“Come on, baby,” I told her, and then, before she could say anything, I bent down and swept her into my arms, holding her to my chest. Precious cargo. The most.
“Let me put you to bed,” I told her as I carried her there.
Her hand remained clenched into the back of my hair, even as I laid her on the bed.
“Shh,” I told her as she nuzzled into my chest.
“Don’t go,” she murmured, pulling me close. “Please stay with me.”
I brought her knuckles to my lips and pressed kisses to her empty left ring finger. “I’m here.”
There was the urge to do more, of course. I knew in my soul that I’d want this woman carnally until the day I died, and there was a good chance she’d let me have my way, too. I could sink her into the linens, cage her under my body. And she’d give, because in her own way, Nina had never been more vulnerable.
But for once, I was in no hurry to take her. Because for once, the sun rising the next day wasn’t a threat, but a blessing. We weren’t limited to a few short hours to get what we needed from each other’s bodies, maybe our hearts if we could. Tonight, we had a little bit more. We had tomorrow, and the next day, and maybe the next day, too.
That night, my dreams didn’t haunt me. My mind stayed blank, my thoughts at peace. Because all I had ever wanted was safe in my arms. And for once, I was safe in hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Nina
“We could go to the Uffizi. Or see the David since you’ve never gone. The lines are much smaller this time of year, so I’m sure we could get in quickly.”
Matthew gave me a look as he picked up his cappuccino from the top of a bar just off the Piazza Santa Croce. “Come on, doll. There’s no use putting off the inevitable.”
I sighed. It was nine thirty in the morning, and Matthew and I had been up for hours. After spending the night wrapped together in our own perfect cocoon, the fact that I was still on New York time prevented us from sleeping in any later than six. We’d gone for a chilly run along the Arno River, watched the sun rise over the terracotta roofs from Piazzale Michelangelo, then meandered back through the old town to clean up at our pensione. Eventually, we wandered toward the Piazza Santa Croce and nodded politely to the shop owners at the mercato as they prepared to open for the day until we found a place to get some coffee and a few cornetti for breakfast.
Matthew licked a few errant crumbs off his bottom lip, and I inhaled sharply. This torture had been going on all morning too. Like last night, getting ready for the day required a bit of musical chairs. Matthew showered first, and when he emerged, it was impossible not to be a little hypnotized by the way the drape of his towel revealed the elegant curvature of muscle and bone at his hips and abdominals. A few stray droplets clung to his amber skin, then slipped over his left pectoral. I had watched as though in a trance, then looked up to find him watching me back, one brow perked as if daring me to do more than just look.
I considered it, truly. But in the end I edged around him, clothes in hand, and contented myself with a fairly cold shower and more time than necessary to get myself dressed and ready for the day.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to feel his soft skin under my fingers and bury myself in his fresh water scent, particularly after having spent the night completely surrounded by his warm, solid body. It was that I wanted it perhaps too much. And I just wasn’t quite ready to be overwhelmed by him all over again. Not yet.
Much good it did me. I was still salivating, and it wasn’t because of the half-eaten pastry on my plate. With the collar of his black wool coat popped up and his favorite gray fedora tilted to one side, Matthew looked more like a private eye than usual. The kind who generally seduced the lady in distress.
“You came to Florence to do something,” he pointed out. “Might as well get it over with. Then, if you want, we can climb the Duomo or check out some Botticelli.”
My heart skipped again, but this time with dread. In my purse was a small piece of paper bearing an address. Eric had contacted a local investigator before Christmas, who had tracked down Giuseppe’s wife. My first point of contact.
“You’re right,” I said bleakly, then tipped back the remains of my cappuccino. I wasn’t finishing the cornetto. Not with the knots in my stomach. “We should go.”
“Wait, doll. I have something for you.”
Matthew pulled from his pocket a small brown cardboard box the size of a pack of cards and set it tentatively on the bar, next to my empty cup.
“What’s this?” I wondered.
“One year ago today,” he said, “I walked into a bar and met you. And my life changed completely. I know it’s not an anniversary, per se—though one day, God willing, maybe we can celebrate one of those too. But for now, we have this.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. An entire year. Had it really been that long since I had stumbled into that bar on a cold winter’s night?
Matthew nudged the box toward me. “It’s not much. I can’t really afford a lot of fancy jewelry these days anyway.”
“Well, I have enough of that regardless.” I picked up the box. “What is it?”
“I saw it at a shop by the Vatican the day before you arrived.”
I lifted the
