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She sounded as if she’d discovered him with his hands buried in a wall safe. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him to walk in on her, or to see yesterday’s cool, if rumpled, business-woman replaced by a woman in shorts, tank and sneakers, blond hair pulled into a ponytail, face and body damp with sweat.
And one breast—one high, rounded breast—tantalizingly darkened by that splash of water.
Without warning, he remembered how she had looked last night in the garden, her hair loose on her shoulders, her nightgown filmy and feminine in the moon’s soft glow—and thought, too, of how he had kissed her, how she had kissed him back….
Nick raised his gaze to her face. Her color was high; he could see her pulse beating fast in the hollow of her throat. Was she thinking about that kiss, too? “Signore. What are you doing here?”
So much for remembering last night. Nick flashed a tight smile. “Stealing the family silver.”
“I didn’t mean…” Her color deepened. “You startled me, that’s all.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He shrugged. “I was out running. I came back and wanted something cold to drink.” His eyes swept over her again. “You were running, too.”
Alessia swallowed hard. It was a statement, not a question, and it made no sense that it should bother her. So what if Nicolo Orsini knew she’d been out running? She ran every morning no matter where she was; she had discovered the freedom of it years ago, even before she’d left here forever, the sense that if you ran fast enough, hard enough, you could leave your old self behind.
You couldn’t, of course. She knew that now. Still, she ran. She loved the burn of muscle, the rise of sweat. Her father thought it was unladylike and perhaps that was part of what made it so appealing….
Why was Nicolo Orsini looking at her that way? His dark eyes moved over her like a slow caress, lingering on her mouth, her throat.
Her body.
He made her feel as if too much of her was exposed. Not physically; she wore less than this at the beach. It was something more complicated, a realization that he was seeing a side of her that was not his business to see.
It made her recall last night. How he had kissed her, how she had kissed him back.
To her horror, she felt her nipple pebble under her water-stained tank top, her flesh lift as if in anticipation of his touch. Instinct told her to turn and run. Logic told her running would be the most dangerous thing she could do.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
“This is my home,” she said coolly. “If I wish to run here, I am free to do so.”
Dio, how stupid she sounded! Why did her words, her thoughts, get all twisted when she spoke to this man?
His eyes narrowed. He folded his arms over his chest. It was an impressive chest, tanned and muscled as were his arms.
“Sure.” His voice was toneless. “I should have asked permission.”
“No,” she said quickly, “no, of course not. I only meant…” She had no idea what she’d meant, she thought unhappily. She was talking at the speed of a runaway train and making about as much sense. Quickly, she turned toward the fridge, took out a bottle of water and held it toward him. “You must be thirsty.”
That won her a small smile. “Thanks.”
Their fingers brushed as he took the bottle from her. A tiny electric jolt went through her. She gave a nervous laugh.
“Static electricity,” she said.
“Electricity, for sure,” Nick said, his eyes on hers. Then he unscrewed the bottle top, tilted his head back and took a long, deep drink. A tiny trickle of water trailed over his bottom lip, traced a path down his long, tanned throat.
The water would taste salty there, right there, if she touched her tongue to it….
She made a little sound, turned it into a cough, but it didn’t help keep her knees from feeling weak.
Nicolo lowered the bottle of water, looked at her with one dark eyebrow lifted.
Say something, Alessia told herself fiercely, something clever.
She couldn’t. She was tongue-tied. She, who made her living chatting up clients, being the intermediary between often hostile groups, was at a complete loss for words.
But her brain was working overtime.
