He let out a little moan and shifted closer to me.
And like a complete idiot — I let him. Because he was warm, and sexy, and had I mentioned sexy?
At least with his mouth closed, I could finally see what all the fuss was about. It was hard to look past his cruel nature when he was constantly speaking or, you know, breathing.
His chiseled jaw was clenched tight. His eyebrows furrowed a bit as if he was concentrating extremely hard on whatever type of dreams invaded that head of his. I imagined he probably dreamt of death.
Lots and lots of death.
I reached out and briefly touched his silky dark hair. It should be a sin to have such soft hair and be a man.
He already had long enough eyelashes to make me green with envy.
I sighed and tucked a strand behind his hear. My hand hovered near his temple.
Holy crap.
He had a scar.
I kind of wanted to throw a party. The man wasn't perfect. Thank God. I needed to see a flaw because things were looking pretty uneven at that point. He didn't snore, he smelt like heaven, and even his eyebrows had a perfect arch.
But that scar? Yeah, I could work with that.
It was small, barely noticeable. A pinkish white line trailed from his right ear down the back of his neck, his hair covering it perfectly. Hmm, I fought the urge to trace it with my finger.
Or my tongue.
But that was inappropriate, almost as inappropriate as raping him with my eyes, but hey, I at least deserved some eye candy after the way he'd treated me in the field.
It was a sort of payback.
My eyes receive a treat after my ears receive a scolding. Plus, he really wasn't in any position to get mad at me.
He let out another moan then turned toward me. Uh-oh. I tried to slide away, but his left arm snaked out and pulled me close while his right hand found.
My breast.
I ignored my hormones, or at least tried to, and shifted away. Then the man squeezed.
I closed my eyes and muttered a curse.
He started massaging.
Okay, so maybe he wasn't dreaming about death.
I knew the minute he woke up…
Because his hand froze.
I wasn't sure if I should pretend to be sleeping, yell at him, or simply stare.
I chose the latter.
Hoping my expression wasn't one of lust but of mild curiosity, as in why the heck did you grab my boob? and not will you please touch the other one too?
"Shhi-i-it." He drew out the word, his eyes focusing on the hand currently holding my boob captive. "I umm…"
"Why don't you have morning breath?" I asked, truly curious as to why he didn't smell. It would have been a mercy had he been remotely human. But no, apparently he was some sort of Sicilian god.
"Huh?" He shook his head, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. "How am I even supposed to answer that?"
"Well…" I licked my lips. "…you could start by taking your hand off my boob."
He looked down again.
"Or you could keep it there if that's how you start all your mornings, but then it begs the question… do you grab your own, or do you simply imagine someone else's?"
He jerked his hand away. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…" He sighed. "Just, sorry."
"It's okay. I liked it." I winked.
Did he just growl?
"So, morning breath…" I pushed up onto my elbows. "…not something you're plagued with, huh?"
"Too early," he grumbled, reaching for his cell.
"Warts?"
"What?" He dropped the phone and turned his hazy gaze to me. "You have warts?"
"No." I made a face. "Do you?"
"No." Again with his slow one word answers.
"Zits? Tell me you had zits when you were a teen, and your parents tried everything, and nobody would be your friend, so you made up an invisible friend and named him, then had to see a shrink for three years because you were thought to be mentally unstable."
Sergio stared at me for a few minutes then asked. "Are you always this weird in the mornings?"
I threw my hands into the air. "Flaws, Sergio, I'm trying to find flaws." I shrugged. "You know, other than the fact that you tend to be a giant ass-hat most the time."
"That's a flaw."
"An epic flaw. Poor me." I smiled. "I'm stuck with your ass-iness."
"Not a word."
"Is now."
"Can we at least have coffee before you continue assaulting my ears with your voice?"
I rose from the bed. "Fine, fine. You win."
Sergio's mouth dropped open, his eyes flashing with something I couldn't really decipher.
"What?" I put my hands on my hips — and panicked. I was in my wedding lingerie. A cute white corset that had gone perfect with my wedding dress and white lacy boy shorts.
He opened his mouth then closed it. But didn't look away. No, that wasn't Sergio's style; he didn't do embarrassed or guilty. He wasn't that guy, the good guy that even turned around when you dressed.
He stared.
And I liked it.
Because it made me feel wanted — desirable, so I did what any sane woman would do when she had a hot man who just so happened to be her husband in her bed.