The Woman in the Castello by Kelsey James

Author:Kelsey James [James, Kelsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2023-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Paul’s arm was draped over my torso, and I shifted under its weight, deeply satisfied and more rested than I should have been, given how little we’d actually slept. The bright morning light filtered through the small window onto the bed, and it felt like we were floating in a pool of sunshine. Paul’s hair shone golden, and I watched him sleep peacefully for a while, so happy I thought I might burst.

Finally his eyelashes fluttered, and a smile crept across his face as he pulled me closer.

Then he bolted upright. “Shit, what time is it?”

I yawned and watched in amusement as a naked Paul leapt across the room in search of his wristwatch. Regrettably, he pulled on a pair of jeans with remarkable speed, hopping as he stuffed his long legs into denim. The T-shirt came next, his taut stomach still evident beneath it. Actually, he looked nearly as sensational as he did undressed.

“Do you really have to go?” Today was Saturday, and Terrence would be filming scenes with an actor named Mario Spinelli, who had arrived the day before and would be playing the comic Italian guide. I had one scene but not until later, so I wasn’t in any hurry. “You could be a little late.” I stretched out across his bed, still stark naked, and Paul’s eyes followed my movement with careful attention.

He shook his head, his brown eyes mournful, and I admired the line of his square jaw, his lean muscles. “I can’t be late. It’s my job to stop other people from being late.” He leaned over and kissed me deeply, a kiss that traveled through me, firing up all the nerves and synapses that had been so recently pushed to the limit of pleasure.

“Stay right there. Just like that. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He gave me one longing parting look, and was gone.

I rolled over, lazy and relaxed, and reluctantly climbed out of bed. My nightgown, when I located it, was still damp with lake water. I turned to his dresser; I doubted he’d mind me borrowing a robe.

His drawers were impressively tidy. It didn’t surprise me. He’d said he was the oldest of four, and must have had to grow up fast when his father died. I wondered if his mother had been anything like mine in those first days of grieving: absent-minded, staring into the distance at odd moments, leaving laundry to pile up. I’d learned a great deal of self-sufficiency in those months. Eventually, she’d shaken off her stupor and thrown herself into work and mothering with renewed zeal, as if she were making a point. It had worn her ragged. I wished I’d had the wisdom then that I had now and had shown more appreciation.

I fingered the carefully folded shirts and pants, but didn’t find anything approximating a robe. I guessed Paul wasn’t the robe sort. On top of the dresser were a small jar with loose change and a neat stack of papers that a glance revealed to be the contract he’d shown my aunt.

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