Chapter Fifteen

Drago opened the door into their suite, then held it as Chase stepped through.

“This has been such a beautiful night,” she told him. “First the success of dinner, then Rome by the light of the moon. It’s a dream I never want to wake up from. Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed a night off.”

She turned and grinned, stopping him in his tracks. There was something about her—her smile, the way she treated those around her, the thought she put into her business—that was different from anything he’d experienced before. Most of his colleagues, hell, all of his colleagues couldn’t care less about anything except the bottom line and how it affected their pockets.

She used what lined her pockets to make sure the people involved in her business were a top priority. And he had to admit, so far Huntington House was marked to thrive. He’d been wrong to ever think her spoiled, and his error in judgment revealed more questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

Tracing her delicate brow, he caressed a line to her jaw, studying every curve of her face so he’d be able to recollect it perfectly once she was gone. He’d had many women, and never had he missed any one of them once it was over. But Chase would be gone in a week. His chest grew heavy and tight.

With his thumb, he rubbed the warm, soft skin of her bottom lip.

“Thank you for coming, for showing me your vision of Rome. I’ll never look at it the same again.”

Drawn to taste her, he hovered his mouth over hers, close enough to feel her breath, but not so close that he was lost. Her large brown eyes dilated, and her breaths came fast and short. He struggled with his control around her, with how deeply he fell, but he didn’t like it at all. He loved it.

And that was a huge problem.

“Drago?”

Her whisper hit his lips before his ears, and he straightened. Pressure continued to build in his chest, leaving him on edge and uncomfortable. He needed to get himself under control; he needed to take control. She threw him so far from being the Dragon, it left him disoriented and weak.

Time to turn things around. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bathroom. The clean, modern lines softened under the dimmed lights.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He adjusted the water temperature on the wall mount outside the shower door and spoke softly. “You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted.”

Stepping behind her, he untied her halter and let it slip toward her waist. The scent of mango and cocoa butter wafted toward him as the fabric caught at her hips, then fluttered to the floor.

She sucked in a breath.

The room became warm and dense with fog from the shower. He placed his fingertips on each hip, then followed the gentle curve to her waist. Goose bumps flared along her back as he continued up to the line of her shoulders. Brushing the side of her neck with his lips, he gripped her upper arms and stepped into her and tried to ignore how perfectly they fit together.

She dropped her head to the side, exposing the long column of her throat. His hands twitched, his muscles tightened, and his mouth watered. But this wasn’t a moment for urgency. It was one to savor. To control.

Because if he didn’t find a way to wind down, to step back, he might just fall completely. And that would be a disaster.

“I want to touch you, then I want to hold you.” His voice was quiet but full of an unfamiliar need.

She turned and pressed her mouth to his with a desperate moan. He let himself sink, but only long enough to feel the sensation race through his body, then using every ounce of strength he possessed, he pulled back. Her immediate frown lightened his heart, and he chuckled. “Sometimes, it’s important to simply let someone take care of you, Chase.”

Her sweet lower lip disappeared as she worked it with her teeth.

He slipped out of his own clothes, then backed her slowly into the shower. With featherlight strokes, he touched her brow, her jaw, the delicate line of her collarbone.

“Drago.”

“Shhhhhhh…” he replied, pressing a finger against her lips, then replacing it with his mouth. He tasted her, only a sampling, then positioned her under the spray.

Her eyes flared as the heat of the water met her back, then they grew heavy. “So I’m supposed to stand here?”

“You’re supposed to let me take care of you.” Lathering a cloth, he marveled at the curve of her high, firm breasts and the generous dip at her waist. Her black hair, slicked straight back, framed her face in the shape of a heart thanks to a widow’s peak he’d never noticed when her short spiky fringe was styled. Dark eyes watched him, somewhat wary, somewhat confused, not a little impatient. And it was the impertinence, her need to do something, to make something happen, that had him falling all the harder. “You’re stunning.”

