Ava nodded vigorously, even as she kept kissing him.
‘Preservativo,’ he told her, his mouth moving away from hers, hot against her throat. ‘I’ve got condoms. I’ll use one if you’d prefer.’
She almost told him no, and then with a sort of terrible clarity she remembered. He was playboy of the western world. God knew how many other women he’d slept with just this month, let alone this year. It had been seven years since she’d last been in his arms. She’d been with Patrick very briefly—and he had always used condoms—and then Bernard, her plodding, safe relationship. Gianluca had probably worked his way through the adult female population of Italy...
Something pinched inside her chest and Ava felt her pulse begin to speed up—and not in a good way.
Don’t think about all that, the new, reckless Ava urged. Just go for it. Have your little frolic in the shower, enjoy what he has to offer, and move on with your life. Isn’t that what this is all about? Putting the past behind you, making things over in a better way...?
She pushed her hands against his chest. ‘I want you to wear a condom,’ she told him, making a space between them.
‘Si,’ he assured her, and then his tongue was in her mouth again.
She shoved at him. ‘No—go and do it now.’
He didn’t answer. He merely shut off the water flow, picked her up and carried her wet and dripping out into the bedroom.
He dumped her on the bed and dived for his toiletries bag. Ava sat up, pulling down her camisole. Her stomach only began to plummet when he tipped the bag onto the floor.
‘You don’t have condoms?’
Gianluca hissed out a breath between his teeth and met her accusatory gaze. He was so beautiful, aroused and predatory—everything she had fantasised about for so long...
It made her furious!
‘I cannot believe you of all people don’t have condoms!’
He was looking at her strangely. ‘Calm down, cara. I will make a phone call.’
Ava’s jaw dropped slightly. ‘Room service provides prophylactics?’
‘Why not?’
Aching in places she hadn’t ached for a very long time, Ava found herself scrambling to her knees.
‘Maybe this isn’t a good idea.’
Gianluca stilled. ‘What has changed?’
Ava crossed her arms over her breasts. She might as well be topless in the wet fabric, and suddenly everything didn’t seem so spur-of-the-moment any more. She felt exposed and wanted to hide away.
He looked incredible. He made her knees wobble, her heart shake, rattle and roll in her chest. She shook her head, knowing she had to be strong and resist.
She felt like bursting into tears.
What was wrong with her?
Without a word Gianluca strode to the wardrobe, yanked out a pair of jeans and shoved his legs into them, easing them over what ailed him. Then he grabbed a shirt, punching his arms through the sleeves.
‘Wh-what are you doing?’
‘Wait there.’
Ava scrambled off the bed, but in a single step, with an outstretched arm, he had her up against him—masculine, potent, dangerous. She trembled, but didn’t resist as he clasped her chin and planted a fierce kiss on her amazed mouth.
‘Wait,’ he said.
‘I’m not—’ she began, but he was gone.
She heard the main door slam.
She slumped on the bed for a full minute, just thinking about consequences, and what might happen tomorrow, and how if she didn’t have him inside her a part of her might shrivel up and die. But if she did she would have to give something else up. The memory of that shining night when she’d shared her soul with him. And that had meant something.
Because she was going to stuff this up.
Sex wasn’t something she was any good at. Patrick and Bernard had found her disappointing; it could only be catastrophic with a sex god like Gianluca. All her earlier feelings of being sexy and wanting something more had shrivelled down to a pile of self-doubt.
She briefly considered making a run for it, packing up her things and vanishing before he returned. But she’d been a coward once before, and how was she going to face him in Ragusa on Sunday if she ran now? No, she had started this, and she always saw things through. When he realised she was no good all this would just stop.
Wiping at her damp eyes, she stripped off her wet things and wrapped herself in her big white robe. She had barely covered up when the door banged open. Gianluca was framed in it, looking like every fantasy any red-blooded woman could have, and all the arguments she had assembled collapsed as he threw several boxes onto the bed.
‘Where did you get those from?’ Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth.
‘Farmacia,’ he said.