Chapter Five
SHE REALLY SHOULD check on him, Catarina thought as she laid her book on the side table, the one she had been staring at unproductively for too long.
Instead of reading, she had found herself thinking about how silent it had been in Massimo’s room.
Her mind flitted to her previous worry that the accident had caused a concussion.
The right thing to do was to check on him, she told herself.
For his own good. Not because of this desire he sparked in her.
Not because of the memory of his fingers against her scalp as he wove them through her hair and then the startling heat of his mouth as he took hers.
The word took was the only way to describe what he did with his hands and his mouth.
Catarina had thought she’d known the meaning of that word, but his kiss had destroyed her old understanding and rebuilt it into something new, something that enticed her as much as it made her wary.
Because she had wanted him to take more.
But she was checking on him out of concern, she repeated to herself as she headed out of her room and down the long hallway.
She knocked on the door, and the sound echoed through the quiet house.
He didn’t answer. Catarina knocked again, and when he didn’t answer immediately, she rested her hand on the door handle.
But as she turned the knob, the handle was yanked out of her hand.
Catarina’s breath caught in her throat. Massimo was standing so close, and a spark of electric heat shot through her.
The stark planes of his face were tight, and his gaze was inscrutable.
A bump had formed on his head, and Catarina detected dark shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well, even though his broad shoulders suggested a kind of power that wouldn’t budge for such worldly obstacles as a car crash.
Or a snowstorm. Or a wayward almost-fiancée.
“Yes?” He used that same sultry tone he had in the kitchen, and his deep voice sent another spark of awareness through her.
“I was just checking to see if you were—” she hesitated.
Conscious didn’t seem to be the right way to finish this sentence “—warm enough?” Belatedly, Catarina registered that he was wearing the tacky Christmas jumper she had left for him, along with the socks.
He lifted a brow, as if daring her to comment further on his attire.
“Right. You look fine,” she continued quickly. “Also, our cook stocked the refrigerator with food when you are hungry. And if you need anything else…”
“For example?” His voice was so distracting that, for a moment, she wondered if he was…flirting with her? The idea was a spark inside that she knew she should ignore. And yet, she didn’t.
“Perhaps more Christmas attire?” she asked archly.
She could have sworn the corners of his mouth twitched up in amusement. “Very generous offer. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She felt his penetrative gaze bore into her as she walked away.
All afternoon she found herself distracted by this conversation. He couldn’t have been flirting with her, could he? Their first meeting the day before suggested that Massimo Carandini was constitutionally unequipped for such frivolities, and yet that spark inside her wouldn’t go away.
Not even later that night, when she closed her book again.
The house was quiet. In fact, she hadn’t heard a sound from Massimo’s side of the hall in a long time.
She flashed back to his tall frame in the doorway of his room, the hint of amusement teasing his mouth…
and the bandage on his forehead. This man had been in a car accident, she reminded herself, which probably meant she should have checked on him more carefully earlier instead of getting so distracted by, well, everything.
He had, of course, appeared to be the pinnacle of health.
Still, now that she thought about it, she definitely should see if he was all right, especially considering the warnings she was remembering about head injuries and sleep.
Catarina rose from the soft comfort of her reading chair and crept into the hallway until she reached the door to Massimo’s room.
She stopped and gave the door a gentle tap.
Just to make sure he was fine, she told herself.
The house was still and silent. She tried again, this time more forcefully.
Nothing. If he was asleep, then she really should wake him, just to make sure.
Catarina knocked one more time and was answered with silence, so she took a deep breath and entered the bedroom.
The snow lit the walls in a silvery glow, and the light from the windows cast shadows that emphasized the cut of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw.
At rest, he looked so much more peaceful.
The intensity of his gaze was gone, as was the frown he gave her so often.
The glimmer of the snow brightened the white duvet and shimmered on Massimo’s bare skin.
