fresh air. Her hair blew back and danced around. Horizontal raindrops whipped her face, but she welcomed each cold sting as if it could wash away her confusion. Chains of heavy black clouds moved from one side of the village to the other, weighing on the neighboring buildings before being replaced with new clouds. Thunder raged like some monster in the distance, threatening to crack open the skies.
The door handle clanked behind her. She froze then turned with her heart in her throat.
Micaela stood in the doorway smiling, wearing the same pullover and sweatpants as yesterday. He stepped in and closed the door. In the dim light, his pale face looked clammy and his dark eyes shone with sickness. Yet the straight, confident way he held himself revealed not only the stance of a dancer, but pride and inner strength. Beard stubble covered his handsome chin. He reeked of pure masculine hotness.
Chapter Eight
Pulse racing, Anne closed the window and faced Micaela with her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know what else to do with them. Nervousness and anticipation raced through her. They hadn’t been face to face since he’d approached her last night, naked and very aroused.
God . The memory sent sweet tingles to her inner thighs, and from the gleam in his eye, he seemed to be recalling the same sensual encounter.
Yet, she couldn’t help being pissed at him for trying to seduce her. Because she now knew he had a boyfriend—which meant he’d betrayed both Todd and her. His behavior ultimately was root to her immoral thoughts and Brian’s desperate reaction in the cellar. She could not let Micaela come close again. She could not slip.
He glanced from the unmade bed to the pile of folded sheets on the desk before slumping on the chair with a throaty sigh.
Anne bit her lower lip while searching for the right words to say. “How are you?”
He shrugged. Keeping his shiny black eyes locked on hers, he put a hand on his throat. “Sore.”
“Yes, I heard you cough.” She pointed to the bottles on the desk. “I brought you some medicine and pastilles for your throat.”
“ Grazie .” He gave a weak nod, winced, and closed his eyes, as if in pain. In the next moment, he leaned forward to cough into his hands with his elbows on his knees. The coughing sounded like the barking of a big dog and shook his body. Long, black locks hung from his head like a curtain, jerking with each contortion.
Her stomach knotted. He might be a total stranger, but all that had happened last night inevitably connected them on some level. Which level, she wasn’t sure.
When the coughing subsided, he groaned and ran a hand along his flustered face, brushing aside a few hairs glued to his skin.
She took the box of pastilles on the table and went toward him, stopping a half-meter from his feet. Damp heat oozed from him. “Do you want a glass of cold water?”
He shrugged and clenched his teeth, as if speaking would be too painful.
“Cold water helps soothe the pain.” She opened the box. The sour-sweet scent of licorice rose to her nostrils.
Eyes feverish, he reached out a trembling palm.
She dropped the candy into it, careful to avoid physical contact—both due to the risk of contagion and because she didn’t want to know what it would feel like to touch his hot skin.
He put the pastille in his mouth and leaned back in the chair with his gaze fixed on her. Breathing deep, he sucked on the candy, but couldn’t seem to relax. Each intake of air caused his features to tighten. Tiny beads of sweat appeared all over his face and ran alongside his temples and bearded cheeks.
She closed the box and eyed him for a moment, trying to consider him as a patient and not an object of her fantasy. A difficult thing to achieve with the obvious tension between them and the way he stared into her eyes. At any moment, he could unbalance her.
She searched for ways to keep their interaction professional. Focusing on his
The door handle clanked behind her. She froze then turned with her heart in her throat.
Micaela stood in the doorway smiling, wearing the same pullover and sweatpants as yesterday. He stepped in and closed the door. In the dim light, his pale face looked clammy and his dark eyes shone with sickness. Yet the straight, confident way he held himself revealed not only the stance of a dancer, but pride and inner strength. Beard stubble covered his handsome chin. He reeked of pure masculine hotness.
Chapter Eight
Pulse racing, Anne closed the window and faced Micaela with her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know what else to do with them. Nervousness and anticipation raced through her. They hadn’t been face to face since he’d approached her last night, naked and very aroused.
God . The memory sent sweet tingles to her inner thighs, and from the gleam in his eye, he seemed to be recalling the same sensual encounter.
Yet, she couldn’t help being pissed at him for trying to seduce her. Because she now knew he had a boyfriend—which meant he’d betrayed both Todd and her. His behavior ultimately was root to her immoral thoughts and Brian’s desperate reaction in the cellar. She could not let Micaela come close again. She could not slip.
He glanced from the unmade bed to the pile of folded sheets on the desk before slumping on the chair with a throaty sigh.
Anne bit her lower lip while searching for the right words to say. “How are you?”
He shrugged. Keeping his shiny black eyes locked on hers, he put a hand on his throat. “Sore.”
“Yes, I heard you cough.” She pointed to the bottles on the desk. “I brought you some medicine and pastilles for your throat.”
“ Grazie .” He gave a weak nod, winced, and closed his eyes, as if in pain. In the next moment, he leaned forward to cough into his hands with his elbows on his knees. The coughing sounded like the barking of a big dog and shook his body. Long, black locks hung from his head like a curtain, jerking with each contortion.
Her stomach knotted. He might be a total stranger, but all that had happened last night inevitably connected them on some level. Which level, she wasn’t sure.
When the coughing subsided, he groaned and ran a hand along his flustered face, brushing aside a few hairs glued to his skin.
She took the box of pastilles on the table and went toward him, stopping a half-meter from his feet. Damp heat oozed from him. “Do you want a glass of cold water?”
He shrugged and clenched his teeth, as if speaking would be too painful.
“Cold water helps soothe the pain.” She opened the box. The sour-sweet scent of licorice rose to her nostrils.
Eyes feverish, he reached out a trembling palm.
She dropped the candy into it, careful to avoid physical contact—both due to the risk of contagion and because she didn’t want to know what it would feel like to touch his hot skin.
He put the pastille in his mouth and leaned back in the chair with his gaze fixed on her. Breathing deep, he sucked on the candy, but couldn’t seem to relax. Each intake of air caused his features to tighten. Tiny beads of sweat appeared all over his face and ran alongside his temples and bearded cheeks.
She closed the box and eyed him for a moment, trying to consider him as a patient and not an object of her fantasy. A difficult thing to achieve with the obvious tension between them and the way he stared into her eyes. At any moment, he could unbalance her.
She searched for ways to keep their interaction professional. Focusing on his
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