The Casanova by T L Swan

Chapter 14

I turn the tap off and get out of the shower, and wrap the towel around me.

I watch as Elliot slowly pulls the razor down his cheek while looking in the mirror. “Does that hurt?” I ask.

“Nope.” He rinses the razor under the hot water; he has a white towel around his waist and looks completely edible.

“I hate the grating sound.” Fascinated, I lean on the bathroom vanity as I watch him.

“You get used to it, I’ve been shaving for . . .” He pauses as he thinks. “Twenty-one years now.”

I sit on the cabinet in front of him. “You’re so old.”

“Thanks.” He taps his razor on the sink. “Although, you’re only as old as the woman you feel.” He raises his eyebrows. “That makes me . . . twenty-seven.”

I take the razor from him. “Can I have a go?”

“I’m not a ride, Kathryn.”

I giggle as I hold the razor to his face. “Could have fooled me.” I concentrate. “I rode you pretty hard last night.”

He chuckles as he pulls my hips toward him on the counter. “And fucking loved it.”

I hold the razor up and bite my bottom lip as I focus.

He closes his eyes. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I slowly glide the razor down his cheek. “What isn’t?”

“A woman having a razor in the vicinity of my throat, can’t end well.”

I giggle. “I’m actually good at this.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Why are you shaving on holiday, anyway?”

“Because I want to kiss you and my stubble is sharp as fuck.”

“Aww . . . your first sacrifice for me.” I pause and smile as I run my hand through his messed- up hair. “You’re so sweet . . . Pooky bear,” I say in a baby voice.

He rolls his eyes. “Hurry up.” He stretches his face out. “And don’t call me Pooky bear, it’s emasculating.”

“Oh please, Mr. Miles, you do know that you’re going to be my bitch by the end of the week . . . right?” I tease.

He smiles and takes the razor from me. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“What are we doing today?” I ask.

“Whatever you want.”

“Oh . . . what shall we do? The possibilities are endless.” I smile dreamily.

He washes the razor out under the tap and then picks up my toiletry bag; he takes out my contraceptive pill pack and studies it. He pops out today’s pill and holds it on the end of his finger for me. I take it from him and swallow it down.

“When was your last STD test?” he asks.

“Why?”

“Interest’s sake.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to use condoms while we’re on this trip.”

I frown. “Why?”

He shrugs as he leans in to kiss me. “I just don’t want to.”

“No.” I pull back from him.

“Why not?” He seems surprised. “I’ve never had sex without a condom before.”

I stare at him as my brain malfunctions. “Never?”

“No.”

“So why would you want to do it with me?”

“I don’t know, I just do.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait a bit longer.” I jump down from the cabinet and walk into the bedroom, go to the walk-in closet, and begin to look for something to wear.

He follows me. “Why?”

“Because it’s too intimate for me, that’s something you share with a partner.”

“We’re partners.”

“For the week, Elliot. That doesn’t count.”

“No, we’ll see each other at home. We made a deal, remember? Exclusive casual.”

I try to hide my smile; this is the first time he’s mentioned anything long-term.

“Well . . .” He puts his hands on his hips as if outraged. “Have you done it with anyone else?”

“Yes, of course I have. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

“Well, I’m your boyfriend . . . for the week.”

I roll my eyes as I get my clothes out and lay them on the bed.

“That counts for something,” he says.

“Not really.” I drop my towel and pull my bikini bottoms on.

He takes me into his arms as he tries to sweeten the deal. “I’ll make it worth your while.” His lips drop to my neck.

“No. Discussion over.” I pull out of his arms and put my bikini top on. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere away from a bed.” I smile as he bites my neck.

“That won’t save you, I don’t need a bed.” He pushes me up against the wall. “I’m an all-surface kind of man.”

I laugh out loud. “Shut up, you fool. It’s not happening.”

The Canary Islands are everything I ever dreamed of. Sun, sand, and sea, all with such a beautiful backdrop. We’ve eaten at the most beautiful restaurants, laid on the beach for hours and sipped cocktails at quaint little ocean-side bars until late into the night.

This place is heaven, with old colorful buildings perched high on the cliffs overlooking the ocean; I’ve never been somewhere so utterly perfect.

Three days.

Three magical days is all it’s taken to transform me into an Elliot Miles disciple.

We’ve talked for hours, laughed, eaten all the beautiful food, and made love in every possible way.

It’s not awkward or foreign, it’s organic and beautiful . . . the kind of feeling that I have always searched for.

His dark eyelashes flutter, his big lips slightly parted, and I watch as his chest rises and falls as he sleeps, the white sheet pooled around his hips.

Elliot Miles is a force to be reckoned with. It’s not who he is.

It’s what he is.

For the first time in my life, I feel heard.

And I know that sounds ridiculous, even to me . . . because, of all the things I know about Elliot Miles, being a good listener isn’t one of them.

I lie on my side, propped up on my elbow as I watch him—I’ve been doing it for over an hour. I need to go to the bathroom but I don’t want to get up and disturb my uninterrupted view.

My eyes roam down over his broad chest and down to his navel and the small trail of dark hair that disappears under the sheet. His skin is olive, his hair dark.

Physically, he’s a beautiful man.

But I know a secret about Elliot Miles: it could start wars, end dreams, and light up a city from space.

His heart is his strength, and maybe it’s not mine to keep.

But I’ll cherish this week that I had it in my hands, forever.

His eyes flutter open and he frowns as he focuses on my face, then breaks into a slow, sexy smile. The one I’ve become addicted to.

“What are you looking at?” he whispers as he pulls me onto his chest, holds me tight, and kisses my forehead.

“Just your goat face.”

He chuckles and it’s deep and husky and surrounds my senses.

“Bahahaha,” he says.

I laugh out loud. “Goats don’t bahahaha.”

“What sounds do goats make?” He smiles.

“I don’t know, but I know they don’t bahahaha.”

He rolls me onto my back and comes over me, and his lips softly take mine. “Well, if I don’t bahahaha, you better make me moan.” He puts his knee between my legs to spread them.

I smile up at him. Oh, this man. “You mean like a cow?”

He chuckles. “I’m a fucking bull, Kate. I told you before.”