Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
I sit gently on the velvet sun-yellow couch. It reminds me of something from a renaissance painting.
Marco reappears with a fluffy white towel and deep green robe. "I'm guessing after that long flight and rough morning you could use a relaxing shower," he says, handing them to me.
I accept the items and squeeze them gently, I’ve never felt a towel this soft. Marco stands over me, his eyes considering me. From where I’m sitting he’s a tower figure, so much larger than life. He's like some marble statue, like the ones we saw on the drive over, he belongs in this room in the middle of this ancient city.
"I'd love a shower," I agree, standing and cracking my back then hurrying to the room he entered before, it's clearly got to be the bathroom. "Too bad I only have a dirty flight attendant uniform to change back into."
I close the door to undress, but don’t lock it. What’s that about?
The shower is perfect and feels amazing. The warm steam instantly relaxes the muscles I’ve been tensing since who knows when. I soap myself up and my mind drifts to the man in the other room. Is he thinking about me in here, naked? What would I do if he opened the unlocked door while I was still in the shower? Heat builds inside me, until I can’t take it any longer and I need to twist the tap all the way to cold.
After I’ve dried off and collected myself, I wrap myself in a luxuriously soft hotel robe and exit the bathroom.
“Marco?” I call his name but there’s no sign of him. He’s gone. Guess he was never planning to join me in the shower.
On the sofa is a neatly folded pair of palazzo pants and a black crop top.Very stylish, very expensive, and clearly not something he would wear. Did he buy me clothing?
I hesitate for a moment, wondering what to do. Should I put on the clothes he left for me? Or should I wait for him to come back and ask him about it?
In the end, curiosity gets the better of me. I slip on the clothes, marveling at how soft and comfortable they feel against my skin. I can't help but notice how well they fit. The pants hug my hips and flow down to the ground like a waterfall. The top is tight, but not uncomfortably so, and the material feels silky against my skin.
I feel a sudden jolt of panic. What if he expects something in return for his generosity? I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. Marco has been nothing but kind and respectful to me since we met. I can't let my paranoia ruin this moment. Although the thought of paying him back makes my stomach flutter in a strange unexpected way.
I twist and turn to see myself from every angle in the floor to ceiling grand mirror by the walk-in closet. There's a gentle beep behind me; I spin as Marco enters. His phone is in his hand, his eyes on it, but whatever he's reading can't be too important because the second he glances up and sees me he stands still.
Marco does a double-take. His eyes rake over my body, taking in the way the palazzo pants cling to my hips and the way the crop top shows off my flat stomach. I feel a shiver run down my spine as I realize just how attracted I am to this man. And from the way he’s looking at me it appears he's into me, too. That's exciting and tempting and a bit... dangerous. He is a stranger, after all.
"You look beautiful," he says, his voice low and husky.
I blush, feeling a rush of heat fill my cheeks. "Thank you," I say.
He hides his phone deep in the pocket of his charcoal pants. "Let's go explore the city. I don't have any meetings until tomorrow and I want to show you around. Plus you must be hungry. I know I am."
He eyes me like I’m the thing he’s hungry for.
I nod, my nerves sparking. "I'd like that. I saw all this amazing gelato on the drive and I've plotted out a list of flavors I've got to try."
Marco laughs, bracing himself on the door like I said something truly gut-busting. "A woman after my own heart. Sure, we can have all the gelato you want."
We leave the hotel and step out into the bustling streets of Rome. People are everywhere, laughing and chatting in Italian. The air is warm and smells of baking bread and fresh flowers.
As we walk, Marco points out different landmarks and tells me about their history. I'm captivated by his storytelling and the way his eyes light up as he talks. It's impossible not to be drawn in by his charisma.