The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty

The milky white of her left thigh had turned a deep pink, as had a couple of patches on her right thigh. She took a deep breath. ‘It hurts.’

‘I’ll bet. Can you walk?’

‘Why?’

‘Because we should run cold water over it.’

Her thighs—especially her left one—were stinging something rotten, so much so she didn’t even think of arguing with him.

‘Come, we’ll run the shower on it.’

Wincing, she let him help her to her feet.

Her legs shook frantically enough that she almost fell back onto the sofa, only Pepe’s grip on her hand keeping her upright.

He frowned and shook his head, then, before she knew what he was doing, lifted her into his arms, taking great care not to touch her thighs.

‘This is unnecessary,’ she complained. She might be in pain but she didn’t need this. Besides, she was vain enough to know she must look ridiculous with her dress bunched around the tops of her thighs, her modesty barely preserved. Her stupid black hold-ups had fallen down to her knees like the socks of a scatty schoolgirl.

‘Probably,’ he agreed, heading through the living area and into a narrow corridor, carrying her as if she weighed little more than a child. ‘But it’s quicker and safer than you trying to walk.’

The position he held her in meant her face was right in the crook of his strong, bronzed neck. A compulsion to press her face into it almost overcame her. Almost. Luckily she still retained some control. But she’d forgotten how delicious he smelt, like sun-ripened fruit. Her position meant her senses were filled with it and she had to use even more restraint not to lick him.

Pepe’s bathroom was twice the size of her bedroom and resembled a miniature black, white and gold palace. She had no time to appreciate its splendour.

‘You’re going to have to take your dress off,’ he said as he carried her down some marble steps and carefully sat her on the edge of the sunken bath.

‘I jolly well am not.’

‘It will get wet.’

‘It’s already wet.’

‘Suit yourself.’ He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee.

She tried not to yelp. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking your stockings off.’ He tugged the first one down to the ankle. While she hated herself for her vanity, Cara could not help feel relief that she’d remembered to wax her legs a few days ago.

‘They’re hold-ups,’ she corrected, breathing deeply. The trail of his fingers on her skin burned almost as much as the scald.

‘They’re sexy.’

‘That’s inappropriate.’

His lips twitched. ‘Sorry.’

‘Liar.’

Hold-ups removed and thrown onto the floor, Pepe helped manoeuvre her into the empty bath before reaching for the shower head that rested on the gold taps.

He held it over his hand then turned it on. Water gushed out, spraying over them both.

Adjusting the pressure, he smiled with a hint of smugness. ‘Still happy to keep your dress on?’

‘Yes.’ She would rather suffer third-degree burns than strip off to her underwear in front of him.

‘I’ve seen you naked before,’ he reminded her wickedly, turning the shower onto her thighs.

‘Not under bright light, you haven’t.’

The cold water felt like the greatest relief in the world. Cara closed her eyes, rested her head back and savoured the feeling, uncaring that the cold water spraying off her thighs was pooling in the base of the bath, sloshing all around her bottom. It was worth it. Slowly, wonderfully, her tender skin numbed.

It was only when she opened her eyes a few minutes later that she realised her dress had risen higher and that her black knickers were fully exposed.

One look at the gleam in Pepe’s eyes and she knew he’d noticed.

‘I think that’s enough now,’ she said, leaning up and yanking her sodden dress down to cover herself.

Pepe screwed his eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

It didn’t work.

The image of Cara’s soaking knickers and the memories of what they hid burned brightly, almost as brightly as her flushing cheeks.

His trousers felt so tight and uncomfortable it was hard to breathe.

He gritted his teeth and willed his erection to abate.

He turned the tap off, replaced the shower head and crouched back next to her, making sure to look at her face and only her face. ‘Your thighs should be okay—it doesn’t look as if they’re going to blister—but to play safe I’ve got some salve in the medicine cabinet you can put on them. I’ll get it for you and then you can get changed—where’s your change of clothes?’