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His architect had raised an eyebrow. Draco had grinned. Life in America, he’d said, with all those oversize bathrooms, had spoiled him.
Perhaps it had.
His California duplex had a huge bathroom with a shower stall the size of a small bedroom. There were times, at the end of a long day, that he stood inside that stall and could almost feel the downpouring water easing the tension from him.
Now, standing in the shower at Villa Appia, Draco waited for that to happen.
Instead, an image suddenly filled his mind.
The blonde, here with him. Her hair undone, streaming like sunlight over her creamy shoulders, over her breasts, the pale apricot nipples uptilted, awaiting him.
He imagined his lips closed on those silken pearls, drawing them deep into his mouth.
His hand between her thighs.
Her hand on his erection.
Draco groaned.
He would back her against the glass, lift her in his arms, take her mouth as he brought her down, down, down on his hard, eager length ….
Another groan, more guttural than the first, burst from his throat. His body shuddered, did what it had not done since he’d had his first woman at the age of seventeen.
Her fault, he th
ought in sudden fury. The blonde. She had made a fool of him yet another time.
He wished he could see her again, and make her pay.
Draco shut his eyes. Raised his face to the spray. Let the water wash everything from his body and his mind. He had to be alert for the meeting that loomed ahead.
The land in Sicily was his. He’d been in Palermo on business, gone for a drive to relax and passed through the town of Taormina, where something had drawn him to a narrow road, a hairpin curve, a heart-quickening view of the sea …
And a stretch of land that seemed unaccountably familiar.
He had taken the necessary steps to ensure his possession of it, brought in an architect … And suddenly received a letter from a man he’d never heard of, Cesare Orsini, who had made claims that were not only nonsense, they were lies.
The land was his. And it would remain his, despite the best efforts of a thug to claim it.
Draco had learned a very long time ago never to give in to bullies.
It was a lesson that had changed his life, one he would never, ever forget.
Anna’s hotel was old.
Under some circumstances, that would have been fine. After all, Rome was old. And magnificent.
The same could not be said about her hotel.
She’d made the reservation herself, online at something called BidCheap.com. Bidding cheap was where it was at; if only she’d had the common sense to demand her father hand over a credit card …
Never mind.
She’d traveled on the cheap before, after university and during spring breaks in law school. How bad could a place be?
Bad, she thought as she followed a shriveled bellman into a room the size of a postage stamp.
Water stains on the ceiling, heaven only knew what kinds of stains on the carpet, a sagging club chair in front of a window with a rousing view of …
