Page 40 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“Good.”

“We have a hotel room.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“We have a hotel room,” he repeated, adding extra emphasis on the “a.”

“As in one room?” she asked. “Singular?”

“Si,” he confirmed, his mouth tense and his eyes grim. “And that’s not all.”

The balloon animal in her gut twisted tighter. “It gets worse?”

“It’s a junior suite. With a small sitting area. And one bed.”

“One bed?” she echoed. “For both of us?”

“It was the best my friend could do. And we were lucky to get that. She said their reservation line hasn’t stopped ringing.”

Zoe rested her elbows on her knees and buried her head in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“Most women don’t find sleeping with me quite so objectionable.”

She lifted her head to glare at him. “I’m not most women.”

“So I’ve noticed.” One corner of his mouth curled upward into a smirk. “Trust me,principessa, I won’t touch you. Even if you beg me.”

She sat up, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going to beg you.”

“Are you sure about that?” He leaned in, swamping her with his scent, fresh and sunny and salty from the sea air.

The effect on her traitorous body was instantaneous and undeniable. Sweaty palms? Check. Pounding pulse? Check. Mouth as dry as the Dust Bowl? Check.

She cursed her stupid, weak-willed flesh and the damn infuriating man putting it to the test.

“There has to be another way. Are all the hotels full? What about Gianni? Can’t you stay with him?”

“Gianni lives on thePrima Donna. It’s not big enough for both of us. And according to my friend at Le Palazzo di Mare, there’s not another room available on the island. It’s the end of tourist season. That, combined with the storm, has everything booked.” Dante sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still mussed and slightly damp from their ocean adventure. “I’m not any happier about this than you. But it’s our only option. Unless you want me to sleep on a park bench. Or in the bathtub.”

“Now that you mention it, the bathtub doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea.”

“Are you’re saying you don’t trust yourself to resist me?” He leaned in closer, testing her resolve even further. “Is your self-control that fragile,principessa?”

The last word sounded half endearment, half challenge, dripping from his sinfully sexy mouth like fat drops of honey.

“I have plenty of self-control,” she lied, subtly shifting away from him. Or was it a lie? She’d managed to keep herself from climbing him like a tree so far, hadn’t she? Except for that explosive kiss. Which he started. But she hadn’t exactly stopped. Then there was that night on her balcony—

“It shouldn’t be a problem, then, should it?” he asked, interrupting her X-rated trip down memory lane.

He had her trapped. Admit she was afraid to share a bed with him or suck it up and spend a torturous, sleepless night lying inches from all that hot, hard, male flesh.

“Fine,” she said after a long moment. “You win. But you’re staying on your side of the bed. And buying me dinner.”

She hated to play the money card, but her finances were getting tight. An overnight on Capri wasn’t in her budget.

He stood, hiking his carry-all higher on his shoulder. “Let’s check in to the hotel. I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower. Then we can order room service. We’re not exactly dressed to dine out.”

She looked down at her rumpled sundress and frowned. Crap. She hadn’t thought of that. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d thrown an oversize T-shirt in her bag at the last minute. She’d planned to use it as a beach cover-up, but it would double nicely as a nightgown.