‘It should be,’ Matteo returned. ‘It’s one of my most luxurious hotels. Everything must be top drawer.’
He snapped his fingers and a bellboy came hurrying over.
‘Sir?’
‘Please take our luggage to the Amaryllis Bungalow.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘We’re not staying in the presidential suite this time?’ I teased.
Matteo smiled and shook his head. ‘Even better.’
We walked through the lobby and then outside, along a strip of soft, white sand beach, to a bungalow in its own verdant garden.
‘These are better than suites,’ Matteo announced as he ushered me into the bungalow’s sumptuous living area, its French windows open to the beach, the sea only a few metres away. ‘Complete privacy,’ he added as he pulled me towards him.
The luggage had already been delivered, and the bellboy had withdrawn with discreet haste. I tilted my head up for Matteo’s kiss, revelling in the way he made me feel. It was as if I came alive in his arms. I didn’t think I would ever grow tired of it.
‘Let me give you the full tour,’ Matteo murmured as he steered me towards the back of the bungalow. ‘Starting with the bedroom.’
Within minutes he’d stripped me of the cotton sundress I’d worn for travel, and shucked off his linen business suit in a few quick movements. Naked, we tangled on the sheets, the shooshing sound of the sea the perfect background symphony to our lovemaking.
And it was lovemaking—at least for me. I still believed Matteo felt something too—something more than he was willing to admit. That first night when he’d left our bed so quickly it had been hard not to feel scorned and wounded. But I hadn’t; I’d made myself accept his terms, because that was so clearly what they were.
This and no more.
But to that I added my own silent caveat—for now.
‘How about some fruit punch?’ Matteo asked lazily as he strolled from the bed towards the kitchen.
I watched him go, amazed at his self-confidence, his perfect physique, all lean, sinewy muscle, power and grace.
He returned with a platter of tropical fruit, a pitcher of punch and a couple of glasses.
‘You’re spoiling me,’ I said, which had been my refrain for the last few days.
‘I like spoiling you.’ Matteo poured us both drinks and handed me one. ‘And you deserve to be spoiled. You haven’t had enough spoiling in your life, as far as I’m concerned.’
I smiled and took a sip, nearly spluttering in surprise.
‘Rum,’ Matteo answered my silent question. ‘It packs quite a kick.’
I laughed and took another sip. ‘It certainly does.’
I wished we could spend the afternoon lazing in bed or by our private pool, but after a short while Matteo rose from the bed to dress, as I’d known he would.
‘Duty calls,’ he said with a grimace, and it heartened me that he would clearly rather stay with me than go to work.
That meant something, surely? Or was I being naïvely hopeful, even absurdly delusional, as I’d once been before? In unguarded moments, that was the fear that crept in and crouched in the corners of my heart. That Matteo wasn’t going to change. That he couldn’t.
‘Take advantage of everything,’ he said as he pulled on a freshly starched shirt. ‘The pool, the beach... Tomas is our personal butler. All you have to do is press the intercom in the living area and he’ll be here in a few minutes, if not sooner, to see to your every need.’
‘I thought that was your job,’ I dared to tease, and Matteo flashed a wicked smile.
‘Indeed,’ he said, dropping a lingering kiss on my lips. ‘But he’ll fetch your drinks.’ He reached for his tie. ‘We’ll dine in the hotel’s restaurant tonight, and the opening ball is tomorrow night—don’t forget.’
‘How could I?’ Even though I’d been to a handful of such events over the last few days, they still made me nervous. I still felt like a country bumpkin inside. But Matteo had assured me that was no bad thing.