Chapter 27
Olivia
“We have to find the cave!” I burst out, adrenaline surging through me. “We need to leave. Now.”
I was already stepping forward when Malik slid in my way, gripping my upper arms with steady hands.
“Olivia,” he asked gently. “Do you think you can find anything in this condition? Look at yourself. You’re exhausted. You look like hell.”
I blinked at him, then caught my reflection in the window.
My once elaborate updo now hung in ragged, limp strands around my face. My skirt was torn and smeared with streaks of blood. The blouse I had grabbed in a rush at Costa’s party—a garish red-and-yellow monstrosity—clashed horrifically with the expensive blue silk costume I’d started the night in.
I looked like a bombed Cinderella.
I sighed, sagging against Roman.
“Fine. We can rest. But then we leave at once.”
Roman slid his arm around me, his touch warm and grounding. “My love, we need to sleep, eat, and restore. Not run off half-cocked. Count Montego is expecting us. We’ll go to his estate, rest, and then make a plan.”
My eyelids grew heavy—too heavy to fight. My body finally succumbed to the exhaustion.
“All right,” I murmured, nuzzling into Roman’s shoulder. “But we can’t waste time.”
He pressed a kiss to my head. “We won’t, my fierce warrior. I promise.”
Malik nodded once, already striding toward the door. “I’ll have my carriage driver take you. Get some rest while you can.”
He disappeared down the hall, his footsteps fading into the distance.
I exhaled, my entire body screaming for sleep.
“God, I’m tired,” I muttered against Roman’s chest, stating the painfully obvious.
Roman chuckled, guiding me toward the exit.
“Me too. Let’s get to the carriage. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can lay our heads on pillows.”
The thought of a pillow had never sounded so heavenly.
The trek to Count Montego’s estate passed in a blur.
The coach’s rhythmic lurch and sway were almost hypnotic, like being cradled in the arms of sleep.
I kept drifting off against Roman’s shoulder, only to jolt awake, unwilling to fully surrender to sleep until we were safely indoors.
The rising sun bathed the landscape through the window in gold, rose, and lavender hues.
This part of Italy was breathtaking—rolling vineyards, ancient olive groves, and distant peaks kissed by morning light.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, my body felt lead-heavy with exhaustion.
Roman stepped out first, then turned to help me down.
I blinked blearily, struggling to take in my surroundings.
We crossed a terracotta courtyard, where a stone fountain stood at the center. Dancing maidens frozen in time poured endless streams of water from delicate jugs at their hips.
Bougainvillea, brilliant in shades of pink and red, tumbled over aged stone fences while manicured hedges framed the space with quiet elegance.
I stumbled up the front stairs, clinging to Roman like a vine.
My legs barely held me up.
When the front doors opened, a pretty young maid greeted us with a gasp.
“Mr. Alexander! Oh!” Her dark eyes swept over us. “You both look exhausted! Let me run you a bath, and then you must sleep. Count Montego has given orders that your every need be taken care of until he rises.”
She hesitated, then offered a warm smile. “Where are my manners? Good morning. I am Beatrice.”
Her pronunciation—beh-a-TREE-cheh—rolled off her tongue like a melody.
I mustered a small, appreciative smile and nodded. “Good morning, Beatrice.”
Roman stepped forward, his voice friendly despite his exhaustion.
“This is my wife, Olivia.”
He introduced me that way effortlessly and proudly, sending a soft warmth curling through my chest.
We were together even in a foreign land amidst chaos and exhaustion.
Beatrice curtsied, then gestured for us to follow.
We trailed behind her through the winding corridors, exiting the back of the house and stepping into the crisp morning air.
Beyond an ivy-covered archway, a small stone building nestled among lush greenery awaited us.
Inside, the air was thick with steam, carrying the distinct earthy scent of minerals.
A natural hot spring sat at the center of the vast chamber, its water gently rippling as it trickled from a pipe at the far end. Stone benches lined the walls, offering a place to rest and soak in the warmth.
Beatrice smiled, gesturing to the pool.
“We are fortunate to have hot springs on this property. Please, indulge yourselves,” she said.
She crouched by the pool’s edge, dipping her fingers into the water.
After a brief nod of approval, she rose. “Perfect. I shall fetch you linens to wear after you bathe.”
With that, she disappeared through the archway, leaving us alone.
