Red Hot Romeo (The Royal Romeos, #1) Read online

“I’ll take my chances,” she said. “’Cause I’m not going in there for anything.”

  “Then let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the corridor, out through the terrace doors, and down toward the farm. They ran for a few minutes till they reached a large stone shed where Sandro made her stay outside. He didn’t want to risk a chance encounter with a snake in the shed as well, although he didn’t dare tell her that. He grabbed the tool, a snake hook, as well as a five-gallon bucket, then returned to her, and they raced back to the main house together.

  They were breathing heavily as they returned to the room.

  Sandro turned to her. “You ready?”

  “Me?” she said, leaning over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath. “You’re the one who needs to be ready. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? This seems like you should call an expert for something this dangerous. Because if you get bitten, I’m so going to kill you!”

  “So you’d kill me if I got myself killed then?”

  “Exactly.”

  “The thing is,” he said, “you’ve got a job to do with me.”

  “If you mean you want me to pray for you, I’m all in.”

  “I mean you’re going to use this,” he said, handing her the hook.

  “Are you freaking crazy? I know absolutely nothing about snake handling. And point of fact, I don’t even like snakes.”

  “Then that’s good, because you’re not going to have to become best friends with the thing,” he said. “You’re just going to keep that tail under control while I gently clamp up toward the head. I’ll be in charge of all the scary things, okay?”

  “What else scary is there to do?”

  “I need to quickly get the lid on after we drop him into the bucket. And hope he doesn’t strike.”

  “Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.”

  “Okay, so take a deep breath,” he said, rubbing her shoulders and giving her a little pep talk. “You can do this.”

  She shook out her arms as if she were preparing for an Olympic swim. “Okay. I can do this.” She turned her head to each shoulder, an athlete preparing for the event of a lifetime.

  Sandro turned the knob and opened the door. Luckily, the snake was still curled up on the window seat. Sandro nodded to her. “Just follow my instructions, and this will be easy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I feel like maybe I should just put my wrist in front of him and get the bloodletting over with: let him pierce that forked tongue into my artery and call it a day.”

  They slowly approached the snake. “It’s actually quite beautiful with that dark brown zigzag band on his back. Beautifully designed for camouflage.”

  “Just what I needed, a beautiful snake that I wouldn’t have seen until the thing bit me.”

  Sandro placed the bucket with the lid on the floor nearby, got the tongs ready, and before the snake even knew what was happening, he had lowered the tongs to trap it. “Now Taylor, you’re just going to use that hook to sort of guide the tail in case it starts moving. You just want to guide it to where we want it, which is right where it is. It’s going to remain horizontal as long as we keep it on a horizontal surface. But when I pick this thing up, it’s going to want to move upward. You just make sure to keep his tail sort of staying in place while I get him into the bucket. On the count of three: one, two, three.”

  With the precision of a skilled serpent tamer, he maneuvered the snake into the tub, and Taylor performed her duties as flawlessly as possible all things considered. She might or might not have squealed at one point as Sandro screwed the lid onto the bucket.

  And then Sandro threw down the tongs and high-fived Taylor. “Look at you, you snake charmer you! You did it!”

  Taylor heaved a sigh. “You were the brave one, Sandro. I could never have done that. Oh my God, when you put that thing on his neck—or whatever you call it. That was amazing. I have newfound respect for you!”

  He threw her a look. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment, but I will.”

  “Believe me, it is.”

  They walked out to the hallway with the snake tools and the bucket with the offending home invader.

  “You okay now?” he said, rubbing her back. “I’ll take care of making sure this never ever returns to our home again. Why don’t you go ahead and get back to sleep now that you’re safe?”

  “You sure you’ll be okay with that creature?”

  He nodded. “I’m fine.” It was going to be a while till Sandro could get back to bed, but it didn’t make sense for both of them to remain awake.

  She stretched up on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead. “Thanks for saving me, Sandro.”

