Chapter 22 Anna
ANNA
I see him before he sees me.
Morning light cuts through the gym windows. He’s at the weight bench, back to the door, wearing nothing but dark athletic shorts. His shoulders flex as he lifts. Sweat runs down his spine in a line I can’t stop watching.
I came looking for Alexei’s toy dinosaur. Found this instead.
Luca sets down the weights and reaches for a towel. Wipes his face. The muscles in his back shift under tan skin marked with scars I’ve never asked about.
He turns and catches me staring.
“Looking for something?” His voice is casual. Amused.
“Alexei’s dinosaur. He thinks he left it in here yesterday.”
“Haven’t seen it.”
“Right. I’ll keep looking.”
I should turn around and walk away. Instead, I stand there watching water drip down his chest while he watches me watch him.
“You’re welcome to stay,” he says. “I’m almost done.”
“I need to find the dinosaur.”
“Check the basket by the treadmill. Alexei was playing there.”
I cross to the treadmill. Bend down to search the basket. Feel his eyes on me the entire time. The toy dinosaur is right on top.
When I stand, he’s closer than he was. Close enough that I can smell sweat and something else. Something distinctly him.
“Found it,” I say.
“Good.”
He doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“I should go.”
“Should you?”
“The twins are waiting for breakfast.”
“Elena is handling breakfast.”
“Still. I should—”
He reaches past me for his water bottle. His arm brushes my shoulder. The contact is brief, but I feel it everywhere.
“Enjoy your workout,” I manage.
I leave before he can respond. Before I do something stupid like close the distance between us and see if he tastes like he smells.
This is a problem.
By noon, the problem is worse.
I’m in the garden with the twins when Luca appears. He’s changed into jeans that fit too well and a white T-shirt that shows off every line of his chest and arms. Hair still damp from the shower.
“Who wants to go swimming?” he asks.
Mila and Alexei shriek and run for the house to change. I follow more slowly.
“You don’t have to entertain them,” I say. “I had plans to take them to the park.”
“Swimming is better. It’s hot out.”
“Still. You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
The way he says it makes my skin heat.
Twenty minutes later, I’m poolside watching Luca teach Alexei to float. He’s shirtless, water streaming down his chest and abs. His hands support Alexei’s back while he talks him through breathing and balance.
Mila splashes nearby with her floaties, completely absorbed in her own game.
I’m supposed to be reading. The book is open in my lap. I haven’t turned a page in fifteen minutes.
Luca glances over. Catches me staring again. The corner of his mouth lifts.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Mama, watch!” Alexei shouts.
I drag my attention back to my son. He’s floating on his own now, Luca’s hands hovering close but not touching.
“That’s amazing, baby!”
Alexei beams. Luca guides him back to standing. Says something I can’t hear that makes Alexei laugh.
Then Luca pulls himself out of the pool in one smooth motion. Water sheets off his body. He walks toward me, grabs his towel from the chair beside mine, and dries his face.
This close, I can see water droplets caught in his chest hair. Can see the way his shorts hang low on his hips. Can smell chlorine and sun-warmed skin.
“You should come in,” he says. “Water’s perfect.”
“I’m fine here.”
“Are you?” His eyes drop to the book in my lap. Still open to the same page. “Looks like you’re having trouble concentrating.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Tired.” He drapes the towel around his neck. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Heat floods my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long. Then he dives back into the pool, surfacing near the twins.
I close the book and press my thighs together.
This is definitely a problem.
Dinner is worse.
We eat outside on the terrace. The twins chatter about swimming and floating and the game Luca invented with dive rings. I push food around my plate and try not to stare at the way his forearms flex when he cuts Mila’s chicken.
“Mama’s not eating,” Alexei observes.
“I’m eating.”
“No, you’re moving food around. That’s different.”
Luca’s eyes meet mine across the table. “Maybe she’s not hungry.”
“Or maybe I’m just tired.”
“You said that earlier. Maybe you should go to bed early tonight.”
The suggestion sounds innocent. It’s not. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me.
“Maybe I will.”
After dinner, I help the twins with their bath. Read them two stories each. Tuck them in with nightlights on and doors open exactly four inches. By the time I finish, it’s barely nine o’clock.
I go to my room. Change into sleep shorts and a tank top. Try to read the same book from this morning. Still can’t focus.
