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“Bene.” He curved his arm around her, his hand cupping her breast. “Otherwise, I would have to leave you and go in search of a pharmacy.” He nipped the nape of her neck. “And that would be a pitiful sight, bellissima, a grown man crawling on his hands and knees through the nighttime streets of Rome.”
Anna laughed.
And tumbled into the dark cavern of sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REALITY came back in the blurred rush of gray morning light seeping through the sheer drapes, the soft patter of rain …
And the pressure of a man’s muscular arm curved around Anna’s waist.
Disoriented, she closed her eyes, concentrated ….
And remembered everything.
Draco. The thrill of opening her door and finding him there. The shimmering flash of excitement at what she saw in his face, the realization that she had wanted him all along, that half her anger at him was really anger at herself for wanting a man like him.
The night had been … What word could possibly sum it up? Incredible. Fantastic. Electric with passion so powerful it had turned her brain to jelly.
How else to explain why he was still in her bed?
She could make sense of having fallen asleep in his arms that first time. Combine exhaustion with the out-of-body feeling she always got from jet lag, and anything was possible.
She’d gone through that list of explanations hours ago.
But she’d done it again. Gone to sleep in his arms so soundly that she couldn’t even recall it happening.
Surprise number one, for sure.
And added to that, surprise number two.
Why had he stayed? He could have left any time during the night. From what she knew of men, given a choice, that was the way they preferred it.
No man wanted the morning-after thing, that series of dance steps that could be far more complicated than the dance a man and woman had just performed in bed a couple of hours before.
Stilted chitchat. The “after you, no, that’s fine, after you” shower routine. A guy’s unattractive early-morning stubble, a woman’s totally unappealing bed-head hairstyle.
Hers was, for sure. Lots of curls, no sleek smoothness, just unruly locks that were wild and, without question, awful looking.
The entire morning-after scenario was enough to ruin romance as a concept, for lack of a better phrase. The truth was, good sex didn’t have anything much to do with romance. It had to do with physical attraction. And hormones. A certain look in a man’s eyes, a certain way he touched you.
If he was right and the time was right, that was all you needed. Given those basics, a woman was ready.
Anna shifted her weight just a little.
Draco felt so good spooned against her.
And she’d been ready. Hell, ready and waiting even when she hadn’t known what she’d been ready and waiting for.
Draco Valenti was one gorgeous hunk.
And as it turned out, he was spectacular in bed. He knew what to touch and how to touch it; he knew when to whisper and when to keep silent; he knew when to take charge—yes, he certainly did—and when to let a woman take the lead.
And she was turning herself on.
Ridiculous, because one of the other reasons she didn’t like sleeping with a man all night was that men always wanted morning sex as part of The Morning Thing, and Anna had never been a morning-sex fan.
Bottom line? Good sex was, well, it was good sex. Yes, she had to like a guy to have sex with him. Had to enjoy his company, but sex was sex. Women who didn’t understand that were in for trouble.
