She glanced down to his hand, and that was beautiful too—olive-skinned and long-fingered with very neat nails. And it was happening again, because now she imagined them inside her.
She was sitting at breakfast, imagining those very fingers in the filthiest of thoughts, and she dared not look up at him for she felt he could read her mind.
‘So what are your plans for today?’ Raul asked.
His voice seemed to be coming from a distance, and yet he was so prominent in her mind.
She could take his hand, Lydia was certain, and be led to his bed.
Oh, what was happening to her?
‘I told you—sightseeing, and then I’m shopping for a dress.’
‘I wish I could be there to see that.’
‘I thought men didn’t like shopping.’
‘I don’t, usually.’
His eyes flicked to the row of buttons at the front of her dress and then to the thick nipples that ached, just ached for his touch, for his mouth. And then they moved back to her face.
‘I have to go,’ Raul told her, and she sat still as he stood. With good reason: her legs simply refused to move. Standing would be difficult...walking back over to the hotel would prove a completely impossible feat.
Please go, Lydia thought, because she felt drunk on lust and was trying not to let him see.
He summoned the waiter, and though he spoke in Italian he spoke slowly enough that she could just make out what was being said.
Hold this table for tonight at six.
And then he turned to where she sat, now with her back to him, and lowered his head. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.
He did not.
His breath was warm on her cheek and his scent was like a delicious invasion. His glossy black hair was so close that she fought not to reach out and feel it, fought not to turn and lick his face.
And then he spoke.
‘Hold that thought till six.’
Lydia blinked and tried to pretend that she still felt normal, that this was simply breakfast and she was somehow in control.
‘I already told you—I can’t make it tonight.’
Then he offered but one word.
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