Those thoughts vanished when she moved her talented mouth over his jaw. “Love the shadow, so sexy . . .” she murmured.

“I’ll throw away my shaver.” Her smooth leg ran between his and against his length. “Merda!”

She giggled and ran her nimble fingers under his boxers. “I’m not sure if you’re cussing or whispering sweet nothings.”

Cussing, but at his own lack of self-control.

Margaret kicked the covers to the end of the bed and carefully peeled away his shorts. The woman was on a mission, he saw her dedication long before she knelt over him.

“This is impressive, Masini.”

He clutched the sheets in his hands when she teased him with her fingers. She found a thick vein and traced it until a stream of cussing caught in his throat.

When her mouth replaced her hand, his hips left the bed.

She took him slowly, teasing with her tongue, a gentle scrape of her teeth . . . when she moaned, pleasure shot through him so completely, he felt a cresting wave of release building to the point of explosion.

He told her to hold back, said to stop, while matching her pace with his hips. As his wave shot over, he realized, too late, that he was speaking in Italian.

Margaret’s eyes met his and held them when he came.

The room spun until he couldn’t keep his lids open. “I’m sorry, bella . . . I should have waited.”

When he opened his eyes again, she was grinning and running her index finger over her moist lips.

“Apologizing for losing control isn’t allowed. I like it.”

Without warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and twisted her under him. “My turn.”

“Uh-oh . . .”

He pulled her nightgown over her head, noticed her lack of panties, and thanked whatever god sent her his way. “Be afraid,” he teased her, his lips close to her ear.

The back of her ear made her squirm, especially when he dragged his unshaven jaw over her neck.

He took his time, worshiped her with his lips, his tongue, until he was exactly where he wanted to be. She was warm, beautiful, and he told her with words, and showed her with action.

Margaret cussed and opened for him to taste and explore.

He did, every lovely taste until she couldn’t talk at all. When she shattered, called his name, he brought her back slowly, only to climb on top to claim her again.

He nestled between her legs, loved the feel of her ankles crossing over his back. “I want you to moan my name again, cara.”

“Demanding.”

He kissed her, tasted himself on her lips, knew his tongue carried her scent. There was nothing easy about how he moved on her. He gripped her hips and took until the brink of his orgasm.

Her nails crawled over his back, squeezed his ass, forced him to where she needed him most, and matched every thrust. She shattered, clenching him deep inside her, forcing him to follow.

“I . . . God,” she muttered.

He reached over to the side table, found her inhaler.

She laughed into his shoulder. “I’m good.” She flopped her arms to the side in surrender. “So good.”

They returned to the universe slowly. He rolled away enough to position her head on his arm to cradle her.

“We’re making a habit of this,” she said.

“If I have anything to say about it, we are.”

“We are really good at this part.”

Exhaustion started to set in as they talked themselves to sleep. “We’re good at other parts, too. We just haven’t explored many of them yet.”

“Hmmm . . .” Her breaths were slower now. “I don’t do sleepovers.”

He closed his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

“Oh?” She was nearly asleep.

“One of us is going to be deeply disappointed.”

“Hmmm . . .”

And it’s not going to be me.

The phone ringing in the dead of night never boded well for anyone. Michael reached across the bed and answered his cell.

“Yeah?”

“Holy shit, Michael, where are you?”

Tony! His manager, personal assistant, and whatever Michael could make up for him to do, was yelling into the phone.

“Someplace where it’s the middle of the night. What do you need?”

“Are you really in Italy? The e-mail said Italy.”

Michael pushed himself up in the bed, twisted on the bedside light, and closed his eyes to the blinding intrusion to his senses. “What e-mail?” He hadn’t sent Tony anything. The decision to get on the plane was last-minute.

“This could be bad . . . tell me you’re there with a woman.”

“What are you blabbing about, Tony? Slow down and start at the beginning.”

“Someone sent me an e-mail. Told me to motivate you out of Italy if I wanted your career to continue. They said they had pictures, Michael. Said you, and your friend, would be looking for new jobs if you didn’t fly home and keep your nose where it fucking belongs. It even said fucking belongs.”

Michael woke instantly.

“Jesus. You’re with a woman, right?”

“Kinda. Meg’s here.”

Tony blew out a sigh.

“With her new boyfriend.”

“Son of a . . .”

Michael always wondered if Tony suspected something. Neither of them talked about it, didn’t try and double date . . . nothing like that. He hinted that if Michael needed media control, he’d work to spin whatever evolved from the tabloids.

“Did you see any pictures?”

“No! Could there be pictures?”

Michael hated that he needed to answer the question. “Never know. The island was crazy.”