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“Good morning,” she said, smiling at Henry. He sat at the cafe table, reading the newspaper. He was fully dressed in a dark blue suit, minus the tie, and his hair was still slightly damp. Sophie was an early riser. You had to be when you were a dancer. She wasn’t wearing a watch, but she’d guess it was no later than seven, and here he was, dressed for the day.
He looked up at her, dark eyes roving over attire. He didn’t smile, but she saw the slightest twitch of his lips and the heat flaring in his gaze. It seemed he enjoyed watching her walk in for breakfast in his clothes. She shivered with desire, plucking at the hem of the shirt, which nearly reached her knees. “I hope you don’t mind. My clothes seem to have disappeared.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He motioned her to sit. “And I apologize about the clothes. Regina sent them out with the wash. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, there’s something for you in the dressing room. But please, eat first.”
Sophie spooned some mixed fruit onto her plate and snagged a piece of toast while Henry poured her a cup of coffee from the French press. She popped a bit of melon into her mouth, chewing the sweet flesh slowly while she added cream and a bit of sugar to her cup. “Thank you.”
They sat at breakfast like that for several moments—Sophie enjoying fruit and toast with her coffee, Henry reading the paper. As she munched on a bite of toast, studying his handsome face, she thought of the words he’d said the previous night and sudden understanding broke over her. “Oh! It’s Italian.”
He looked up from his paper at Sophie, eyebrows raised. She flushed. “Last night. You were speaking Italian. You said you were from Argentina. I guess I expected Spanish.”
Henry nodded. “My mother’s mother was Italian. She used to speak it with my mother, and I picked it up. I do speak Spanish as well, from my father’s family. But I prefer the Italian for...” He grinned, the dimple his cheek flashing. “You know, don’t you, dolce?”
Sophie licked toast crumbs off her lip and wondered how long it would take her to get him out of that suit. Suddenly he was standing beside her and touching her chin, drawing her face up until she looked into his eyes. The obsidian depths sparkled with desire. His thumb brushed her lip. He held out his other hand. Sophie took it, letting him draw her up and into his arms. She slid her hands around his neck, pressing herself against him, running her fingers into the hair at his nape. He leaned down, brushing his mouth against hers.
“Day dreaming about me already?” He nipped at her lower lip. She looked at him through her lashes, unable to stop the flush of her cheeks from deepening.
“Since our first dance at the studio. That night, when I went home...” She trailed off, unable to confess the scope of her dream.
“And was I as good as you imagined?”
She slapped at his chest, but laughter bubbled up her throat as well. “Better, actually. It turns out my imagination is severely lacking.” She fiddled with his lapel. “What about you? Did you think about me?”
Henry squeezed her tightly against his chest, leaning down to nibble her earlobe. “I went home that night and relived that dance in my head several times. Although, in my version, your assistant never came in and interrupted us. I kissed you, like I’d wanted to.”
She sighed as he slid his mouth back to hers and kissed her, deep and sweet. When he lifted his head she smiled. “I’m torn between finding that charming and upsetting. I was imagining you naked.”
“Do I seem like the kind of man whose fantasies end at a kiss?”
Sophie took in a quick breath. “Well, it’s romantic that it started there then.”
He leaned down, rubbing his lips against hers. “Ma tutto comincia con un bacio, dolce.”
“What does that mean?” she murmured against his mouth.
“It all begins with a kiss.” His tongue emerged to tease at her lips. Sophie melted against him, clinging, as he explored her mouth. His kisses were as addictive as any drug. He gave her one and she immediately wanted more. When he lifted his head, she stood on tip-toe to chase his lips, sucking the full lower one between her teeth.
“I like it the first way better. Remind me to thank your grandmother.” She tugged playfully at his lapel. “You make it sound almost as if she raised you.”
A door might as well have slammed shut, Henry’s hot gaze went cold so quickly. His arms tightened the slightest bit around her, and then he let her go and stepped back. “You should probably go. I have meetings all morning.”
He was checking his watch, gathering up the cell he’d left on the table. Anything but meeting her eyes. “Henry?” Sophie’s head throbbed with the sudden change in his tone. Was this what whiplash felt like?
Henry glanced up at her quickly, gaze barely touching her face before darting back down to the cell phone’s display screen. “The dressing room is through the bedroom. Regina put a dress in there for you. I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer.”
She watched him disappear around the terrace corner, mouth agape. What had just happened? Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about his family. But he’d gone from playful and affectionate to cold and distant so fast her head was still spinning. She was still trying to adjust emotionally as she stepped into the dressing room.
Sophie barely noticed the opulent bathtub. Normally, she would have admired it and possibly filled it with warm, soapy water so she could soak for hours. But Henry had made it clear that it was time for her to go. She found the dress he’d mentioned hanging from an armoire above her shoes.
He’d taken them off her. She knew it. At some point during the night, Henry Medina had slipped off her high heels. It was a tender gesture completely incongruous with this sudden shift to an all-business demeanor. He was acting as if they’d shared a cab, not a night of soul shaking passion. Bewilderment settled over Sophie
as she tugged the soft fabric of the dress down over her head.
In other circumstances she might have marveled at the perfect fit, the way it bared her slender arms, hugged her breasts and hips, and flared dramatically down to her knees. She might have admired the bold pattern. It would be a good dress to tango in. But she filed all that away for another time, hastily pulling it on and slipping into her shoes. Her hair-tie was gone.
Had Henry slipped that off her too? Did he run his fingers through her light hair, watching her as she slept? Sophie sighed. Who was that other Henry, the one who did those things? If only he was here, instead of this brusque man who was hurrying her out the door.
Her purse was here too. She snatched it up almost angrily. Not almost. Beneath the confusion, a small cauldron of resentment was beginning to boil. She stalked to the stairs, determined not to be brushed off like some one-night stand. Even if she had sort of acted like one. Well, that changed now.
