‘That belt,’ he murmured.
‘What belt?’ she said, frowning impatiently.
‘The one you’re wearing on your jeans. It’s very pretty.’
She was surprised he’d noticed. It was a good belt. She’d bought it when she had bought a few things in memory of her mother who had been über feminine. It was just a slim leather belt inlaid with polished turquoise set in silver.
The belt was giving him a welcome distraction from the sight of Eva’s spectacular breasts pressing against her too-tight top. They were just one more attribute she seemed totally oblivious to. The belt had given him an idea. Yes, he could do without attending his cousin’s wedding with the complication of such an unconventional ‘plus one’, but as she was going, and as, contrary to Eva’s opinion of him, he wasn’t in the habit of humiliating people, he wanted to help her out.
‘Where are you going?’ she called after him as he backed off and strode away down the corridor.
He had never found a good enough reason to explain himself.
He was back in a few short seconds with a new white tee still in its packet.
‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ she said as he handed it over.
‘You’re supposed to go back inside your room and put it on.’
Taking it out of the wrapping, she shook it out. ‘Are you joking? This will drop straight off me. I’m guessing it’s yours. You’re twice my size, Roman.’
‘At least twice.’
‘So...?’
‘So just put it on for me. If it doesn’t work, we’ll park the idea. Just try it,’ he coaxed, masking a grin at her expression. ‘You never know. You might like the look.’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘Just do it, Eva, or we’ll be late.’ His tone had changed, and with a mutinous look she retreated behind the door, slamming it, for the second time in their short acquaintance, in his face.
Pride vied with her natural caution, but eventually practicality won the day. Roman was right. She didn’t want to look like a complete idiot at the party, and at least if she tried to make a dress out of his top she wouldn’t look so wildly out of place. It was a party on a beach. She’d give it a try, anyway. Why not?
The tee did not fit.
Of course it didn’t fit. Why had she ever thought it would? Twisting her hair, like her temper, into an even tighter knot of fury, she opened the door.
‘Problem?’ Roman murmured, easing away from the wall.
Apart from the fact that her hair was half falling down, while the tee had no such inhibitions and would have dropped straight off if she hadn’t grabbed hold of it.
‘No. No problem. I always go out for the night dressed like this.’ She garnished the denial with a withering look.
Did he have to look quite so relaxed...so hot, so amused?
‘The problem is glaringly obvious. The top gapes everywhere. What do you imagine will happen if I let go?’
‘I’d rather not imagine.’ But the sexy mouth tugged as Roman slouched on one hip. ‘I think you need help.’
‘Is that meant to be funny?’
‘You’re so touchy. Do you have a guilty conscience, Eva Skavanga?’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all.’
‘And maybe I shouldn’t have trusted you to give me a bed for the night as you promised. I had no idea there’d be so many complications.’
‘Come here.’
‘I will not.’ She backed away as he beckoned to her.
‘Eva...’
His voice was soft.
Like a lion tamer hiding the whip. She retreated another step. She didn’t like that look on his face one bit. She almost shot out of her skin when he put his hands on her shoulders. The knack was to remain calm, she told herself firmly. Don’t react. Look him in the eyes. She tottered round stiffly as he slowly turned her in front of him. ‘What the hell?’
‘Where’s the belt, Eva?’
‘The belt? I left it with my jeans. And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I can tell you now that a belt isn’t going to save this situation.’
‘Just get it, will you, and let me be the judge of that?’
Another order? She huffed and narrowed her eyes. But, hey, what harm did it do to go get the belt? At least she could prove him wrong.
He fastened the belt loosely round her waist.
‘Almost there,’ he murmured, slipping the neck of the tee off one shoulder.
She tried not to flinch when his hand brushed her neck, but a shiver ran through her as he brushed her naked flesh.
He stood back to take a look. ‘Just one more tweak—’
She gasped as he released her messy hair, allowing it to cascade in wild abandon around her shoulders.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’ She pulled a face as she tried to scrape her hair back.
‘Bellissima...’ Roman moved her hand away. ‘Now you’re ready.’
She swung away from him in fury. And caught sight of herself in the mirror. Goodness. She looked almost feminine.
‘From temperamental tomboy to pale, Botticelli waif,’ Roman observed with the irony back in his voice. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be the toast of the party.’
He’d be toast if he tried anything like that again. ‘I very much doubt it,’ she scoffed. ‘And if you’re trying to suggest that I look anything like Botticelli’s painting of the Birth of Venus—I’m not naked. And I’ve certainly no intention of standing in a shell.’
‘Just make sure you don’t stand on one when you’re down on the beach,’ he said, not the least bit fazed by her heated expression.
More mockery. More...everything. Wicked eyes...Fabulous teeth...Bad, bad sexy mouth.
‘Are you ready, Eva?’
For anything. ‘If you say so,’ she conceded grudgingly, somehow managing to drag her gaze away.
She pointedly ignored Roman’s offer to hook her arm through his and walked past him. ‘Thank you so much for helping me to style my outfit... It’s almost impossible to find a good stylist these days.’
‘Don’t push it, signorina,’ he growled somewhere far too close behind her.
Her spine tingled at his proximity, but if Roman Quisvada happened to be lifting one of his arrogant ebony brows right now, he could stick his courtly airs and graces where the sun didn’t—
‘You look great,’ he said, catching up with her easily, and matching his stroll to her purposeful stalk towards the stairs.
‘Thank you,’ she managed tightly. Her voice was about the only thing that was tight. Unfortunately for her, Roman gave great sensation in places she normally didn’t waste much time thinking about. Would blanking sensation even be possible with this man? To distract herself she fell back a few paces to see what all the fuss was about. Apart from obviously looking amazing, Roman Quisvada exuded confidence and moved with the ease of an athlete. He wore his thick, wavy black hair long, which she liked, especially when it was still damp and wavy from the shower—
‘Keep