Chapter 28
CLEO
The sun had set hours ago. The courtyard had transformed into something magical. It took my breath away.
String lights crisscrossed overhead. Candles flickered on every table, and the restaurants that bordered the square had filled with diners who talked and laughed and gestured wildly with their wine glasses.
The music from the café had gotten louder, spilling out into the open air, and I could feel the bass in my chest. The lighting was perfect.
It made everyone look beautiful and glowy.
I felt glowy.
And I was drunk. Not falling-down drunk, but definitely past the point of sensible decision-making. Everything looked pretty. I had my beer goggles on. The wine had been so good, and Luca had kept it coming. Somewhere around bottle three I’d stopped counting and started just enjoying.
Cash definitely looked a little buzzed too. His hair was a mess from running his hands through it. His shirt was now untucked and another button at the top had come undone. Maybe if I was lucky, he’d pull the damn thing off. That would be hot.
But then everyone would see how sexy he was.
I couldn’t exactly claim him as mine, but right now, he was.
I was wearing his ring. No one had to know it was fake.
I liked hanging out with him. We weren’t talking business or about Melody and Austin.
We were just living in the moment, something I had a feeling he rarely did. I liked it too much.
The music changed to something with a faster tempo.
It just had that quality that made my shoulders move without permission.
I watched as a couple got up from their table and moved to the center of the courtyard.
Then another couple. Then a group of tourists who were clearly drunk and definitely not good dancers but didn’t seem to care. I grinned.
“Come on,” I said, standing up.
Cash looked at me. “What?”
“Dance with me.”
He hesitated. I could see him thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, probably calculating the risk of being seen dancing in public, doing that thing he did where he turned everything into a business decision.
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll go by myself.”
I turned and walked toward the makeshift dance floor, feeling his eyes on my back. I glanced over my shoulder and shot him what I hoped was a flirty look—the kind that said your loss, Bancroft—and then I was in the middle of it, surrounded by strangers and music and the warm night air.
I closed my eyes and moved.
I wasn’t a great dancer. I’d never taken lessons or anything formal.
But I knew how to feel music. I let it move through me, and right now the wine was making everything feel loose and easy and so damn good.
I raised my arms above my head and swayed and didn’t care who was watching.
My hips were doing their own little shimmy.
When I opened my eyes, a man was standing in front of me.
He was tall and dark-haired. He smiled and said something I didn’t catch over the music, gesturing like he was asking to dance.
I was about to nod when an arm wrapped around my waist from behind.
It felt like one of those hooks that pulled you off stage.
I smelled him. Not in a bad way, but I knew exactly who it was that was manhandling me.
Cash.
He appeared beside me like he’d materialized out of thin air. One second I was staring into the eyes of a beautiful stranger and the next Cash was there, pulling me against him. The dark-haired man held up his hands in surrender, grinned, and melted back into the crowd.
“You’re here,” I said stupidly.
“I’m here.”
“Thought you didn’t dance.”
“I don’t.” He spun me, smoothly and confidently, and I realized he absolutely did know how to dance. “But I don’t share either.”
Something hot and bright shot through me. “Don’t you?”
“No.” He pulled me closer. “Not you.”
We moved together and holy shit. Cash was a good dancer. Better than good. He led and I followed and somehow we fit, like we’d been doing this for years instead of seconds. His hand was firm on my waist. I could feel the heat of him through my clothes. His eyes never left mine.
“You lied,” I said breathlessly. “You can dance.”
“My mother made all of us take ballroom lessons when we were kids.” He dipped me and I laughed. “She said we’d thank her eventually.”
“Are you thanking her?”
“Right now? Absolutely.”
The music shifted into something slower. He adjusted his hands and pulled me flush against him. Suddenly there was no space between us at all. I could feel every hard line of his body. My hand was on his shoulder. His was spread across my lower back. We swayed.
“This is dangerous,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“We said we weren’t doing this.”
“I know that too.”
But neither of us moved away. His thumb traced small circles on my back. I was staring at his mouth. I shouldn’t have been, but I couldn’t help it. I kept remembering what it felt like to kiss him. I knew the taste of him. I knew what those lips felt like against my own.
A small groan escaped me before I could stop it.
“Cleo,” he said quietly.
“Don’t.”
I kissed him. Or he kissed me.
His hand came up to cup my face. Mine twisted in his shirt. We kissed right there in the middle of the courtyard with people dancing around us. His tongue pushed inside my mouth. I sucked on it and groaned once again.
