His hand covered hers, the added pressure driving the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat through to her palm. He dropped his forehead until they were temple to temple, their breath mingling. She moved first, keeping her head to his, but reaching behind her back to start the zipper on her dress.
He leaned into her, allowing her to feel the length of him as he moved her hands aside, then pulled the zipper to its base. As her dress peeled away and he drew his knuckles along either side of her spine, the combination of her soft skin and the sigh that escaped her had his stomach clenching with need.
Kisses near the sink became kisses in the berth. He moved quickly to roll her on top of him, offering her as much air and space as possible while he cupped her rear, holding her firm. His clothes were kicked to one side, all but the fitted sheet shoved the other direction, and then she was astride him, exploring him with her hands and her mouth and driving him as close to the edge as he could stand. He barely managed protection before he was inside her, the first stroke so exquisite they both arched into it. A barely audible string of Italian curses left Daniela’s lips on her exhale, then she flexed and tightened around him.
This. It was the only word his brain could process. This. This, this, this.
They slowed at the same time, moving reverently. Light angled into the berth from the galley, offering enough visibility for him to read her expression, meet her hooded eyes, and see her mouth the words, “yes, Royce, yes,” before she leaned forward to kiss him. He held her hip with one hand, brushed her hair from her face with the other, and let her control the movement of their bodies as much as he could stand.
She was beautiful. So calm and capable when it mattered, whether in service to Queen Fabrizia or in the midst of an arrest in a trattoria. She was fierce when it came to making love, allowing her emotions to rise to the surface, and—ironically—making him feel safe, secure, and free.
He wanted her so much, even his lungs ached with it.
There was a maturity to her, yet not the type that separated her from others their age. It was in her willingness to face her fears in order to make herself a better, stronger person, and in her determination to help him do the same.
She made him want more. For both of them.
Pressure built within him, his jaw clenched, his muscles coiled. Then she shifted, tightened, and the orgasm ripped from him, sending his heart rate thundering as his entire body released. Daniela’s fingers dug into his shoulders as she continued to move, drawing out the intense pleasure coursing through him. A moment later, he heard the catch of breath, the low cry of ecstasy, and he held her while she convulsed around him. Afterward, tired and sweaty and sated, he cradled her to him, wanting nothing more than to do it all over again, knowing he’d only scratched the surface of all there was to explore with her.
Being with Daniela was as vast and endlessly fascinating as the universe itself. His only thought as they curled into sleep was this, this, this.
Daniela woke with her face smushed into an unfamiliar pillow. Bleary-eyed, yet with a rising sense of alarm, she tried to push upright, then jerked when she encountered an unfamiliar weight around her middle.
The weight moved, then there was a touch at her shoulder. Firm, yet calm, from hands that were good in an emergency. “Daniela? Want me to open a window? Turn on a light?”
Royce’s tone wasn’t patronizing or overly concerned, despite being groggy with sleep. He was matter of fact. Respectful. The sudden fear that had her ready to spring from the bed eased. The two of them shared a small world, but they weren’t trapped.
“Involuntary spasm. It’s all good,” she whispered. And it was. The small space was filled with him: his pillows, his sheets, his hard body at her back as she relaxed. Royce’s chest rose and fell on a long, deep breath, and she moved against him. “Were you awake already?”
He murmured a no, then slid his arm around her waist once more. His hand spanned her bare abdomen, moving in a slow caress. Then he said, “Another minute of this and I’ll be very awake. I’d better stop.”
They fit so well, she mused, the curve of her shoulder against the solid planes of his chest. Earlier, too…as the lines of his mouth moved against hers and the swell of her breast filled the palm of his hand.
The emotional fit was just as strong. Stronger.
She reached for his thigh, skimming her hand along the warm skin and dusting of hair that covered tight muscle.
“Royce?”
“Mmm?” He traced a slow, upward line between her breasts to the notch at the base of her collarbone.
“Go.”
He paused. She gave him a moment to process.
“Don’t stop,” she clarified.
At his carnal, masculine groan, she smiled.
Chapter 25
Royce woke to a warm bed and the scent of a woman.
Eyes closed and muscles languid, he remained still, enjoying the moment of utter peace.
He’d wanted Daniela badly, fast and hard and reckless. He’d wanted to plunge deep inside her, to be surrounded by her, to breathe with her and feel her pulse quicken, to have her fingers dig deep into the muscles of his back until she convulsed under him and groaned his name.
There’d been plenty of that. Mostly, though, his deepest sense of satisfaction—the intimacy—had come during the pauses: checking in with her, ensuring he wore protection, concentrating on the details rather than driving to the finish.
When he’d drawn her zipper along the length of her back and skimmed his fingers along her skin…well, that moment nearly undid him. Taking his time had been worth it.
Later, as Daniela had sprawled beside him, unembarrassed and breathing hard, and she’d flattened her hand over his thigh, a sense of overwhelming rightness settled within him.
His dad once told him about women, “When you know, you know.” Royce had thought it was a load of banal horseshit. But as Daniela’s back fused to his chest and he nestled her rear end against his hips, he knew. He’d known before she’d said, “go.” When he’d drifted to sleep with the top of her head tucked beneath his chin, it was the most content he’d ever felt at three in the morning.