  At least for a few minutes, he was no longer cranky Sandro in her eyes and instead became the hero. He hated to admit it, but he could definitely get used to that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Taylor stood in the hallway for a few minutes watching Sandro’s back—his strong, tan back punctuated by a particularly gorgeous-looking ass—as he carried the snake bucket and implements far, far away (she hoped). She turned to go back into her room but then thought better of it.

  There had been a big, fat, venomous snake sharing her room only a few short minutes ago. What if snakes were like ants, or mice, and it just meant there was more than one? How would she know? Plus she’d left the window open, darn it. Maybe snakes were slithering in at that very minute as she stood there contemplating her sleeping options.

  Oh God. She couldn’t sleep in there! She’d lie in that bed waiting for the snakes to come murder her in her sleep. Even while she was awake. Because she couldn’t sleep! In case there were snakes.

  She tried to use a rational mind. Think of the snakes like those scary cadaver men surrounding her car in her dreams. They weren’t even real. It was all a concoction of her vivid imagination. She shuddered. She could not sleep in that room. At least not until someone went through it with a fine-tooth comb. Or snake tongs. Whatever it took. A snake eradication expert. She stared up and down the hall, not knowing what to do. She could go find a living room and try to sleep on a sofa. But this house was full of look-don’t-touch rooms, certainly not designed for bedroom-less vagrants to park themselves in.

  There were all sorts of other rooms down this hallway, possibly all empty and in need of an occupant. But doors were closed. What if she walked in on someone sleeping? What if it was one of his brothers, having sex with his wife? Oh God, she didn’t even know if his brothers were married or not. He could just be having sex with his girlfriend. Or what if it was his sister with some guy she met at a nightclub. The last thing she’d want would be for Taylor to show up and catch them in the act. Or his grieving widowed mother. No, that would be hugely embarrassing.

  She looked at her door, then she looked at Sandro’s door, then back to hers again. No. There was only one option: she made an executive decision on the spot that she was going to sleep in Sandro’s room.

  She turned and reached for his doorknob but paused before she turned it. What if there was someone else in there? Not like she’d seen him with anyone since she’d gotten there, but still. Maybe he had a booty call in there. Oh please, that’s nuts. You were with him until just an hour or two ago. Okay, so maybe no booty call in there. But it was his domain. Would he be angry that she took it upon herself to invade his space? Surely he’d be a grown-up about it and understand. After all, she was a veritable damsel in distress.

  She turned the knob, entered the room, and flicked on the light switch. In contrast to the historical design of the rest of the house, his room was unexpectedly contemporary: three walls were a soft dove gray, and the wall behind the bed was black. The wall in front of the bed had a large flat-screen television mounted to it. The carpet was a shade darker than the walls, and his bed was dressed in sleek, gray sheets and a comforter just a tinge darker still, with a leather headboard also in gray. Very modern black leather furniture—a footstool, a reading chair, a love s
eat—was scattered about.

  Unfortunately, the love seat wasn’t nearly big enough for a tall girl like herself to be able to sleep on without having to curl into a pretzel. She stared at the bed: would it be acceptable for her to just slip beneath the sheets when he wasn’t looking? How rude would she be to take it upon herself to do that? But then she remembered: these were extremely extenuating circumstances. She nearly died tonight. Ish. The least he could do was yield to her a miniscule sliver of bed. If need be, she’d make herself impossibly tiny, the way mice do when they crawl through teensy little holes. He’d hardly even notice she was there.

  She was right: this was the sensible thing to do. Just snuggle on in, cross her fingers that she picked the right side of the bed, the one he didn’t sleep on, and hope for the best.

  So she padded to the far side of the bed, hedging her bets that he would normally just pass out at the closest dropping point nearest the door. She lifted up that comfortable-looking down blanket, and she slipped beneath the crisp, percale sheets, not even letting herself worry about what other women might have been in this bed before and if the man had even washed his sheets in the past five years. He had maids; she knew she was safe.

