He hadn’t let go. And though Sabrina knew it was just sex, a tiny part, so tiny she had convinced herself it was non-existent, wished he would hold her hand out of bed, too.
She pulled her hands out of his quickly and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her palm.
He swore. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she denied quickly, feeling guilty for making him think that when in fact he had given her one of the most intense and beautiful experiences she’d ever had. “It’s a happy kind of crying.”
He frowned.
How could she explain it? “You know when you’re watching a movie or admiring a painting and you’re struck by the sheer genius and humanity of what went into that work of art, and you can’t contain your joy that you just have to cry?” Sabrina looked away because he was regarding her oddly. “That kind of crying that is an end in itself. It’s the best kind.”
He just stared and stared. Sabrina squirmed. He had the look of someone who had realized he had gone to bed with another person.
She should have just kept her mouth shut.
At last he spoke. “Why is it the best kind of crying?”
“It’s silly. Just forget I said anything.” The turn of conversation was starting to make her feel uncomfortable.
“I want to know.” His accent became more pronounced.
“It’s silly, I told you.”
His brow quirked, one that meant he wouldn’t stop until she gave him what he wanted.
“Oh, very well,” she huffed. Her eyes slid away from his. She kept her gaze fixed on the bright, blue sky. “When you cry when you’re sad or hurt or mad or frustrated, the tears are just wasteful.”
“Wasteful?”
“Your tears are not going to change the situation. They won’t cure someone who’s sick. They won’t bring back a loved one.” She stared unseeingly at the glass panel, oblivious that Luca had stilled and was studying her intently. “And they won’t give you answers.” She whispered ferociously, “I hate waste. I hate it.” She remained silent for a few seconds, then blinked, as if shaking off her pensive mood.
He quickly averted his gaze from her profile. “You have obviously never met my sister. Or my mother. They will cry at the drop of a hat to get their own way.”
She turned her head to him. “Does it work?” she asked, as if the possibility had never occurred in her sphere of existence.
He felt an unexplainable pinching in his chest. “Usually,” he said.
“Oh.” She was looking at him like he invented pizza. “It must be wonderful.”
“What’s wonderful?”
“Knowing that your tears matter to someone. That when you cry, they don’t turn their back and just walk away without a backwards glance.” She tugged the blanket higher and her defenses back in place . “Sorry. I’m just spouting crap.”
Luca dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s see if I can make you cry again.” He shoved aside the blanket, exposing her. “The kind of crying you like best.”
If his chest still had that odd, tight, band-like feeling around it, he ignored it and went about making Sabrina sob repeatedly with pleasure instead. He refused to examine why it mattered to him greatly that her tears wouldn’t go to waste at all.
Chapter 10
By the time they surfaced from their passion-induced catnap, the yacht had dropped anchor near their destination. Sabrina looked delightfully mussed. She remained quiet though, stealing thoughtful glances at him while she opened her small carryall and brought out her hotel eco bag, stuffing a bottle of sunscreen and some odd and ends he didn’t know what to make of inside. She didn’t change into a bikini, grazie a Dio, or they wouldn’t have made it out of the suite. The image made him hard again, and he had to stop himself from slamming her against the wall and forgetting about the side trip he had promised.
He would grant her an hour of sea glass hunting max, and then he would whisk her back to the yacht for a quick lunch.
And then after that, he’d give her the grand tour.
The Jacuzzi, the pool, the sauna, the salon with the new couch–oh, the places where they could have a go at it.
Luca felt the clock ticking. By tomorrow morning he should have exorcised her out of his system. He should have had his fill of her, indulged in his gluttony to the point he’d be sick of her. Sick of how sweet her lips tasted, how hot and firm her nipples were as he rolled them in his tongue, how she smelled of the sea between her legs, and how tight and silky she hugged his now-straining erection.
He flinched when he felt her hand touching his. Actual physical contact was the last thing he needed now. He cursed under his breath and willed his rapidly fraying control back. The look of hurt on her face as she misinterpreted his response as rejection gutted him. Jerk that he was, he didn’t correct it. He had to keep his distance. He wasn’t going to give Sabrina Connelly his heart, not when it would be joining the many others littered at her feet.