Page 38 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“Everything okay?” Zoe asked, digging through her bag and pulling out a pair of retro tortoiseshell sunglasses.

“Fine,” Dante and Gianni answered in unison.

She eyed them suspiciously, then donned her sunglasses and brushed past them to sit back on the bench seat.

Gianni slowed the engine and pointed to an inlet off to their right. “I can drop anchor in that cove. You’ll have to swim into the grotto from there.”

“So we are going to the Blue Grotto.” Zoe took a tube of sunscreen out of her bag before dropping it at her feet. “Sweet.”

“That place is filled with tourists. This”—Dante waved an arm in a wide circle—“is the Grotta Verde. It’s more secluded. More private.”

Which seemed like a good idea at the time. But now, as he watched her slather sunscreen all over the newly exposed portions of her nearly naked body, he wasn’t so sure.

“Grotta Verde?” she echoed.

“The Green Grotto. And before you break out the guidebook, I can tell you that it gets its name from the green light that filters through the water and reflects onto the walls. Rumor has it that it was used by pirates during the 1500s to launch surprise attacks against passing ships.”

“You sound like you swallowed the guidebook.” Zoe squirted another glob of sunscreen into her palm and rubbed it on her elegant neck and gently sloping shoulders. The unintentionally seductive move had his dick straining harder against his shorts.

“I’ve spent half my life on these waters. I could have written the guidebook.” Dante bent to retrieve his carry-all, which he had stowed under one of the gunwales. “I’d better get my suit on. We’ll be there soon.”

Not soon enough, if you asked him. The sun hung high in the mid-afternoon sky, beating down on them with an intensity that rivaled the inside of one of his restaurants’ commercial ovens. A refreshing dip in the Mediterranean was just what he needed to cool off his superheated skin.

And his out-of-control libido.

…

“That. Was. Amazing,” Zoe said, drawing out the last word for extra emphasis as she grabbed onto the ladder to board thePrima Donna.

Swimming through the grotto had been a surreal experience. Dante hadn’t been kidding about the green glow. For almost an hour, they’d floated peacefully in the mossy haze among the stalactites and stalagmites, sometimes talking but mostly not, silently appreciating the stunning scenery. She liked the fact that he hadn’t felt compelled to engage in idle conversation, letting her take in nature’s beauty without distractions.

She slicked her wet hair back from her face and climbed on board. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome.” Gianni handed her a towel with an overly dramatic bow.

“I think she was talking to me,” Dante said, climbing up the ladder behind her.

Zoe rolled her eyes as she patted herself dry and tied the towel around her waist. This wasn’t the first time she’d noticed a little whose-dick-was-bigger competition between the two friends. They’d been subtly and not-so-subtly poking at each other since she and Dante boarded thePrima Donna, usually with her as the bone they were fighting over. She didn’t know whether to be offended or amused.

“I was talking to both of you,” she said, opting to play peacemaker.

“Sit down so we can get moving,” Gianni ordered, starting the engine. “The weather service says there’s a storm rolling in.”

“A storm?” Zoe took her seat at the back of the boat.

“Nothing to worry about.” Gianni scrambled to the bow to pull up the anchor. “We should make it back before things get nasty.”

Dante looped his towel around his neck and sat next to Zoe. “Should?”

“Will.” Gianni jumped back into the cockpit and put the engine in gear. “ThePrima Donnamight not look like much, but under the hull, she’s full of surprises. Like me.”

He winked at Zoe—she could feel Dante tense beside her—and gunned the engine, swinging the boat around the way they had come. They made it back to Marina Grande in what Gianni assured them was record time, tying up to the dock just as the sky started to darken and the waves turned to whitecaps.

“Ciao, bella.” Gianni lifted Zoe’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Come see me again while you’re in Italy. Maybe without this one.”

He jerked his head toward Dante, who’d thrown on his shirt and shoes and was tossing their bags onto the dock.

Dante grumbled something that may or may not have been an Italian curse word. “I’m sure she has better things to do than hang around with Amalfi’s biggest beach bum.”