It was the most content he’d felt in his life.
And it wasn’t about the sex. Amazing as it was, sex was the least of it.
Aware that his arm was tingling, he shifted. The sheets were warm, but the berth was empty. He cracked his eyelids and inhaled slowly, as only a person barely roused from sleep could do. Daniela couldn’t have been gone long. Probably in the head. He closed his eyes and eased to the side so she could return without having to clamber over him.
He awakened again to a chill. For a split second, Royce feared she’d called her car service and returned to her hotel, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee came to him before an expletive made it from his brain to his mouth.
After a visual sweep of the cabin, he pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and strode to the window. Daniela sat on the deck, wearing the dress she’d worn to dinner, but with a blanket pulled across her lap and a mug cradled in her hands. Her bare toes peeked from the end of the blanket and her head rested against the back of the lounger at an angle that gave her a view of the sunrise. A twisted knot of hair poked skyward. It bobbled as she raised the mug to her lips.
His heart surged at the sight.
He’d thought his emotional wiring was well insulated. He was wrong.
He knew. One night, a dozen nights. A dozen years, and he would still know. He wanted her in his life.
Knowing that was awful.
They lived on opposite sides of the Italian peninsula. In no time at all, she’d return to Fabrizia’s side, to her dream job. She’d never leave the position, nor would he want her to. But his life was here. His family, his friends, his job.
It was the job that gave him pause.
He swiped a hand over the stubble-roughened skin of his jaw as Daniela savored her coffee.
What Daniela had said last night about pursuing his pas
sion resonated. In his gut, he knew he’d find the same deep sense of fulfillment as an astrophysicist that she’d discovered by working for the Barrali family. He also knew that, if he put his mind to it, he could make the career change. The studies came naturally to him. Yet it wasn’t a decision he could make based on one inspiring conversation, particularly given what transpired over the rest of the night.
He wasn’t as young as Daniela had been when she’d gambled on that palace interview. He was established, successful. Making a change required more than choosing one interview over another; it meant upending his whole life.
And he didn’t dislike his current job.
He needed time to consider. To weigh the pros and the cons. To think through the process of closing down his security business.
The thing was: none of his options would keep Daniela in his life.
He ground the sleep from his eyes with the heel of one hand, then watched as streaks of sunlight crowned her unruly bun.
There were too many uncertainties. If he stayed here, there was no chance at a long-term relationship. But if he switched paths, it would take at least two or three years to obtain his graduate degree, depending on how his previous coursework was credited. There was no guarantee he could work while in school, and no guarantee of a job after graduation, let alone a job in Sarcaccia.
At this point in her life, Daniela didn’t deserve to date a student. Despite the enticement of a fresh career or his willingness to commit the time and money necessary to make it happen, he couldn’t ask that of her, no matter how much he craved a future spent waking up beside her. To learning all about her. To knowing her, and allowing himself to be known.
That, perhaps, was what he craved the most.
He reached for a mug, poured himself a cup of coffee, then added a splash of cream.
All through dinner, he could feel Daniela’s physical attraction to him. He didn’t miss the way her gaze hitched on his hands or the little smiles that pulled at her lips. When they’d kicked back on the deck, he felt her watching him as much as she watched the night sky.
And yet, despite the attraction, she’d felt it important in that moment to challenge him, to put off the physical intimacy they both craved in order to push him to take a risk to pursue what he loved.
He took a long slug of the coffee, then set it on the table as he returned to the berth to find a pair of jeans. He returned to the table, buttoning as he walked, and reached the window just in time to see a shiver rock through Daniela.
Cold? Or claustrophobia?
Tamping down his concern, he grabbed both his mug and the half-full pot and made his way to her side, ensuring he made enough noise not to startle her with his approach.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Good morning.” He set his mug on the table, then raised the pot.
“Oh, yes, please,” she said, holding out her mug.
“Want more cream or sugar?”
“Nope. The blacker the coffee, the better.” She blew across the top of her mug as he took a seat beside her. “And yours is excellent.”
“You made it. Can’t believe I slept through that.”
“You were worn out. A whole day working on walls and baseboards will do that.”
He tilted his head. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what did it.”
After settling in the chair beside hers and taking another long pull from the coffee mug, he said, “I was afraid you’d gotten claustrophobic. If so, you cover it well.”
She shrugged. “I had a moment when I woke up and couldn’t place where I was, but overall, no. No situation to trigger the crushing, I-can’t-breathe feeling I sometimes get. I just thought I’d come outside with the coffee and watch the sunrise. Let you sleep a little longer.”
He resisted the urge to ask her what kind of situation did trigger the crushing feeling. Instead, he asked, “Can I tempt you with breakfast? I have cereal and oatmeal. I’m a master at both. I could even do toast if the bread hasn’t gone bad. No guarantees there, though.”
“Any of the above are fine with me. You have brown sugar?”
“Uh—”
She laughed. “Never mind. How about honey?”
“That I have.”
