Christan shrugged. “I don’t understand the modern foods that come from a box.”
Neither did she, most of the time. Lexi bent to open the refrigerator. Light from the interior speared across the counter. The room had grown dark, and she hadn’t noticed.
“What were your favorite foods from before?” she asked, removing the fresh ingredients Giam sent over.
“I used to like oranges and sitting in the sun,” he said, the deep sound of his voice mesmerizing. “What about you?”
“I enjoy cooking.” Lexi flipped on a small overhead kitchen light and the sense of sharp caution smoothed away. “It’s hard to be creative when you’re cooking for one.”
“You must have some guilty pleasures.”
“Chocolate at night. Coffee in the morning.”
“You’ll find plenty of that in Florence.” Christan glanced over her shoulder. “Do you need me to open that second bottle of wine?”
“Um… no, I can manage.” Lexi wasn’t sure what she’d heard in his offer. She picked up a knife, sliced the fresh mushrooms. Tried to ignore the growing intimacy in the kitchen. When she turned to retrieve a wedge of cheese from the counter, she was startled by what she saw in his eyes.
“Should I go then?” he asked.
Lexi studied the cheese with unexpected intensity. “If you’re going to help cook, then you should probably go shower.”
“Shower,” he repeated. Lexi thought there was something begging to be rewritten in the tone of his voice. Her throat grew too tight to speak, so she nodded. Yes.
Christan considered her for a moment longer before he disappeared. When Lexi heard the sound of water, an image of him standing bronzed and naked and wet seared through her mind. With a total loss of breath, she set a pot of water on the stove and added a drop of olive oil to keep the pasta from sticking. She turned on the gas burner and watched the blue flame puff into existence, trying not to think about the dark lightning she had recognized in his eyes.
With an abrupt shiver, Lexi forced herself to focus. She grated the cheese into a mountain on the plate and sliced tomatoes until they bled, then paused long enough to stare through the window for the evening stars. It was a pointless ritual, one she practiced every night. She would stop what she was doing and glance up, feeling incomplete if she didn’t do it. They were just stars, the first five she saw winking in the darkening sky. Even if there were clouds—and it was always cloudy on the coast—she would stand and wait, stiff from the cold until something moved in the sky and she could see a brief winking of light. She didn’t know why she did it, hadn’t even questioned it until now, as she remembered Christan’s deep voice repeating the five words she always whispered: faith, strength, vision, courage, and love. How he knew those words she didn’t know. But he did. And he’d spoken them in Italian.
He came up behind her on silent feet, dressed again in jeans and a shirt, but barefoot. His hair was damp. Warm arms circled from behind. He braced his palms against the counter and something profound uncurled in the pit of her stomach. It was hunger. Lexi recognized it as something she’d felt centuries ago. For this man.
“What are we cooking?” he asked, his mouth close to her ear, the rough caress a dangerous snare. Lexi realized she was mashing the tomatoes, and so did he. His fingers slid over hers to remove the knife, set it to the side of the cutting board. With gentle deliberation, he drew his forefinger up over one of the amber memory lines and Lexi thought of butterfly wings. The remembered scent of sunshine mixed with wild oranges reminded her of forgotten need. Tension sharp and heavy tightened her lower abdomen and her heart beat with a growing awareness. Recognition. With a little sound of resistance, she turned. Her hands were tight against her chest as if that could keep him from touching her.
“What are we doing, Christan?” she whispered.
“Cooking.”
Her gaze shifted to his hard mouth, the angle softening in the evening shadows. The exhaustion and worry had disappeared from his eyes, replaced with something more intense. “You know what I mean.”
“This?” He rubbed his thumb lightly against the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. “We’re finding out.”
“What?” she whispered.
“If there’s anything more than anger left between us,” he said as his mouth came down on hers.
Resistance fled. Christan anchored her head with both hands and there was only the demand of his mouth, his tongue invading, so familiar she parted her lips. Christan responded, pressing hard against her, his weight heavy and drugging. Lexi made a soft sound in her throat. The sound enraged him. He backed her against the wall, forced his thigh between her legs and dragged her wrists above her head. He pinned them with one hand. With the other, he followed the arch of her throat, the delicate wings of her collarbones, the curve of her breast. His kiss deepened, hard until she thought he was consuming her. Sensations rocked through her, both old and new.
Fierce heat, as his mouth traced the line of her jaw, tiny bites left in his wake before he took her mouth again, his tongue deep and stroking. She remembered his taste, so male—she couldn’t get enough. She tried to lean into him. His hand slid beneath her blouse, cupped her waist before moving with intent to the back of her hips. His palm was hot against her skin. He lifted her, bent his leg slightly and pulled her toward him along the length of his thigh, higher, until she straddled him and her feet were off the ground. Lexi didn’t know if he was rocking or if she was, but the friction between her legs had the breath catching in her throat. The torment increased when he released her wrists and dragged her legs around his hips. Her ankles locked, her fingers gripping his shoulders while he braced his knee against the wall. His eyes were filled with intensity, hot and aggressive. He cupped her breast. His thumb and forefinger pinched, tugged, and her hips moved again while a rough sound rose in her throat. An aching sound. He could do whatever he wanted and she wouldn’t care.
Christan dragged her from the security of the wall and she went with him. When his hands slid beneath her blouse she helped him pull it from her head. The lacy pink bra was next and she was a wild thing without control, trembling with need. Wanting to feel the heat of his flesh, run her fingers over the hard, ridged muscles and touch the tattoos in the intimate way he’d touched her memory lines. Christan needed, too. His shirt was gone and he took her mouth again. A demanding erection pressed against her lower belly, and memories of the way they once were exploded like lightning strikes in a night sky. Jagged. White-hot. They fell to the floor and she was arching up beneath him, whispering, “Please… please.”
When his heavy body rolled over her, predatory energy jumped from his skin and penetrated hers. His hips ground her into the floor, and she could feel the fever in him, heavy and pleasingly rough. Her breath was catching in her throat and she thought she was telling him how to touch her when he used his teeth, lightly tugged her nipple, stroked his tongue to sooth the ache that was not pain. They were devouring each other, drinking in the essence and unable to slake the thirst.
But he wasn’t fast enough and Lexi found the zipper on her jeans, released it and shoved the material down past her hips. She tried to kick the jeans free and failed. They tangled around one ankle. She left them there. More, she just needed more, and that need for him was shocking.