Maybe she should rethink sleepovers.

“Waking up with you has its perks,” she told him as he pushed her nightgown low and nibbled at the top of her breast. Her nipples tightened and offered themselves to him.

His full hand rounded on her, brushed against her offering. “So does going to bed with me.” He nibbled her tip through her clothing. “Showering with me.”

How could he suck through fabric? Everything tingled and she pushed her hips closer for some kind of contact. His knee offered some relief to the tight coil of need burning low in her belly.

“Hot tubs,” she managed. “I like hot tubs.”

A low laugh escaped his lips as he lifted her enough to drag her nightgown over her head.

“Sei bellissima,” he said before he dipped his head for a solid taste.

The scrape of the stubble on his chin added to the torment his tongue was delivering to her breasts. The slow, torturous ministration of her body raised her pulse and had her breathing heavier. So far, the tightness in her chest had yet to make itself known, even with her entire being winding like a child’s toy ready to spring.

The weight of Val’s erection pressed against her stomach, and brought a bolt of lust low between her thighs.

Meg dragged her nails down his back and met with the elastic of his boxers while she pressed her knee closer.

Val murmured something in Italian before taking her lips again. His kiss lingered and he took his time. In the past, Meg would push forward, attempt to move a lover along to the finish line. Not with Val. Kissing half-naked like two young kids in the back of a car brought on its own pleasure she’d forgotten existed.

They kissed, tasted, touched, and learned the places that brought the largest response from the other. He found her soft folds with a string of sensual Italian words.

“You’re killing me,” she said when he didn’t hurry his touch.

“Then we will die together, cara.”

Using her foot, she helped his boxers make their way to the floor and teased Val as he teased her.

He was hot, ready . . . and she scraped her nails over, under . . . around, but didn’t touch fully until Val offered her relief. His first stroke of his fingers against her most sensitive parts brought her off the bed, her heart thundering in her chest.

“Easy. Slowly, bella.”

Slow was good, her breath caught and she forced a deep breath. He swirled, stroked, brought her to the very edge of release, and backed off. Instead of pounding his chest in frustration, she returned his tease, took hold, and squeezed.

He pushed into her hand, lost the control as she heard him suck in a tight breath.

One minute she was beside him, the next under. She heard a wrapper, felt him move away far enough to cover himself, and knew she was safe. Val took hold of her hands and lifted them over her head.

Bare to him, he shifted beside her open core. “Sei un dono,” he whispered as he moved inside.

She stretched, took him, and sighed. “Oh, Val.” She closed her eyes for the pleasure of it.

“Perfect. You’re so perfect.”

Then he began to move. Just like his kiss, he built slow waves of pleasure until sensibility gave way to greedy need. She gripped his hips, wrapped her legs around his waist, and found another place of pleasure deep inside her own body that Meg didn’t know was there.

Meg felt the moment Val lost it, the control he held so close was gone as he took and took from her, demanded her body respond. It did.

Her breath tightened and her head grew dizzy as she shattered in her release. Val raced to keep up until they were both panting and limp.

With Val half-dead on top of her, Meg threw her hand to the bedside table and fumbled around for her inhaler.

Val snapped his head up, concern in his gaze.

“I’m OK,” she insisted. “Just a tiny hit.”

The pressure of his body was instantly gone, and severely missed. But she did find it easier to breathe with his weight off her.

The medicine opened her lungs.

“I’m sorry.”

Poor man thought he’d killed her.

She placed the inhaler on the table and pulled him back toward her. “I’m not.”

“But your lungs—”

“Are fine.” She sighed.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him right as the sun started to rise over Rome.

Margaret sang in the shower.

Of course she sings in the shower. Did he expect anything different?

He ran a comb through his hair after pulling on a casual shirt and a pair of slacks. He wondered, briefly, if the hotel had a clothing store that sold jeans.

He smirked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. “Time for that later,” he told himself before he left Margaret’s room.

With her singing . . . well, humming actually, with the water running in the private bathroom, he stepped into the common room of the suite and found the slightly surprised eyes of Michael, who was already enjoying a pot of coffee and a breakfast of fruit, cheese, and biscuits.

“Why am I not surprised to see you walking out of Meg’s room?” Michael waved a hand to the seat beside him and lifted the carafe of coffee.

A nod had Michael pouring the strong brew into a cup. “I flew to LA, heard you were both en route here. I was five hours behind you.”

Michael pushed the coffee in front of Val once he took his seat. “That will wake you up,” he said after his first sip.

“European coffee . . . nothing better.”

The second sip sat better on Val’s tongue. “Colombian?”

Michael tilted his head. “True. But who spends a lot of time down there?”