I was in Rome. The most beautiful city I’d ever seen. And all I wanted was to take this man back to our hotel room.
We broke apart, breathing hard.
His forehead pressed against mine. “We should probably go back. We’ve had a lot to drink.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
But we didn’t move. We just stood there swaying while the song changed. The other dancers had picked up the pace, but not us.
Someone bumped into me from behind, a laughing woman being spun by her partner. She apologized in rapid Italian while Cash steadied me. That was it. The spell was broken. We separated.
“Dance with other people,” I said suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
“It’s tradition. When you’re dancing in a place like this you switch partners. Tourist and locals mixing. It’s a thing.”
“Is it?”
“Trust me.”
I didn’t wait for him to argue. I grabbed the hand of a passing older man who looked delighted and let him spin me away from Cash. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman approach Cash, say something, and lead him into a turn.
I moved from partner to partner. Every time I changed partners, I looked for Cash. He was always there. Not dancing with me but still. His gaze tracked me across the courtyard. Every time our eyes met, something passed between us. Desire. I was convinced that was what I saw.
I felt safe. Free. Wild. I felt like I could do anything.
The music got faster. I laughed and spun and let strangers hold my hands. The wine made everything feel bright and possible. Somewhere in the middle of it all I lost track of Cash completely, too caught up in the movement and the music and the joy of it.
When I finally stopped, breathless and dizzy, he was right there.
“Hi,” I said, grinning.
“Hi.” He was smiling too. “Ready to go?”
“God yes.”
We stumbled back through the streets of Rome, not the way we’d come. Cash had his arm around my waist, steadying me when I tripped on cobblestones. At one point I made him take a picture of me in front of a fountain.
By the time we reached the hotel, I was exhilarated and still riding the high of being in Rome.
Cash got us into the elevator. Pressed the button for our floor. The doors closed and suddenly we were alone in a small space and the air between us felt charged.
“That was fun,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I can’t believe you can dance like that.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Apparently.”
We stepped into our suite. I kicked off my shoes and immediately stumbled. Cash caught me.
“Careful,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
“Little bit.” His hands were on my waist, steadying me. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
He steered me toward my bedroom. I let him, too warm and fuzzy to argue.
I flopped on the bed. I might have drank a bit more than I thought. I didn’t think I was that drunk, but it seemed to have snuck up on me.
“Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes.”
“I’m fine.”
“Lift your arms,” he said quietly.
He pulled my blouse over my head and tossed it on the floor. He then pulled my skirt down. I was left in just my underwear. I should have felt self-conscious. I should have felt vulnerable. I didn’t.
I felt powerful. Wanted. I reached for him and kissed him.
He kissed me back immediately, his hands coming up to frame my face, and then we were falling back onto the bed together. His weight pressed me into the mattress. I arched up against him. My fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. Somehow I managed to get them undone, one by one.
“Wait,” he said against my mouth.
“No.”
“Cleo.” He pulled back, breathing hard. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” I heard myself pout. Actually pout. Like a child denied dessert.
He looked at me and I could see him having an internal battle. I hope he lost. If he lost, I won. He leaned down and kissed me again but differently this time. Soft. Gentle. Achingly sweet.
Like goodbye.
“Because you’re drunk,” he said quietly. “And you said you didn’t want to do this.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Did you? Or did the wine change it for you?”
I opened my mouth to argue and realized I didn’t have a good answer. He stood up slowly, like it physically hurt him to do it. His shirt was half unbuttoned. His hair was a disaster.
And he was truly the sexiest man alive. He oozed sex appeal without even trying.
“Goodnight, Cleo,” he said, then left.
I stared at the ceiling, breathing hard, feeling desire course through me like electricity. My skin was too tight. My heart was beating too fast. Everything felt heightened and desperate. I couldn’t believe I’d just cock-blocked myself.
I’d set this stupid boundary. I’d been so sure. So clear-headed and certain. And now I was lying here alone, buzzed and frustrated and wanting him so badly I could barely breathe.
I rolled over and pressed my face into the pillow and groaned. I heard his door close. I could roll out of bed and chase him down. I closed my eyes instead.
I needed to sleep this off. In the morning I’d be grateful he’d been the responsible one. In the morning I’d thank him for respecting my boundaries even when I’d been too drunk to respect them myself.
But right now, all I felt was the crushing weight of my own excellent decision-making.
I’d never wanted anyone more in my entire life.