“Oatmeal for me, then. While you do that, I’ll put on another pot of coffee.”
As she moved to stand, her bun came loose. Before she could fix it, he reached for the back of her head and guided her mouth to his.
“I have both morning breath and coffee breath,” she said, holding back.
“I don’t care.”
“You may regret it.”
“I doubt it.”
He gave her a long, deep kiss. She did taste of coffee and morning breath. She also carried the faint scents of the ocean air at dawn, his laundry detergent, and her shampoo. It all faded in his consciousness as she kissed him back, her hands going to his arms, then sliding upward until she cupped his cheeks.
When he finally eased away, he took in the luscious sight of her parted lips, then ran his thumb along her jaw. “Your skin is raw. I should’ve shaved before I came out here.”
“I don’t care.”
“You may regret it.”
“I doubt it.”
He laughed and kissed her again before picking up the coffeepot and his mug. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel after breakfast. No way I’m letting the car service take you this time.”
To his gratification, she didn’t argue. They worked companionably in the small galley as he made oatmeal and she rinsed the brewer, started another pot of coffee, then located the honey and set the table.
“I’m not used to anything fancy,” he said, eyeing her as she folded each paper napkin.
“This is how I do it for Queen Fabrizia, you know. Nothing but the best.” She held two spoons aloft. “And don’t tell me you’re not used to fancy. Your spoons match.”
Once they were settled, a bowl of honey-drizzled oatmeal before each of them, he said, “Thank you.”
“You’re the one who made breakfast. I dumped ground coffee into a filter and pushed start.”
“For last night.” He waited for her to lift her eyes to his. He wanted her to know it meant something.
At her soft smile, he added, “Thank you for dinner, and for staying, and for caring enough to talk over my career. I have no idea what I’ll do, but astrophysics hadn’t occurred to me. It was refreshing to hear a neutral opinion. You’ve given me food for thought.”
Her smile widened. “I wouldn’t say I’m neutral. By definition, anyone who cares isn’t neutral.”
“Ah, but you aren’t my father, with a financial interest.”
“True. Financial interest or not, family can be…opinionated.”
He watched as she swirled her spoon around the edges of her bowl, moving the oatmeal so it mounded in the center.
“You haven’t said much about yours. When we were in Cancun, you said you traveled together a lot?”
“We always took road trips in the summer. I saw a lot of Europe from the back seat. They liked to wander, go wherever the road took them.” She took a bite of her oatmeal, her expression turning thoughtful. A moment later, she said, “They were teachers. Well, my dad still teaches. My mother works as a private tour guide in Sarcaccia. Both of them love working with people, sharing knowledge. It’s fulfilling.”
She aimed her spoon at him for a moment before sinking it into her oatmeal. “That’s partly why I asked you about your career. It wasn’t just that you enjoy physics and astronomy. When you talked about tutoring that student we saw at the restaurant, you had the same expression my parents have whenever they talk about their students. I could picture you teaching, at least part time, and finding that same sense of fulfillment and purpose.”
He mulled over the thought as he polished off his coffee. Somehow she managed to use the same ground coffee, the same water, and the same filters he used every morning, yet brewed a much better cup. He glanced at her to show he was li
stening, then moved to the counter for a refill. Over his shoulder, he said, “I hadn’t considered teaching, either.”
“You have a lot of options.”
He was beginning to see that. He lifted the pot and eyed her mug, but she shook her head.
After he returned to the table with his refill, she said, “I mentioned earlier that my parents aren’t together anymore. They split up about the time I graduated college.”
“Must have been hard for you.” She wouldn’t be the type to shrug off a separation, particularly one that occurred while she was away.
“They loved each other. They still do, I think, but they can’t live together.”
She had more to say, but wrestled with it. He waited as she scraped a spoonful of oatmeal from the side of the bowl. After she swallowed, she sat back and looked at him.
“My mother is a pack rat.” She released a breath. “Well, ‘pack rat’ is putting it nicely. My mother has a compulsion. She fears she’ll need an item at some unspecified time in the future and won’t have it, so she buys six. I love her to my bones. She’s caring and witty and she encouraged me to get the best possible education I could, and then to do what I wanted with it. But her house is overwhelming. You see people like her on television and think, ‘this is all fake, no one could possibly live like this,’ but it’s real. You can hardly move once you’re inside the front door. My father tried for years to make the place livable. When it got to the point they couldn’t have students to the house, he tried to get her professional help. She flat out refused. If anything, she became more protective of her belongings. She quit teaching and started her tour business because it allowed her more privacy while still spending time with people. It was heartbreaking. My father couldn’t live there, and he couldn’t help.”
“But she called you for help last weekend?”
Daniela made a sound of confirmation, then took a long sip of coffee for reinforcement before continuing. “One of the neighbors knocked on the door, complaining about rats. She threatened to call the local authorities if my mother didn’t take care of the rodents. The neighbor’s a nice woman—I’ve known her all my life—and she has no idea what’s inside the house. I told my mother I’d come see what the issue was, which really meant I was coming to clean and set traps. I hauled a lot of trash and we dealt with the rats, but it’s a temporary fix.”
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