Chapter Four
Sophaya
The gondola pulls up to the dock of the hotel. Located on the Grand Canal, the Palazzo Rosato lives up to its name. Red roses tumble out of elegant urns placed along the sides of the dock. Stone petals are carved into the arched doorway of the three-storied, blush-colored building.
My mother personally oversaw my itinerary, selecting the most luxurious and opulent hotels for me to stay in. More than once, I’ve thought her choices to be gauche, if not downright ridiculous. I don’t need a four-thousand-square-foot suite all to myself.
But as Dominic and I walk into the mosaic-tiled lobby, I have to admit this is one hotel I’m glad she booked. From the dreamy oil paintings on the walls to the elegant bronze chandelier dripping with crystals and casting golden light on the antique furniture, it feels like stepping back in time.
Dominic doesn’t touch me again, but I’m acutely aware of his presence as he guides me over to the row of elevators at the far end. Once inside, he slides a brass key into the slot marked Superattico Reale. The doors close, and the car whisks us up to the third floor.
I stay on the far side of the car. It’s only been an hour since Dominic interrupted my dance, but so much has changed since then.
My awareness of him is heightened, my perception of him altered.
He’s not just an emotionless bodyguard but a man with depths, hidden streaks of kindness and an attentiveness that tempted me into sharing far more than I have with anyone in years.
Not just attentiveness. He listened. Questioned.
It’s pathetic how easily a bit of attention fed a part of me I hadn’t realized was so starved.
But the damage is done, and now my quiet attraction has delved into wicked fantasies.
It’s all too easy to think about what he would look like without his dress shirt on, to imagine how his bare arms would feel wrapped around me while his lips slant across mine—
“Princess?”
I start, realizing the doors have opened. I don’t look up at him as I hurry out into the penthouse. My ridiculous attraction is mine to manage.
As I put more distance between us, the tightness in my chest eases.
The suite boasts a large sitting room, complete with gold furniture and pale blue accents, from the sweeping curtains over every elongated window overlooking the Grand Canal to the plush rugs artfully arranged on the gleaming wood floors.
I glance toward the doors to my bedroom, but there’s no spike in my heart rate, no sudden fear.
Because Dominic is here. I don’t like that he’s making me feel safe, but I’m not going to turn my nose up at the unexpected gift. Not when the adrenaline is starting to wear off and I can feel actual drowsiness lingering at the edges of my consciousness.
“Have you eaten?”
Startled, I turn back to Dominic. “No.” I didn’t have an appetite when I tried to lie down, and I’d been too excited about sneaking into the masquerade to eat.
But now, remembering the prawns drizzled with garlic herb butter and mozzarella with fresh basil, my stomach tightens.
I reach up to untie my mask. “I’ll order something from room service. ”
“You should shower.”
I freeze, my fingers on the laces. He’s still by the elevator doors.
My hands drop down as I drink in the sight of him.
The golden room emphasizes his darkness, from the thick hair and black mask still covering the upper half of his face to the tuxedo that clings to his broad shoulders and muscled legs.
Like a shadowy phantom from some fantasy come to life.
No. Don’t go there.
“Shower,” I repeat.
“Maryanne most likely had food poisoning, but better to be safe.”
Right. Maryanne. The poor girl who nearly passed out at the gala.
Here I am thinking about ripping that bow tie off Dominic’s neck, and he’s trying to keep me from getting sick.
Because he’s my bodyguard, and he’s thinking like a bodyguard instead of a young woman who can barely put two coherent thoughts together other than wondering what said bodyguard looks like underneath his tuxedo.
“Good idea.”
I turn and bolt out of the room before I say something stupid. I strip out of my dress and set the mask on the marble vanity before stepping under a scalding hot spray. I lather my hands with amber-scented soap and start vigorously scrubbing.
But as my hands move over my breasts, I pause. What would it be like to have Dominic’s hands on me? To have his long fingers trace down to the tips of my breasts, his lips teasing my skin before he latches on and sucks me into his mouth?
