Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,89
before I could let the risks talk me out of it. “I’ll call the company and see what we can do. Maybe we can at least call her from the yacht phone.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
She still studied the water, occasionally picking up her phone. Each time she’d huff, and I hated the pressure it placed on my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter.
Needing to distract us both, I turned to my side, propping up on my elbow and resting my head on my hand. The dock had half a dozen loungers, but she sat on the double one with me, and I counted it as a win.
“You know, sunbathing topless is completely normal in Italy.”
I infused heat and innuendo into my suggestion, and some of the pressure eased when she sat her phone aside and barked a laugh.
“You wish.”
“Hell, yes, I do.” She turned her head, and I took my time scanning her entire body, spending extra time on her chest. “You have perfect tits. I remember them in my hand, your hard nipples scraping my palm and begging for my fingers.”
I tracked the way her chest rose a little harder and faster, looking up her neck to watch it work over a heavy swallow, and to her cheeks, turning redder than the sun could make them. She pursed her lips, and I enjoyed watching her struggle to regain her composure.
“You just want me for my body.”
“Not true.”
“Yeah, right.”
I wanted her for her connections. I wanted her for revenge. Her body was a bonus—or at least, I had hoped it would be. However, despite not having her body, I found her smiles to be the bonus—her laughter. Not that I’d admit it. Hell, it sat in my chest like a square peg in a round hole; there was no way I could admit it to her when I couldn’t even admit it to myself.
Instead, I settled on the safety of work.
“You’ve helped my company with your ideas more than once.”
Her face softened. “Really?”
“Yes. Your suggestion to Domenic on the latest project shaved off almost a hundred thousand. I was impressed.”
“Wow. An actual compliment coming from the man who accused me of sleeping my way into a job.”
I shrugged, wincing over my harsh treatment of her at the office. “I may have judged too soon.”
She flipped to her side, matching my position, her breasts bouncing, dangerously close to falling out. But I didn’t know where to look, the alluring flesh taunting me with a peek, or her radiant smile and perfect dimples.
In the end, the smile won out, and I tried not to think about why too hard.
“Does this mean different tasks at work?”
“Maybe…”
“I’ll take it.”
“Your very smart, Verana. Your resume speaks for itself—as well as your actions. Your father was a fool to not utilize your talents.”
Her smile faded, and she swallowed again, barely choking out, “Thank you, Nicholas.”
“It’s just honesty. I won’t easily hand over the tasks because you’re my wife,” I said too harshly. She winced. I hated it and immediately backtracked. “But I have no doubt you’ll earn it.”
She studied me, emotions swirling in the depths of her eyes. It had me feeling like a swinging pendulum with her. I wanted to keep her at a distance but hated when she got too far, so I brought her back. But then she came back and looked at me like I’d given her the most precious gift, making that warmth come roaring back, and I struggled with the way it bled further and further through my body each time. So, I pushed her away again. On repeat.
I knew I was on borrowed time and knew at some point the swinging would stop; I just wasn’t sure where it would, with her close or far.
I wasn’t sure where I wanted it to stop.
But with her smile back in place and the soft heat fading less and less each time I shoved away, I had a feeling I knew where I wanted it to land.
I just wasn’t ready to admit that I may be falling for my wife.
Twenty-Nine
Vera
The heel of my suede ankle boots caught on the edge of the cobblestone, and I stumbled, latching on to Nico’s arm. He looked back to find me giggling, enjoying the feel of his hard arm under my fingers.
“You okay?” he asked, smiling with me.
“Maybe I should have skipped the last glass of champagne.”
“Nah. It’s our honeymoon. How could you turn down a bottle from the chef?”