She smiled, dropping her eyes. “So are you.” Reaching for him, she closed her hot, wet hands around him, and it was all he could do not to take her right there against the wall. His body fought to break the tethers he’d applied.

She tortured him. “I want you.”

Pulling in deep breaths through the humid little world they’d created in the shower wasn’t easy, and neither was talking. “I want you, too. But—”

She raised her hands. “But what?”

His smile was slow. And his movements slower. Turning her toward the spray, he positioned the cloth high at her shoulder and dragged it down her back in long, firm strokes. He’d already memorized every dip and valley of her body in her room, and again on the plane. So this moment wasn’t so much about learning as it was about loving.

No. Not loving.

He squeezed his eyes closed. Hell no. Love was about as useful as a criminal accountant.

He rubbed the cloth along her collarbone, pulling her back against his chest. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her mouth opened, water droplets gathering, then dripping from her upper lip.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from the sight. Adding more lather to the cloth, he encouraged her to lift a leg to the bench, then rubbed from her toes to the inside of her thigh. The higher he went, the slower he went, moving in deep, firm circles. His other hand trailed along her hamstring to the sensitive skin behind her knee.

Her breath hitched, but he found her eyes closed and her head dropped back.

His whole body tightened painfully.

This was a test of his self-control. If he could have this moment, give this moment to her, it would prove that he was still in charge. Still able to walk away and be walked away from—regardless of his memories, of his denial.

And while he was testing his own limitations, he’d imprint himself on her in a way she’d never forget, make her miss him as much as he surely would her once she was gone. When she went back to the States, she’d think of him at least as often as he’d think of her—or at least every time she took a shower.

It was hell already that every morning he passed the coffee and pastry bar, he was reminded of her taste for sweets, and with every old building came the echo of her passion for history. Every day would be faced with constant reminders of Chase Huntington until he figured out a way to scrub her from both his brain and Ferrara.

Finishing the other leg, he sat on the bench and turned her to lavish as much attention on her ass as possible while the water still ran hot. Her backside was full, with skin so smooth he couldn’t help but slide his cheek along each globe and finish off with a firm but gentle bite.

A sharp intake of breath was her only response.

With a hand on each hip, he turned her once more, then pressed a kiss to her stomach. He trailed his lips up her torso, breathing in the mango and cocoa butter that was as much her scent as the salty air was the sea’s.

Nuzzling under one breast, he ventured a bit higher, then closed his mouth around the dark, rosy skin of her areola. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and she whimpered in answer.

Standing, he added a little shampoo to his hands, then massaged his fingers deep into her hair. He scrubbed the tips of his fingers back and forth over her skull. She’d long past given in to his ministrations, and now her chin rested on her chest.

He rinsed them both, then grabbed a large, heated bath towel.

No words, no rushing. No need.

So much need.

Rubbing her dry one inch at a time, he couldn’t decide if she was more beautiful on the inside or the outside.

Either way, che figa, she was stunning.

By the time he finished, her breathing was deep and even. With little effort, he carried her to the generous bed and laid her in the center. He turned off the lights, then joined her. Carefully, he pulled her into the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest.

She stretched her legs alongside his. “I’m so sleepy.”

“Good,” he whispered.

Her lips pulled up at the corners as her body settled more deeply against him.

His chest tightened. A vision of her walking away haunted the dark room. What was wrong with him now? He’d just maintained more control than ever. He was in charge, able to manage himself in any situation. Yet as he lay there staring into the darkness with his body tightly bound from his denying it release, all he could focus on was how perfectly she fit into his side, how the scent of her comforted him, and how the gentle rhythm of her breathing matched his own.

He’d tried to shift gears to create distance. But while his body melted around hers, his mind was crowded with contradictions. Why was everything more complicated in the insulated blanket of the night?

Well, he’d simply remind himself she was a choice. One he could walk toward or walk away from. Nothing more, nothing less.

An ache formed behind his eyes, but he closed them against it.