The moment she was gone, Roman pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest.
I melted into him.
For a long moment, we stood there, our fingers tracing each other’s backs, silently reveling in the feel of one another.
Then, he eased back, his fingers moving to the delicate buttons on my bodice.
His lips curved in a wicked smile. “Allow me, my beautiful wife.”
A tendril of heat flared between us. His touch was infuriatingly slow as he freed each tiny button.
My blouse gaped open, and he swept it from my shoulders, his warm hands skimming my bare skin.
A shiver ran through me—not from the cold, but from the promise in his touch.
I slid my hands over his broad shoulders, my fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath as he pressed his lips to my collarbones, planting a reverent kiss.
His mouth trailed higher, along the curve of my throat, his breath warm against my skin.
My head fell back, surrendering to the soft kisses he traced along my jaw, my cheeks—
Finally, his lips captured mine in a deep and utterly consuming kiss.
“I missed you more than the moon and stars combined, amore mio,” he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with hunger. “Each day without you was torture. At night, I dreamed of having you beneath me, tangled in my sheets, moaning my name. But waking up to an empty bed made me howl.”
I swayed against him, utterly intoxicated by his words, his touch, the sheer force of his desire.
His lips captured mine again, claiming, devouring, until I could barely breathe.
As he kissed me senselessly, his hands worked deftly, stripping away the barrier of fabric between us, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but bare skin and heat.
When I stood before him, naked, exposed to his gaze, Roman stepped back, his breath shuddering from his lips.
“Così fottutamente bello, amore mio.”
So fucking beautiful, my love.
His blue eyes darkened, turning into pools of liquid heat as deep as a cave’s forbidden inlet.
With a burned gaze, he stalked around me, his fingers trailing lightly over my bare skin, igniting a path of fire in their wake.
A heated shiver ripped through me at his touch.
My need coiled tight in my belly, a simmering ache.
Roman moved behind me, his chest pressing flush against my back, the heat of his body searing into mine.
His hands swept over my ribs, down my waist, tracing the dips and curves of my body with possession.
His breath was a whisper against my ear. “Would you deny me the press of your flesh to mine?”
My head fell back against his shoulder, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Never.”
He growled low in his throat and eased me away, the separation feeling like agony.
He stripped off his clothing with a fevered intensity, shedding the layers that kept us apart.
And then, nothing remained between us.
His hard body met mine, and I gasped at the sheer heat of him, the way his skin slid against mine.
My hands drifted lower, fingers brushing the rigid proof of his desire, feeling the way his length pressed insistently against me.
Roman groaned, his grip tightening on my waist.
“Let’s get wet, shall we?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with want.
Before I could answer, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms.
A gasp tore from my lips. “Oh!”
I clung to him, hooking my arms around his neck, feeling every inch of him against me as he descended the stone steps into the steaming water.
The heat engulfed us, soothing and sensual.
I let myself go, spreading my arms, floating in the mineral-rich embrace of the spring, my body languid, weightless, open.
Roman’s hands glided beneath me, urging me into a lazy, hypnotic spin through the water. His touch was reverent and possessive.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation—the intimacy, the feeling of being cherished, worshipped, claimed.
His voice was dark velvet as he whispered, “Let me wash you, my goddess.”
Before I could respond, he cradled my head in his palm and took my lips in a kiss so tender that I moaned into his mouth, my body instinctively arching toward him, aching for more.
The kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with mine, tasting, teasing, demanding.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his gaze heavy with fierce devotion.
“I never want to be apart from you again,” he murmured, his hands tightening on my waist.
I cupped his face, my thumb brushing over the stubble along his jaw, my heart thudding wildly.
“I don’t either. It was hell.”
My voice was husky, raw, thick with the ache of too many nights spent without him.
I lowered my legs, planting my feet against the smooth stone beneath the water, my body pressing flush against his solid frame.
The warm, mineral-rich water lapped at my ribs, but it was nothing compared to the fire Roman ignited inside me.
I gripped his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, and crushed my lips against his, kissing him savagely, desperately, pouring every ounce of my hunger, my longing, my worship into the kiss.
His mouth devoured mine, fierce and unrelenting, his hands roaming my back, pulling me tighter, closer, as if he’d lose me again if he let go.
When we finally tore apart, we were both gasping, our breaths ragged, our bodies taut with restraint.