Page 29
“You’re impatient.”
“I’ve been patient for seven and a half hours.”
“Tragic.”
“You have no sympathy.”
“None.”
“Then let go.”
His dark eyes hold mine. “Ask nicely.”
I stare at him. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
I narrow my eyes. “Please let me take your shirt off before I resort to violence.”
“That was almost polite.”
“Enzo.”
He releases me. I get three more buttons open before he laughs and pulls the shirt over his head himself.
“Cheater.”
“You were taking too long.”
“I thought you liked taking your time.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
My hands flatten against his chest, and for a second I forget the joke I was about to make. He is hot beneath my palms, all hard muscle and smooth tattooed skin, and there is still something ridiculously surreal about having a man who looks like Lorenzo Moretti looking at me like I’m the prize. He notices the hesitation. Because the man notices everything.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bridget.”
“I was appreciating the scenery.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “So was I.”
Then his fingers find the straps of my dress. I lift my arms before he can ask.
“Better,” he murmurs.
The dress slides away, leaving me in my bathing suit, and Enzo’s expression changes enough that I suddenly feel far more naked than I actually am.
“You saw this all morning.”
“I was trying to behave.”
I laugh. “You?”
