him, a dream that was vague and nebulous, but the feeling still remains. The feeling of having a heart so swollen with love that I still feel it coursing through my veins, leftover fragments of my imagination.
Then the feeling turns into one of pain.
Ow. My damn head.
I sit up slowly, the room spinning slightly, and tap my phone on the side table.
Nine-thirty.
I’ve slept in.
“Grace,” Claudio’s voice comes again, soft, supple.
I could listen to that man say my name all day long.
I clear my throat. “I-I’m awake.”
There is a long pause, long enough for my ears to pick up on the beat of my heart in my head, and then, “Time to get up.”
I hear the floors creak outside the door as he moves away, and my stomach growls at the thought. I sure had a lot to drink last night, though at least I remember everything.
I turn my hands over in my lap. Red clay is caked under my nails, while there are smudges of it on my arms, the clay having dried to a shade of rust.
That clay is from his fingers.
They are memories of his touch, imprinted on my skin.
I don’t want to wash them off.
If I do, I might forget what it felt like to have his arms around me, to have his calloused hands hold me.
Good lord, last night was a doozy.
After our attempt at recreating the pottery scene from Ghost, we drank the rest of the wine and continued to work on our own stuff separately. I have to admit, it was still a lot of fun. We just talked about everything, Claudio coming through with his wicked sense of humor. We stayed up until midnight, at least, and at the end we both had created and smashed about four different works of art.
Well, at least his were all works of art. Mine were blobs and they never turned out as good as when he had his palms pressed against my hands, guiding me. Perhaps I wasn’t able to let go the same way, perhaps I could only do so when he was holding on to me.
I close my eyes, my mind drifting back to how it felt. When was the last time I had someone touch me like that? I’ve been starved for affection for far too long. Now that I’ve had a taste of it, I’m craving it.
I’m craving him.
This isn’t good.
I get up, slip on joggers and a t-shirt, not bothering with a bra, and then head down stairs. I’m bleary-eyed by the time I get to the bottom floor, almost running right into Claudio who is standing in the middle of the room, wearing a fucking Speedo, holding a couple of towels.
“Catch,” he says, throwing a towel at me.
The towel whacks me in the face and falls to the floor. I’m too stunned by the Speedo, to be honest. I mean, it’s black and it looks fucking amazing on him, something I never thought was possible, but also, what the fuck?
“We’re going swimming,” he says.
I blink at him, finally snapping out of it enough to bend down and pick up the towel. “What?”
“Come on.” He nods to the front door.
I wave at the back door to the patio. “But breakfast?”
He grins, shrugs like he doesn’t make the rules. “I slept in and missed my swim. I can’t start breakfast until I go swimming. That’s the schedule.”
“But why do I have to go?”
“What do you have against swimming? I saw you do it before.”
I ignore that. “Besides,” he adds, “it will make you feel better. I know you’re hungover, too. You got me drunk last night.”
My eyes bug out. “I did not! You got me drunk!”
Another sly grin, another quick shrug. “Whatever you say, naked girl.”
“Naked girl? Is that my nickname now?”
“If you keep it up, maybe?”
I groan. “Let me go get my bathing suit.”
“Go in your underwear.”
“I’m not wearing a bra.”
His eyes move to my chest. He raises a brow. “That’s not a problem. One step closer to naked girl.”
“I’m going to go get my suit.”
He gives me a wry smile. “I’ll be by the pool.”
He turns and walks to the front door, and I take a millisecond to appreciate his damn fine arse, before I go running up the stairs to my room. I quickly slip on my bikini, a red high-waisted one, then go back down and outside.
Claudio is already in the pool, doing laps back and forth in the crystalline blue water. The birds are chirping softly from