“Siobhán Connelly.”
“Hi, Siobhán. It’s Anna.”
“Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Mr. DeVita told me you needed help with a charity gala? He asked me to call you.”
It was Thursday, just before lunch, and this was the last loose end I needed to tie up before taking my break.
“Yes! Oh my God, thank you! There’s only a week left until the event, and I have so much to do.”
“What do you need?”
“The planning is done. It’s just last-minute details. I’ll send you a list to review. I’d like to meet and divvy up the work.”
“I can do that, no problem. When do you want to meet?
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Today is a mess. My afternoon is shot. Department meetings. I have a few errands to run after work, but…” She drew out the but, and I sensed mischief. “We could go out tonight. A little late-night planning sesh? What do you think?”
“That sounds amazing. I could use a drink after the past couple days.”
“That good, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
She snorted. “It’s a date. Meet me outside Vesuvio at eight.”
“Vesuvio? As in the nightclub?”
“That’s the only Vesuvio I know.” I could almost see her sticking the tip of her tongue between her teeth.
“People like me don’t go to Vesuvio, Siobhán. I’m not exactly a jet-setting partier. Are you sure that’s where you want to go?”
“What? You don’t like free drinks?”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed. “Vesuvio is Marco’s club.”
I sighed. Of course it was. “I don’t know.”
“Come ooon. It’s different during the week. No DJ. No dancing. Just professionals having drinks after work. You’ll be fine.”
I did need a drink and some girl time after the previous day’s Marco-DeVita-induced hot flash. What the hell. “Okay,” I said, resigned yet doubtful.
“Yes! You’ll love it. Promise.”
I chuckled. “We’ll see.”
“See you at eight,” she said and hung up.
I placed the receiver back on the dock and got up to retrieve my coat just as Mr. DeVita walked out of his office.
“Anna.”
“Mr. DeVita. I was about to go to lunch. Did you need anything before I head out?”
“The escrow’s in place?”
“Yes. I sent you an email with the account number and proof of deposit.”
Turns out, Mr. DeVita did have enough capital in reserves, and his debt-to-income ratio, while high, was well within the stipulations required by the purchase agreement. Although, had I actually been his financial advisor, I still would have recommended against the purchase.
“Excellent. I’m taking the rest of the day off, but I want to know as soon as that waiver comes through. If I don’t answer my cell, I’ll be downstairs in the spa.” He walked across the foyer to his apartment.
“Enjoy your break,” I said and meant it. That man was constantly working. He shot me a quick glance over his shoulder, and I stepped onto the elevator and headed to lunch.
The afternoon flew by with two iterations on the model and assembling input files, and suddenly it was four-thirty. I usually left the office around six, but since Mr. DeVita was gone for the day… I closed all the windows on my desktop, put my water bottle in my bag, and checked my email one last time.
There it was. A message from Doug Heller with the subject “Financial District Waiver Approved.” I picked up my cell and called Mr. DeVita. Straight to voicemail. I texted him, waited five minutes, and called again. Nothing. I was going to have to go down to the spa. I sighed. So much for leaving early.
At the back of the main lobby, behind the front desk and past the elevators, a set of copper-clad doors led to the baths that gave Terme di Boston its name. I climbed down two flights of stairs that opened into a foyer with ivy-covered stone walls and trickling fountains. The air smelled clean but not artificial, a combination of eucalyptus and toasted almonds.
“Good afternoon,” I said to the attendant at the front desk. “I’m Mr. DeVita’s assistant. I have an urgent message for him.”
“Yes. Ms. Barone. Mr. DeVita asked us to reserve the low-steam room for him this afternoon. If he’s not in the main baths, he’s likely there. Go past the full-length pool, but before you enter the hallway to the private men’s and women’s areas, you’ll find the low-steam room on the left.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I pushed through the second set of copper doors behind the front desk and stepped into the main baths.
An Olympic-sized pool occupied the center of a cavernous chamber surrounded by smaller pools, misters, tiled walkways, and a bar. A man in a speedo stroked lazily through its crystal waters under ivy that had ventured beyond its trellises to conquer the vaulted ceiling. Between the legs of foliage dripping from stone beams, chandeliers cast light across the rippling water, making it dance with reflection.
The attendant standing behind the bar handed a woman in a thong bikini and heeled sandals a glass of sparkling water. She carried her drink to a square plunge pool along the wall. “MINERAL” was carved into the stone in the same Romanesque lettering used on the front entrance. She kicked off her sandals, held her drink aloft, and descended into the bath, slowly sinking until she sat and rested her head against the lip of the pool. Her glass, beaded with condensation, dangled in her fingers above the water.
On the opposite side of the pool, stone benches protruded from the wall like organic growths, one of them occupied by two older men with noticeable paunches and receding hairlines. One of the men reached behind him and turned a copper knob. A gentle mist sprayed the area where they sat and rustled the foliage.
Mr. DeVita was nowhere in sight.
At the far end of the main room, another set of copper doors mirrored the set behind me. Right before the doors and past the smaller baths, “SAUNA” was carved into the stone over a glass door opaque with condensation.
I walked the length of the pool, kicking myself for having never ventured down there before. The peaceful ambiance was soothing, and I wanted to stay and soak in the tranquility. But I was on a mission.
Sure enough, a Reserved placard hung from a suction cup stuck to the glass.
