I sat alone at the edge of the pool, my feet and calves dangling in the water. I sipped from a full glass of wine, swallowed, then grimaced. A humid breeze barely cooled my hot skin, which still blazed from kissing Skylar goodbye.

"You're dangerous," she'd whispered to me right before she left.

"You don't know how dangerous, mia cara," I'd responded. Little did she know...

Swirling my feet in circles under the water, I wondered why I was so captivated by Skylar. The American girl was frustratingly bewitching. She could turn into a bit of an obsession if the frequency of my thoughts about her were any indication. And all because she kept putting me off.

Or was there more to it?

I couldn't get her orange blossom scent off my skin. I could practically feel her breath on my neck and her warm lips on mine. And how she talked, animatedly, about writing and books.

Her intelligence was a turn-on. And her eyes, big and ocean-colored, made my heart crash around in my chest. I wanted something I'd never desired before: to get to know a woman beyond a quick screw. What made Skylar tick? What motivated her? How had she become so strong after her mother died?

No matter how many times I'd jerked off to the thought of her, the end result was the same: I wanted her—desired her more each time I saw her.

It defied explanation and reason.

When Skylar eventually said yes, the erotic rush would be so worth the wait. She'd let me in, drop that eggshell-thin yet impossibly tough exterior, and reveal her innermost desires. Once she gave herself to me we'd be explosive together.

Wanting her, and the buildup, would eclipse all my other worries in the coming weeks. Skylar's surrender, her vulnerability and secrets, had the potential to turn me on more than a thousand models. Although...something about her little lecture about feminism and sleeping around unsettled me.

Did she really think of me as promiscuous? Was I? It had never occurred to me that I had a double standard about promiscuity. How odd, that with a few words, Skylar could make me look at something differently.

Still, I'd have to soon tell her I definitely couldn't get serious. The thought of having that conversation made me feel guilty, because I hadn't been totally upfront like I normally prided myself on being. I was a hypocrite because of my circumstances. I wished my life wasn't so screwed up, otherwise I'd just let the relationship unfold normally. Like a  well-adjusted man.

I glanced down at my phone, wondering if she'd actually text like I asked to confirm she'd arrived back at her condo safely. I sighed at the phone's blank screen and swiped at an app, making sure my incoming and outgoing text messages were encrypted.

Her safety was a priority, even though she wasn't aware of it. Plus, her confession about her parents and ex-boyfriend had touched something soft and protective inside me. She was alone, with no one to look out for her.

Skylar was like me in more ways than one. Broken. Hurt. Maybe not as broken and hurt as I was, but there was a melancholy in her. I could make her joyful for a while, if only she'd let me. God knows she'd already lifted my mood.

So, I'd wait. It was early August. Skylar was my summer fling. Autumn was still weeks away in Florida.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Home safe! Thank you for the amazing dinner! Next time, I'll cook.

I caught myself smiling. Hell. In the short time I'd known her, she'd affected me like no other woman.

Maybe I should walk away. That would be the safer route—for both of us.

After what happened to Annalisa in Italy...

My mood instantly soured when I thought of the woman I'd slept with a couple years ago while working at the newspaper. We'd been colleagues, and I'd told her I wasn't interested in anything serious, which was my usual speech.

She'd taken it hard, but we'd eventually parted as friends. She was a fun woman, and a talented writer. Then my book came out and my parents were murdered. A week later came an ominous, anonymous letter saying Annalisa had disappeared. That's when I'd left Italy. That's when I'd realized I couldn't be a normal person anymore.

It made sense for me to be concerned about Skylar's safety, but my uncle kept reminding me I was secure here. Things seemed calm. Bruno Castiglione was under house arrest and awaiting trial. Surely Skylar wasn't in danger. Right?

I tapped out a text to her.

I look forward to your cooking...sweet dreams.

____