I shouldn’t be visualizing. Except I haven’t been this turned on in…ever. I slowly cup one breast in my hand, gently tease my nipple with my thumb as my other hand travels down my stomach to my thighs. I stop, wanting so much to continue the fantasy playing out in my head.
But if Dominic is still out in the living room, I’m not sure I could face him after touching myself while imagining us in bed together.
I don’t know how long I stand there, leaning against the wall as my breath comes in quick pants. I should feel ashamed. Princesses most definitely do not touch themselves while thinking about their bodyguards.
But I don’t feel guilty. Not in the slightest. No, instead I just feel aroused and wired tight.
I turn the water to cold and brace myself.
Two freezing minutes later I step out, towel-drying my hair before I grab a pale pink sweater and black leggings.
I run a comb through my hair and reach for the makeup bag before I snatch my hand back like I’ve been scalded.
There’s no reason to dress up for Dominic. None. He’s my bodyguard, not my lover.
Irritated, I scowl at myself in the mirror before I walk through my bedroom and back out into the living room.
The room is empty. Disappointment curls through me.
But then quiet murmurs reach my ears. I follow the sound to the other side of the room and into the small study.
The doors in the study are thrown open to a smaller canal that runs between this hotel and another across the way.
The canal is gated at the far end, providing guests with balconies and more privacy.
Dominic is standing next to a waiter speaking in Italian. I already thought his voice was sexy, but hearing him speak in a foreign language has me pressing my thighs together.
My gaze drops down, and my eyes widen. A white wrought-iron table is set with plates of food.
There are scallops topped with edible flowers and crab cakes drizzled with aioli.
Creamy risotto in a steaming silver urn.
Mini sandwiches that look like croque monsieur with melted cheese dripping onto the porcelain.
A bowl of fat strawberries with a smaller bowl of fresh whipped cream.
Bubbles circle up in a single flute of sparkling rosé.
“Wow.”
Dominic and the waiter both turn to me. Dominic has shed both his bow tie and his jacket. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone to reveal tanned skin and curling dark hair.
The waiter bows his head, but Dominic rakes his gaze over me from head to toe.
I freeze even as my stomach does a long, slow roll. Can he tell just by looking at me why it took me so long?
“Your Highness.” The waiter gives me a small smile. “Do you require anything else?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Thank you. Armand, right?”
The waiter’s smile grows. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, truly. This looks incredible.”
“Of course. I’m on duty until two should you require anything else, although the kitchen is open twenty-four hours a day.”
“This will be perfect.”
Dominic reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his wallet, pulling out a hundred euro bill. “Grazi.”
Armand’s eyes widen a fraction, but he merely bows again and excuses himself.
“I could have taken care of that.”
“I know.” Dominic walks over and pulls out a chair.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“You didn’t get to eat.”
Touched, I walk over and sit down. “Thank you.”
Dominic inclines his head. Our eyes meet, hold. The flickering light of the candle in the middle of the table casts shadows over his face, maintaining his mysterious allure even though he’s no longer wearing the mask. “Good night, Princess.”
I frown as he turns toward the door. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He pauses in the doorway. “Yes. It’s nearly midnight.”
“I know, but you just ordered me enough food to feed four or five people.”
He turns to face me, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Are you asking me to dine with you?”
“I can.” I arch a brow. “Unless an order would make you more likely to stay.”
His lips twitch faintly. “I don’t take orders, Your Highness.”
“In that case, I’m asking.”
He stares at me for another long moment. Then, he slowly walks back over to the table and pulls out the other chair.
A thrill runs through me as he sits down. Whatever intimacy we’re sharing right now won’t go any further. But for one meal, I’m going to enjoy myself as a woman, not as a queen-in-waiting. Starting with getting to know the man who’s been guarding me with his life for the last two months.
We dine on the scallops and crab cakes, the risotto and the croque monsieur. There’s also chilled pea soup shooters topped with mint and handmade ravioli filled with mascarpone served in a champagne cream sauce. Dessert includes velvety chocolate gelato and tiny cannoli filled with pistachio cream.