The master suite felt smaller as Luciano's presence shifted from a man satisfied by a meal to a predator catching the scent of blood. He watched Eloise, noting the slight slump in her shoulders, the way the oversized suit jacket swallowed her frame.
"You're exhausted, Eloise," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle deep in her bones. "The day has taken enough from you. Go, take a bath. Soak the world away."
Eloise looked up, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she looked at the empty plate—the remains of the Osso Buco she'd labored over—and reached for the dishes.
"And the plates? I was going to—"
"I'll handle it," his hand shot out, his fingers brushing hers as he took the tray. "I'll handle these. I'll send them downstairs myself. Go. Don't come out until the water is cold and your mind is quiet."