All I can think about is water running down his chest. The way his hand brushed my shoulder. The way he looked at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I’m warm despite the air conditioning. Restless. My skin feels too tight.
This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I can ignore physical attraction. I’ve been doing it for weeks.
Except I haven’t been doing it for weeks. I’ve been having angry sex with him in studies, against walls, and on desks. And lately it’s been less angry and more…something else.
I throw off the covers and pace my room.
This is his fault. Walking around shirtless. Touching me casually. Looking at me like he’s remembering what I look like naked.
Which he’s seen. Multiple times. So, of course he’s remembering.
I’m remembering too. That’s the problem.
I remember his hands. His mouth. The way he makes me come apart, even when I don’t want to. The way he feels inside me. The sounds he makes when he loses control.
I press my hands to my face.
I need to go to sleep and stop wanting something I shouldn’t want from a man I’m supposed to hate.
Except I don’t hate him anymore. That’s the real problem.
I stand at my door for a full minute before I open it.
The hallway is dark except for the nightlights from the twins’ rooms. Their doors are open four inches exactly. Both of them are asleep.
Luca’s door is at the end of the hall. Closed. Light shows underneath.
He’s awake.
I walk down the hallway before I can talk myself out of it. Stand outside his door with my hand raised to knock.
This is stupid. I should go back to my room. Should ignore this heat building under my skin. Should maintain whatever boundaries still exist between us.
I knock before I can change my mind.
“Come in.”
He’s in bed. Shirtless, reading glasses on, laptop open in front of him. He looks up when I enter, and something flickers in his expression. “Anna.”
I close the door behind me. Lean against it. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?”
“Don’t play stupid. The gym this morning. The pool. Dinner. You’ve been teasing me all day.”
He sets the laptop aside. Takes off his glasses. “Have I?”
“You know you have.”
“And you didn’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
I push off the door and cross to his bed. “I’m saying it worked. Whatever game you were playing. It worked.”
“It wasn’t a game.”
“Then what was it?”
“Showing you what’s already there. Making you admit you want this.”
“Want what?”
“Me. Us. This thing between us that isn’t anger anymore.”
He’s right. It’s not anger. It hasn’t been angry for weeks.
It’s something much more dangerous.
I climb onto the bed. Straddle him over the sheets. His hands come to my hips immediately.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask.
“Since this morning, when you walked into that gym and couldn’t stop staring.”
“You’re an arrogant ass.”
“You’re here anyway.”
I kiss him to shut him up.
His mouth opens under mine immediately. Warm.
Familiar. Tongue meeting mine in a lazy sweep that makes my stomach tighten.
I sink deeper into the kiss, hands framing his face, thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw.
He tastes like mint and the faint trace of wine from dinner.
I feel his hands settle on my hips over the thin fabric of my sleep shorts—light, guiding, not pulling.
I rock down against him and immediately feel him harden beneath me through the sheets. A low sound rumbles in his chest. I do it again. Longer this time.
His hands slide up under my tank top. Palms warm against my sides. Thumbs trace the underside of my breasts. I arch into the touch. Break the kiss just long enough to pull the tank over my head. It drops somewhere behind me. His eyes drop to my chest, dark and focused.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. Voice rough. “Every time.”
I reach for the hem of his shirt. Tug it up. He lifts his arms to help. The fabric slides off. I run my palms over his chest. I lean down, kiss the center of his chest. Then lower. Tongue flicking over one flat nipple. He inhales sharply, fingers threading into my hair.
We take our time. My shorts come off next. His hands glide down my thighs as he peels them away, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin behind my knees. I push the sheets aside. Hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxers. Slide them down his hips. He kicks them off.
Then we’re bare. Skin on skin. Heat everywhere.
I straddle him again. This time, nothing between us. I reach down. Wrap my fingers around him and feel him thicken in my hand. His hips lift slightly. Eyes locked on mine.
I line him up. Sink down inch by inch.
The stretch is perfect. Full. Hot. I pause halfway. Breathe. Let my body adjust. His hands settle on my hips. Thumbs stroking hip bones in slow circles.
“You feel incredible,” he says quietly. “Look at you taking me like this.”
I sink the rest of the way. Take him fully. We both exhale. A shared sound.
I start to move. Long, rolling grinds. Not bouncing. Rocking. Circling. Finding the angle where he presses exactly where I need. My hands brace on his chest.