to be real, yet the cynical voice in my head kept asking if I was a convenient distraction for his pain.

We soon ran out of food in the picnic basket.

After I spent a good twenty minutes grumbling to Angel with my tummy growling, he relented.

‘Roxy, seriously, you’re a terror when you’re hangry,’ he muttered, though the corner of his mouth ticked upward.

‘Can’t help it,’ I shot back, rubbing my midsection. ‘I’m starving, and you ate the last piece of prosciutto.’

‘You had the lion’s share of the burrata and rolls, Rox. Check the receipts, babe. You’ve got crumbs all over your top.’