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“Such an extensive vocabulary, il mio amore,” he said softly. “I’m glad we agree.”
Anna yawned. “Mmm,” she said again, and started to snuggle deeper into his arms.
“Anna. Surely those mmms meant ‘Yes, Draco. I agree. I’m starving. I can’t even remember the last time we had anything to eat.’”
Anna blinked her eyes open. “You’re right. I can’t.”
“Exactly. We need food. Sustenance. That which gives a man energy to survive the difficult demands put on him by a woman.”
That made her laugh. “Such a sacrifice, Valenti.”
Draco caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibble
d gently, then ran the tip of his tongue over the sweet wound.
“What would you like?”
Anna toyed with a dark strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead.
“A Big Mac and fries?”
He grinned. “How about some pasta? Tomato sauce. Black olives. Garlic. Anchovies. Freshly grated Romano cheese. And whatever else is in the refrigerator.” He raised one eyebrow. “How does that sound?”
“Like takeout from this amazing little Italian place down the block from my office. One problem, though. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a few thousand miles from Manhattan.”
Draco tossed back the duvet and sat up.
“I,” he said smugly, “just happen to be a world-class cook!”
She sat up, too, and gave him a look. “You, Valenti?”
“Me, consigliere,” he said as he strode into what Anna assumed was a dressing room.
He was, she thought, a gorgeous man. All hard muscle, taut definition and potent masculinity.
But he was more than that.
So much more.
Charming. Strong. Determined. Opinionated. Arrogant. Tender. Sweet.
He was all those things, some of them total contradictions, and how could that be? How could he be so many different things to her?
He was—he was wonderful. Being with him was wonderful, not only in bed but in so many ways.
She loved talking with him. She loved joking with him. She loved being held in his arms.
She loved—she loved—
“Anna?”
Anna blinked. Draco was back, wearing sweatpants, holding open a deep blue terry-cloth robe.
She stared at him. Her heart was beating fast. No. The idea was insane. You didn’t fall in love with a man in, what, forty-eight hours. She certainly didn’t. She didn’t fall in love at all!
She didn’t even know what love was … or maybe she did. Yes, damned right, she did. Love was a trap. It was the way nature reminded you that you were a second-class citizen, that once you gave yourself up to a man, you were whatever he wanted you to be and not what you’d wanted to be.
“Bellissima? Why such a shocked look on that beautiful face?”
