Page 49

“Hey, Ind—Diana.” Levi’s voice came from behind me. I turned to see a worried expression on his face like he expected me to vanish in a puff of smoke. “You disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. You were accosted by more adoring older ladies.” I couldn’t blame the female guests for all being enamored with Levi since I had it worse than all of them.

“Actually”—he came closer, lowering his voice—“I was trying to figure out which of the guests are the swingers. I think they all might be.”

“That”—I nodded toward a game of midnight croquet near the labyrinth—“does not look especially kinky to me.”

“Just wait until us kids go up to our rooms.” At the mention of the room, he tensed. “Listen, I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll take it tomorrow.”

Levi shook his head. “No way, I’m the guy, I take the tiny sofa.”

“Levi, I’m used to sleeping on cots outside dig sites. Don’t pull the ‘you’re a lady’ card with me. I’m tougher than I look.”

“I know that. And I’ve never thought of you as ‘a lady.’”

“Don’t remind me,” I mumbled as we walked along the path bordering the lake. The clouds that had been hiding the moon parted, and there it was in all its splendor—heavy and pink over the tiny, rocky island in the middle of the lake. I turned my face up to it like you would to the sun. “It’s so beautiful.”

Instead of admiring the moon though, Levi was staring at me again like he was on the verge of making a confession.

“Diana, in this light, you look…” he hesitated like he was searching for the right words. I held my breath. “You really look like a witch.”

The comment was said with such frankness that it knocked the wind right out of me. I brought my hand to my chest and let out an uneasy laugh. “Thanks, Levi. You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.” I pulled up my shawl and self-consciously rubbed my finger over the bump on my nose.

“No! I didn’t mean like a witch witch,” he said quickly, grabbing my hand away from my face. “I meant like one of those women from the paintings you had up in your room. By . . . uh, what’s his name? The Italian guy . . . or was he English?”

“Rossetti?” He remembered that? I’d gone through an intense Pre-Raphaelite phase my junior year of high school. It seemed only fitting since I, like the heroines of those paintings, was tortured by unrequited love.

“Yeah, sorry, it was a compliment. I didn’t mean . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. We both know what he meant since I spent an inordinate amount of time obsessing about my nose when I was younger, constantly contouring it or threatening to get plastic surgery as soon as I turned eighteen. I didn’t mind it now. I guess that’s what being confronted with centuries of proud, aquiline noses will do to you.

“I’m glad you still have it,” Levi said finally.

“My nose? Me too, comes in handy for sniffing out all the bullshit guys like to feed me.” I tried to smile.

“Ah, come on, Indy.” Levi made me stop, putting his hands on my upper arms. “You know I’ve always loved . . .” I held my breath as his thumb glided over my cheek, to the corner of my mouth, and hesitated there, his eyes searching mine. “Your nose.”

He swallowed and tweaked the end of it before dropping his hand. “Maybe we should head up. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay,” I managed.

***

I’d promised Sabrina not to entertain any thoughts about Levi while we were sharing a room, and especially to avoid fantasizing about his manly bits. However, that was next to impossible when he was in the next room while I was under the showerhead naked. All through high school, and I’m ashamed to admit on the daily since Levi had come back in my life, I’d imagine his hands skimming over me in the shower. His long fingers, wide palms, cupping my breasts, his calloused thumb caressing my nipple. There was something thrilling about fantasizing about someone who was just one flimsy wooden door away from your naked body. A shiver of pleasure ran through me, but I refused to give in to the temptation, rinsing off the soap with cold water and hopping out.

After flinging on my pajamas, a very unsexy old T-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel pants, I opened the bathroom door to find Levi sitting on the end of the massive bed, eyes wide like he was expecting to see a monster emerge from the bathroom instead of me. His eyes roamed over me, and he looked like a man on death row who’d just been told his life had been spared. And I immediately regretted not having packed that satin teddy I’d bought myself last Christmas. My nipples hardened, and I was sure he could see them through the thin material of my T-shirt, so I crossed my arms over myself.

“Cold?” he asked, and then realizing he’d just basically admitted he’d been staring at my tits, he jumped up and tossed a soft cashmere throw at me. “My turn.”

He darted into the bathroom like his ass was on fire. Not that I was looking at his ass. Not on purpose anyway.

And I most certainly did not stand near the half-open door, trying to catch glimpses of his golden skin, his back muscles flexing as he took off his shirt. I scooped up his cream sweater, which he folded on the bed, and brought my nose to it, pressing the still warm material against my face. I knew I shouldn’t look, but my eyes wouldn’t listen to reason.

Just a few inches were visible, but what a few inches . . . the indentation between his hip and the swell of one glorious ass cheek, the long sinews of his leg. I was practically inhaling his sweater now.

“Do you mind if I use your soap?” Levi’s rumbling baritone shocked me into movement. But not quick enough, our eyes met in the mirror and I jumped up, pretending to make his bed. “Diana . . . ?”

“Umm?”