On her own for the first time in days, Martia found it all too tempting to lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling—but then images of Carlo intruded on her thoughts. Carlo with his laughing brown eyes and dark, curly hair; with arms not overly muscular but strong enough to hold her tightly against his chest; with a tongue that insinuated itself sensuously past her parting lips and into her eager mouth; with those hands and their incredible fingers exploring and exciting her body; and that tongue again, doing things that made her gasp just to think about.
But her hands were wandering downward of their own accord, and she quickly rolled onto her stomach, stifling those thoughts. Carlo wasn’t a safe subject. That’s why she was here, to get away. Her beloved Carlo had betrayed her. Not with a