So much of his bare skin was exposed. Her heart took off in her chest, sending a wave of tingling desire that settled in her core, racing toward what Catarina had spent too much time pushing away.
Don’t get distracted this time, she chided herself as she crossed the room. Just wake him, then exit.
Up close, the silvery light highlighted the curves and shadows of his muscular stomach and chest. He lay on his back, shirtless, with one arm tossed over his head, revealing a patch of silky hair under his arm that somehow made him look both aggressively masculine and also vulnerable.
He had another patch of dark hair across his chest and a third trail that invited her gaze down to where the covers began, as if begging her to contemplate what lay beneath.
A shiver of desire ran through her, hot and electric.
Just a man. A man who could have a head injury, she reminded herself sternly.
Her mind was suddenly flooded with things she wanted to do, perhaps trace the hair on the torso to test its texture or maybe bring her lips to his skin just to see how he tasted.
But one did not do these things to a sleeping man, even if said man was slated to become one’s fiancé.
Wake him and exit, she repeated to herself.
But she was wary of touching him. Every inch of his body felt aggressively sexual.
With an unsteady breath, she settled on the bed next to him, her hip so close to his chest. Heat from his body radiated through the silk of her pajamas, reminding her once again that this was not a dream.
She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and she studied the harsh planes of his cheeks and nose and forehead, softened in his sleep.
She studied the defined muscles of his shoulders, taking in their hard solidity as more electric heat zapped through her.
Her breaths came faster as the need grew inside her.
She had the urge to press her body against his to soothe this ache in her belly, between her legs.
Which was completely inappropriate. Massimo was sleeping, for goodness’ sake. Catarina raised her hand to her chest, as if to steady the flutter of her own heart, but when she moved, she could have sworn that his muscles tensed. She froze.
“Massimo?” she whispered.
Nothing. She was imagining things again. Just her own guilty conscience, she decided.
She swallowed, steeling herself for her reaction to the feel of his smooth skin under her fingers.
Maybe, she thought wryly, this could also act as a dose of self-styled exposure therapy to tone down the way her body reacted to this very real, very physical, man in front of her.
She let out a huff of exasperation. Just wake him and leave, Catarina!
His biceps lay at rest, cast so invitingly over his head.
There was nothing inappropriate about touching his arm, right?
Her fingers trembled as she reached across and brushed her hand over the bulge of his muscles.
All at once, those muscles came to life.
Before Catarina could react, Massimo moved, and she found herself on her back with him over her, pinning her down.
She no longer had to wonder about what was under the covers because a long, thick erection was pressed hard between her legs.
She let out a moan before she could stop herself.
“Dio,” he muttered, his voice a husky rasp. “What are you doing?”
Her senses were overloaded with the heat of his body, the scent of him so much more intimate, cologne and something that smelled like pure masculinity.
“I… I…” Catarina struggled to respond, struggled to focus her brain when he was everywhere. But she had gone over her answer too many times to forget it. “I was checking on your concussion. You’re not supposed to sleep the full night with a head injury.”
For a moment he studied her, as if he was weighing her answer, but then something that could have been dark humor settled in his gaze.
“Are you sure?” he said softly. “If you wanted to see me naked, you just had to ask.”
Her entire body was exploding with heat with his words, with his warm, muscular torso pressed against her. Her breaths were coming in short pants, which was only making his case about her intentions stronger.
“I’m talking to a man arrogant enough to try to outrun an avalanche,” she muttered. “Of course you would assume I’m here for sex.”
“How quickly you jumped from seeing me naked to sex,” he said, his voice full of lazy desire. “Interesting.”
Embarrassment flashed heat to her cheeks, but Catarina tried her best to glare at him. “Next time I won’t bother checking if you are still alive.”
“Already planning for next time?” A smile teased at his lips. Then, slowly, Massimo lowered himself onto his elbows, bringing his body to hers. His lips were so close, and she told herself she should resist. Instead, she arched to meet his mouth.