  ~*~

  Sandro was doomed to be a zombie at the launch of his ten-years-in-the-making baby. He’d resigned himself to it already. It was out of his control. Who’d have thought a damned snake would be the source of his woes? If he was going to get no sleep after a visit to Taylor’s room, he’d have hoped it would be for something more personal—and personally gratifying—than getting rid of a venomous viper. Just his luck, the way things had been going lately.

  As he walked to his room, he glanced over at Taylor’s door. He had a half a mind to check on her, just to make sure she was all right. But it would have been awkward for him to just open the door and walk in unannounced. He figured she was fine or he’d have heard about it by now. She’d proven that she was perfectly willing to use that voice of hers if need be.

  He entered his room, not even bothering to turn on the light. Padding to the bed, he quickly stripped off his shorts and slipped underneath the sheets. Feeling restless, he reached above his head and bunched his pillow, then pulled it toward his head. Man, he needed to sleep. Badly. He closed his eyes, reflecting on the events of the night. Damn, they were all lucky that snake had decided to settle down right by the window. Imagine if poor Taylor had found the thing in her bed. She’d have been dead of a heart attack long before that snake could have gotten to her. He felt so bad; never had anyone ever found a snake inside the house. What a crazy thing to have happen, tonight of all nights.

  He rolled to his side, but as he drifted off to sleep, he could swear he heard the quiet breathing of a sleeping human. What the hell? He sat up, his eyes adjusting to the dark. He could barely make out a lump on the far side of the bed. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, and instead of turning on the too-bright flashlight, he opened the home screen, which afforded him just enough light to see what—or who—was there without causing a commotion.

  He saw a passed-out Taylor, curled up on the farthest edge of the bed, practically on the verge of falling off, snoring softly with each intake of breath. She must have been too scared to sleep in her room but too embarrassed to admit it when they were standing in the hallway. Sort of cute of her really.

  He stared at her for a few minutes, wanting so badly to run his fingers through her soft blond curls. And then maybe let his hands wander a little lower. But he knew that would be a violation of trust. She was comfortable enough to have opted to sleep in his bed; he owed it to her to respect her space.

  Because of course he would have one of the world’s most beautiful women sleeping practically on top of him, forbidden fruit that he could, under no circumstances, touch. Sometimes life was so unfair.

  Chapter Twenty

  Taylor woke to the sensation of warm breath on her neck. Had she fallen asleep next to a dog?

  She opened her eyes to a darkened room, and it took a minute for the events of the previous night to return to her. She’d gone to sleep. In Sandro’s bed. So no dog next to her, rather it was Sandro whose breath fluttered against her flesh. She no sooner realized that than she noticed something even more surprising. Not only was he breathing on her neck, but also his right arm and leg were draped across her waist and thigh, and unless she was sorely mistaken, she felt another appendage also cozying itself right up against her behind.

  Well. This was quite the dilemma. Awkward sleeping circumstance number 264 or something like that: what to do when you wake up in a man’s bed uninvited, only to find the man there. As in there.

  She lay there for what seemed like forever, the soft chuff of his warm breath feeling kind of reassuring against her skin as she tried to figure out the best way to handle the situation. On the one hand, she had plunked herself down uninvited last night. But then again, she didn’t have a chance to clear it with him beforehand and was forced to make an executive decision. But only because he was doing her a solid with that slithering, scale-covered death squad that had invaded her space.

  Under the circumstances, she knew she didn’t have a right to be indignant right now. But how best to extricate herself from his warm, very hot body? And by hot, she meant hot. She thought back to last night when he raced to her aid. And there he stood, nothing on but what the good Lord gave him. If she hadn’t been so freaked out about the venomous intruder in her midst, she wouldn’t have minded focusing on that little gift for a while longer.

  It wasn’t often you got to see six plus feet of incredibly sexy Italian and all the accoutrements that come with that, just right there for your viewing pleasure. She made a mental inventory of him from top to bottom: she loved when a man kept his hair a little long, and his was just the right length, long enough to pull back and run your fingers through when— Well, suffice it to say, run your fingers through. And that sexy little goatee—she kept remembering what it felt like to kiss him, with that soft hair pressed to her lips, and couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel scraping across her skin. Not to mention elsewhere. Working her way down his hard body, remembering his strong arms with biceps that looked like they came from hard work, then that beautiful chest with just the right amount of hair on it to make it sexy. And following that hair along his six-pack abs to her most favorite zone of all, that impossible-to-resist path of hair that led right where every red-blooded woman with a libido wanted to go. It made her heart beat faster just thinking about that little Hansel and Gretel trail.