The door opened with a whoosh, and I stepped into the warm, hazy space. The low-steam sauna wasn’t overly cloying with heat and humidity like a regular sauna. The air was thick, and condensation trailed down the tiled walls, but the room was set to a temperature you could tolerate for more than ten minutes, and visibility wasn’t completely obscured by a wall of steam. Dim, orange lights reflected off a plunge pool set in the center of the space, its refreshing waters empty and waiting.
Against the opposite wall, Marco DeVita gripped the edge of a stone bench on either side of his knees. His head rested back on the tile, unmoving, but his dark, hooded eyes followed me like a predator tracking its prey.
The click of my heels ricocheted off the walls, a steady beat over the rapid pounding of my pulse. It quickened the closer I came to the full extent of his dominating presence, so primitive and exposed.
The wave of his hair, damp with humidity, was more pronounced, curls glistening and falling out of their ordered places. He was naked aside from the white towel wrapped around his waist, and sweat followed the curve of his muscled arms to where his hands gripped the edge of the bench. Neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair covered his broad chest. It trailed down an abdomen thick with muscle before disappearing beneath the towel. The tattoo I’d seen on his forearm was on full display, the “track” revealing itself to be scales on the tail end of a snake. The serpent coiled itself around his forearm and bicep, slinking up his arm until it rested its diamond-shaped head on the bulge of his shoulder.
My mouth went dry despite the humidity, and I licked my lips. Sexual energy poured from his hungry eyes like the droplets of moisture sliding down the hard planes of his body. The heat of the sauna and the heat in his eyes combined to form a tidal wave of lust that crashed into me. But I was there for a reason that had nothing to do with the urgency developing between my legs, and I stopped a few feet short of the bench, not daring to venture any closer to temptation.
“You—you wanted me to notify you as soon as the waiver came through.”
He lifted his head off the tile and stood. The towel wrapped around his hips only covered half of his thick thighs and exposed an indecent amount of his lower abs. He prowled toward me, and his muscles rippled under a thin sheen of sweat.
Jesus. I swallowed, trying in vain to slow my breathing as the alpha sex god eyed me like he was ready to feast.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” I mumbled.
He stopped close enough for me to see the muscles of his shoulders flex beneath his smooth, glistening skin. He held me transfixed, taking control of my body by the sheer force of his regard. I clasped my hands in front of me as if they clutched a life preserver in the sea of his dark intentions, but damn if I didn’t want to drown.
“And?” he prompted with gravelly demand.
“The waiver’s been approved. The commissioner attached a digital copy to the email, but you’ll need the original to submit the paperwork. City hall is closed, so I can’t file the permits, but you can alert the seller you’re ready to purchase and provide them with the escrow.”
A smile crept across his face, victorious and predatory, a wicked celebration of his illicit checkmate.
The devious bend to his mouth. The rough stubble across his jaw. The angle of his Roman nose, as sharp and defined as the muscled length of his body. Desire seized me, and rational thought fled.
His dangerous smile transformed into a sly, knowing grin, and his eyes gleamed with arrogance.
He closed the distance between us. His skin radiated warmth, and the heat it caused in my body made me dizzy. My lips parted, desperate for air.
He dragged his fingertips across my sweaty forehead and into my hair, moving the loose strands away from my face before wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck. He tilted his head and watched a bead of sweat slide down my cheek. It tickled my skin as it trailed downward. He swiped it away with a brush of his thumb and lowered his mouth to my ear.
“You should go now, Anna. You’re getting wet.”
Urgency surged between my legs and blood rushed my face. He knew how ready I was, how much he turned me on, and it only amplified the aching need of my desire.
He pulled back, just enough to watch a droplet of sweat travel down my chest and beyond the top of my silk blouse. He followed its path until it was lost between my breasts.
He lifted his sultry gaze, captured my eyes, and a roguish smirk formed on his lips. He backed away with slow, deliberate steps and stopped just shy of the plunge pool. His hands went to the towel around his waist.
With a flick of his fingers and no shame, he untucked the end. The towel fell to the tiled floor revealing the rest of his magnificent body and the overwhelming extent of his desire.
I sucked in a breath, lightheaded from the heat and the humidity and Marco DeVita’s brazen beauty. Arms at his sides, weight shifted onto one leg, he stood unabashed, dominating the room like a Roman god sculpted to perfection, expertly carved out of marble and sin. I wanted to touch him, wanted to run my hands over his hard muscles and up and down his erection. I wanted to witness the statute come to life. I wanted to make him lose his impenetrable control.
He lifted his chin and stepped toward the pool, the profile of his naked body no less erotic than the front. I shamelessly enjoyed the view—the round curve of his firm buttocks, the thick muscles of his powerful thighs, the proud extent of his hard length.
He descended into the water, each movement a dark temptation. He sat, stretched his arms along the edge of the pool, and let his head drop back, closing his eyes.
Shock held me in place, but eventually the blood stopped rushing between my legs and returned to my brain. I stepped toward the door bemused, bewildered, and horny as hell.
“Anna?” I stopped short and glanced over my shoulder. His head still rested on the lip of the pool. “You better wear one of those turtlenecks of yours tomorrow, or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
My jaw dropped, but I slammed it shut before the groan percolating in my lungs escaped. I ripped my eyes away from where cool waters lapped his naked body. Where he made dirty promises I prayed he’d keep.
I walked out of the spa and up the stairs to the main lobby, plotting what I’d wear the next day. There was no way in hell it was going to be a turtleneck. I was ready for Marco DeVita to lose control.