CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sandro picked up the big platter and followed her upstairs. Somehow she managed to juggle a stack of napkins, two glasses and a carton of orange juice.
“I guess we can finish the champagne, too. Why aren’t I more nervous? I should be petrified, stuck out here practically in the ocean with water rising on all sides, a storm coming from two directions and no phone contact with the outside world.”
“You’re calm because you know I will take care of you.”
The tiny hairs on her neck prickled. Annoyance. Or arousal at his reassuringly protective words? “Who says I need to be taken care of?”
“Not you, that’s for sure.” He chuckled and followed her into the bedroom she’d chosen because it had a low platform bed they could spread out on.
She settled Lucky on a pillow and started to arrange the plates and make a hard surface for their drinks with a big coffee table book of sunsets, but as soon as Sandro put the plate with the chicken down, Lucky made a beeline for it.
Sandro scooped the dog up in his arms. “Not yet, buddy. We have to carve.”
“He might be starving. I wonder when he last ate.”
“Good point. We’ll do your portion first.” She took Lucky back from him, laughing at how he wiggled with excitement, attention fixed on the roast chicken. Sandro carved it into expert-looking pieces.
“Be sure to take the bones out. Dogs can choke on them. I read that somewhere.”
Sandro put the chicken on the little plate she’d brought for Lucky, and the dog set upon his meal as if he hadn’t seen food in weeks.
“He likes your cooking.”
“He has good taste.” Sandro winked at her. Again her insides shifted. How did he have this effect on her? One glance from Howard never turned her upside down. “Everything for you?”
“Please.”
The food was delicious, and Lucky was such an excellent beggar that they’d fed him almost half the chicken by the time they finally put it up out of reach so he didn’t vomit on the carpet.
“I am so glad I’m not here alone,” she admitted. “I’d be scared to death by myself.”
“It sounds terrible, but I’m rather glad my friends flaked out on me.” He poured them both a glass of champagne. “Their relatives live overseas so they end up all alone while everyone else is celebrating Christmas. I got them to Altaleone two years ago, but they both had important meetings this year and couldn’t go that far.”
“I think it’s sweet that you made the effort for them.”
“Friends are important to me.”
Serena sighed. “I barely keep up with my friends on social media these days. Everyone’s so busy with their careers, their partners. My best college friends both moved to L.A. to work in television and I haven’t made a real best friend in New York.”
“But you must come into contact with people through your line of work, at least through social media.”
“Well, they come into contact with my public persona. The real me is a lot more shy. I let myself get too wrapped up in Howard. I probably smothered him.”
Lucky climbed into her lap and licked her chin. “Isn’t he sweet? I wonder who he belongs to.”
“Must be the person who owns that house. I hope they’re somewhere high and dry.”
“Do you think we have to give him back?” Lucky collapsed in her lap with a huff. He wasn’t that big. He looked like a herding dog, but he was skin and bones under his fur—which was fluffing out as he dried. “I don’t much like the idea of him being owned by someone who left him out there in this weather.”
“You want to keep him, don’t you?” Sandro’s eyes crinkled into a smile.
Lucky looked up at her with his big blue eyes.
“Oh, I couldn’t. I rent my place. I’m not sure dogs are even allowed.”
“Maybe they are?” Sandro lifted his champagne glass to meet hers. “Perhaps he’s a Christmas gift from the universe to you.”
She laughed. “We need to at least find out who he belongs to. But maybe if they’re truly not a good home.…” She stroked his silky fur. A dog was a big responsibility.
Sandro moved the plates and cutlery off the bed and up onto the high dresser with the rest of the chicken.
“Now, before this dog started barking…where were we?”
Lucky had rolled onto his back and was now fast asleep.
Serena laughed. “About to do something foolish. I owe this dog a big debt of gratitude.”
“I have a bone to pick with this hound.” Sandro scowled at him. “But I think we can pick up where we left off.”
“Really?” She lifted a brow.
“Really.” He pressed his finger to his mouth, asking for silence as he took her hand and led her silently out of the room, then closed the door on snoozing Lucky. “In here,” he whispered, opening the door to the bedroom they’d been in before. “It’ll be easier now as our clothes are dry.”
Serena stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. “There’s a huge storm outside. The neighborhood is flooding.”
“All the more reason to act like it’s our last night on earth.” His wolfish grin sent a shimmy of need to her belly.
“If I only had a few hours to live, I certainly wouldn’t choose to spend them—” Sandro stepped forward and slid his arms around her. Her skin sizzled through her clothing.
“You wouldn’t choose to spend them how?” He tilted his head, curious.
“Having sex.”
“Having sex sounds like an excellent idea.” He leaned in and captured her mouth with a steady kiss. His chest pushed against hers, stirring her breasts.
Uh-oh. Those strange feelings rushed through her again. “That’s not what I meant,” she rasped, tearing her mouth from his for a moment.
“Don’t worry,” he breathed hot in her ear. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Deft fingers lifted the front of her shirt, revealing her lacy bra and the hard peaks of her nipples.
Uh-oh.
His hot mouth sucked each nipple through her bra, then lowered to her ultrasensitive belly. Where he unzipped her fly and eased her pants down over her hips…
Her core sizzled. Would it be so wrong? They were both adults. And single. Maybe she was too uptight. She’d heard that a lot in emails and comments but always prided herself on her high moral standards and— “Oh!”
Sandro’s cool tongue on her hot, sensitive and super aroused flesh made her gasp. Her knees buckled, and his strong arms held her steady. He licked and sucked until her breath came in unsteady gasps and she felt almost ready to explode.
She glanced down to where his dark head moved between her thighs.
“Uh, how come you still have all your clothes on?”
“That’s a problem,” he murmured, pulling back enough to look up at her, eyes dark with passion.
Fingers trembling, she plucked at his shirt, and soon they had peeled it off to reveal his ripped torso and the muscles of his arms.
Her body tingled with awareness of his hard masculinity. He unhooked her bra and slid her bikini underwear down over her hips and thighs, apparently relishing each stage of the journey and caressing her legs with his fingers.
He led her to the bed, tugged down the covers with one sharp movement and eased her into the middle of the mattress.
Then, still standing, he stopped and stared. “Your beauty takes my breath away.”
His deep, rough voice—or was it that slight foreign accent?—made him sound utterly convincing. Her heart squeezed, and suddenly she was sure.