“You don’t need to waste a wish on that.” I ran a palm up and down his arm. “You can come back whenever you want.”
“With you, James. Only with you. You’ve given me such a splendid holiday.”
“I’ve been at you so much I’m sure I’ve made you sore.” I hadn’t been able to get enough of him, and I’d taken him over every flat surface in our suite, as well as against the French windows that opened onto our tiny balcony. Fortunately, the elderly couple in the rooms across the courtyard hadn’t the best eyesight, and so did not realise what we’d been doing, although Jeremy had blushed a brilliant shade of crimson when they’d smiled and waved to us.
“I don’t believe you heard me complaining. I wish I could touch you, James. Right here. Right this moment.” He smiled at the colour that stained my cheeks, raised his hand as if to stroke a finger over my cheekbone, but then clenched his fingers and dropped it.
“You know I’ll bring you back to Rome whenever you choose,” I said, my voice gruff.