Page 17 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
I step inside his room.
Heavy velvet curtains block most of the sunlight, except for one long beam of light that stretches from the window to the bed.
Hisbed.
I swallow, my eyes skating over a pool of messy satin sheets and a misshapen pillow. Giorgio seems like someone who’d make his bed, he’s always so put together... If I had to imagine his room, I don’t think I would have imagined this.
The space feels lived in. A tie is slung over the back of a chair standing in one of the corners, and a crumpled shirt lies on the seat. A bottle of cologne sits on an impressive looking armoire. I resist the urge to check the label.
By the bed, there’s a tall stack of books, suggestive of a nighttime reading habit. I walk over to it and get down on my haunches to read the spines. Biographies of Alexander the Great and Napoleon, a history of World War Two… Definitely not what I’d call light reading.
I’m halfway through the description of a book titledThe Secret Warwhen I realize what I’m doing.
Quickly, I put the book down and step away from the bed.
Why is it that a room can be just a room, but when it belongs to a man you find attractive, it becomes endlessly fascinating?
I groan and shake off that thought. I came here for a reason, damn it.
My phone.
Where could he have stashed it?
Looking around, I zero in on the nightstands. There are two, one on each side of the bed, and when I reach for the one closest to me, Sophia trots over and emits a low growl.
I glance at her. “Hey, come on. After that rubdown, you can let me get away with this one thing. Sit.”
Hesitantly, she follows the command and cocks her head to the side. I’ve never felt judged by a dog, but I sure do now.
Inside the nightstand’s drawer, I find only one thing, and it’s not my phone.
It’s a gun.
A ball of ice solidifies inside my belly.
I’ve seen plenty of guns in my life—my brother rarely leaves home without one tucked at his waist—but sleeping right beside one in a castello no one is supposed to know about?
Talk about paranoid.
I press that drawer shut and round the bed to get to the other nightstand, but before I reach it, a door swings open.
Giorgio emerges in a puff of steam.
Freshly showered.
Hair dripping.
A white towel wrapped around his trim waist.
He freezes in place.
My jaw drops.
I can’t help but let my gaze ping pong across every inch of his exposed skin.
His body is a work of art made of smooth, lean muscle,including a prominentV that disappears behind his towel. Dark tattoos cover his upper arms and torso, giving him an unexpected edge. Who knew that’s what he’s been hiding beneath his tailored suits?
And those abs I was so curious about? Yeah, I’m counting eight.