  Get a grip, Taylor. But it was hard to get a grip because she wanted him. Damn, was that totally hypocritical of her? So maybe she’d had a change of heart, but wasn’t that a woman’s prerogative to do just that? Besides, hadn’t he shown himself to be a man of integrity? He seemed thoughtful, and kind, and generous. What harm would there be in exploring things with him? Or at the very least exploring him with things: like her mouth, her lips, her tongue?

  She pressed her backside up closer to him, pulled his hand tight to her breast, and drifted off to sleep, figuring she’d let the chips fall where they would.

  ~*~

  Sandro emerged from what felt like a coma of exhaustion, slowly opening his eyes in the dark room only to find himself nestled perfectly belly-to-back against a warm, soft body. And unless he was mistaken, wasn’t that his hand pressed up to a warm, soft breast? He groaned and moved closer to Taylor, trying in his foggy mind to make sense of what he was encountering and how he’d gone from not having a chance in hell with the woman to being close enough to being able to slip it right in without her even noticing. At least not initially. Though he’d hope that soon enough she’d gratefully applaud the maneuver and not want to cut off his balls.

  So he knew this: it wasn’t the first night when things unfolded so unexpectedly and then he was unceremoniously voted out of the tribe. But then the second night, what happened then? It was starting to come back to him: he went to bed, late. He was super e
xhausted. And then the snake— Oh, that blessedly perfect little snake. So that’s what he owed his great good fortune to. Shame he’d dropped that viper down a ravine twenty minutes away from here, or he’d go reward the thing with a tasty rat for his efforts, maybe even name one of his wines after him.

  He pulled Taylor closer to his body, subtly pressing his erection into the soft pillow of her ass. And of course he groaned. How could he not? He decided to go big or go home, so he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, alternating small kisses and gentle licks as his right hand got busy toying with Taylor’s already-hard nipple. Was he imagining this? Or was it really happening?

  Wait a minute. The snake. Maybe he’d actually been bitten by the snake. And maybe he died. And maybe now right now he was in heaven, and in heaven—God help us all—you’re permanently hard and raring to go with a ready and willing female curled up in front of you at all times! Would that be possible? He reached down with his left hand and pinched hard on his hip, just to see if he’d notice it. Because if it hurt, surely then it would mean he was alive. After all, no one feels pain in heaven, right?

  He winced at the feel of it. Crap, that was maybe too hard.

  Okay, so he wasn’t dead. That was a good sign. And Taylor, right in front of him, was decidedly warm and alive. Now he had to simply figure out how to navigate the treacherous body of water known as Taylor McFarland without drowning. Or being decimated by sharks or other predatory creatures. Piece of cake.

  As he nestled in a bit closer, his mouth found her ear, and he ever so stealthily licked and kissed it while his hand slid beneath her wifebeater—ah, that gloriously skimpy T-shirt he remembered so fondly from his first failed attempt—and then back toward her breast, swirling his palm on her belly as he moved his hand upward.

  “Don’t stop,” Taylor moaned, and he took it as tacit approval as his palm spread across her breast and squeezed.

  Sandro was forever grateful that she hadn’t shunned his advances—yet—because he didn’t think he’d survive tonight if he were left dangling—make that jutting out—again. It would be a particular form of torture he wasn’t prepared to survive. Instead, he opted for bravery, slowly inching his body so that he could move his mouth toward hers, which meant no more spooning, boohoo, but with any luck could result in even greater riches. He soon maneuvered Taylor so that she was on her back, giving him much greater access, and he took advantage of that, slipping his hand beneath the elastic band of her bikini panties and oh God, oh God, oh God.