His mouth is heaven. I’ve died and gone straight to heaven. I’m floating on clouds. Somewhere off in the distance, cherubs pluck harp strings and unicorns sail over rainbows.
He’s gentle but firm, slow but dominant. His hands around my face are almost rough, but his mouth is as soft as cotton candy. He parts my lips with his tongue and makes a sound in his throat when he does it, a sound that instantly hardens my nipples and makes every nerve in my body glow with lust.
All thoughts of personal space are out the window. All thoughts about anything else but his mouth and hard body against mine are toast. I stand there and let him give me the hottest kiss of my life, not caring at all that I know after it’s over, I’ll be horrified with both of us.
It’s too damn good to care about that right now.
I arch into him, grabbing at his suit. He slides one hand into my hair and makes a fist at the scruff of my neck, holding my head in place as his tongue probes deeper into my mouth. His other hand moves from my jaw to my ass. He grabs a handful of it, dragging me closer.
We stand there in front of the counter in my father’s shop and feast on each other for what seems like hours. He kisses me for an eternity, licking and sucking, taking gentle nips of my lower lip, pinning me against him with an arm like a vise when I slide my hands up his chest and wind my arms around his shoulders so I can get even closer.
God, I needed this. How did I ever think I’d been kissed before? This kiss makes every other kiss I’ve ever had feel like a dry peck on the cheek from a granny.
This kiss makes me feel like a woman.
He says something roughly in Italian, breaking away from my mouth to drag his lips over my jaw and down my throat. Pulling my head back with that hand in my hair, he sucks on the ragged pulse in my neck, making me moan.
His voice hot at my ear, he whispers, “I want to hear you make that sound when I’m inside you.”
My eyes roll back in my head. I’m starting to sweat. My heart pounds so hard it might be in danger of bursting. My body glows with heat, especially in the damp space between my legs, which is also howling with need.
We stagger back a step or two and bump into the counter. Matteo’s erection presses into my crotch. I whimper, panting and delirious, and hear him make an animal noise, a growl, like a bear.
It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
Then he opens his mouth and ruins everything.
“You see? We don’t have to be enemies. Let me buy the business, and we can be the best of friends.”
I freeze. All the blood that was pumping through my veins so hotly falls to a complete standstill. I stare at him, at his beautiful face so close to mine, and wonder how strict the laws on murder are in this country.
“Wait. Wait—did you just kiss me to try to get me to sell you my father’s business?”
He glowers at me from under dark brows but doesn’t respond.
I push him away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Answer the question.”
He inhales a slow breath, drags a hand through his hair, and straightens his jacket. Then he tosses his head back and stares at me down his nose.
“Oh my God. You . . . you . . . mercenary!”
A muscle flexes in his jaw. His eyes could make a cold pile of kindling explode into flame. “The company will be better off in my hands. If you want to honor your father’s memory, let someone run it who can make it the success it deserves to be.”
This is the second time he’s made me feel like I’ve taken a punch to the gut. I’m determined it will be the last.
I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and dredge up what little dignity I have left. Then I stare him right in the eye and let him have it.
“Fuck you, Matteo Moretti. Fuck you and that high horse you rode in on, and fuck your ego, and fuck your fake kiss.”
“Which you loved, by the way.”
“And fuck that stupid smirk on your face,” I say through gritted teeth, willing myself not to lose control and start screaming. “Now get out of my shop. And don’t ever come back, or I’ll make you wish you were never born.”
He stares at me in blistering silence, his gaze raking over my face. He looks as if he wants to say something else, but instead he shakes his head, turns around, and stalks out. He slams the door behind him.
I lean on the counter, breathing hard, still dizzy from his kiss. How many more times will I let myself be humiliated before I learn my lesson?
Men can’t be trusted.
Neither can my uterus.
From now on, I’ll only allow logic to run the show.
Still shaking, I lock the door to the shop and get to work.
Nine hours later, I’ve conducted an audit of the books, catalogued and repriced the inventory, reorganized most of the work space in the back of the shop, and managed not to think about Matteo more than once every four or five minutes.
My mind keeps wandering back to that kiss. The adrenaline levels in my bloodstream still haven’t returned to normal.
I make a list of things to buy—first being a computer—turn the lights off, and lock up. Then I walk down the street to the square, where I find a taxi to take me back to Il Sogno.
The house is dark when I arrive. I don’t have a key, so I’m forced to knock on the front door, hoping Lorenzo will still be awake so I don’t have to sneak through a window. I’m relieved when I hear a quick step approaching.
The door opens. “Sorry I’m so late, Loren—” I stop short because the man who opened the door isn’t Lorenzo.
“Don’t look so surprised to see me. My mother lives here, remember?”
Smirking, Matteo leans against the doorframe. He’s dressed casually, in dark slacks and a white dress shirt rolled up his strong, tanned forearms. He looks like a billionaire supermodel posing for a spread in Billionaire Supermodel magazine.
Incandescent with anger, I brush past him into the house. My house, I remind myself, fuming.
I head straight to the kitchen because I’m starving. Lorenzo’s there, sitting at the big wooden table, swirling a snifter of amber liquid in his hand. Another snifter sits on the table across from him. He looks up and smiles. “Ah. Signorina. We were just talking about you.”
Behind me, Matteo strolls into the kitchen. I feel him standing there in the doorway, making all the atoms in the room vibrate at a dangerous frequency.
“Were you now?” I say acidly. “Sounds like fun.”
Lorenzo blinks at the tone of my voice. He glances over at Matteo, who’s probably flipping me off behind my back. He rises, following me over to the fridge. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“You can get me a gun,” I mutter under my breath. I grab a yogurt, remember I hate yogurt, throw it back, and grab a hunk of salami and a block of cheese. The fridge is filled with all kinds of stuff, but I want something I can eat in my room, tearing apart with my teeth.
I’ve got to figure out a way to ban Matteo from the house.
Without another word to either of them, I leave Matteo and Lorenzo in the kitchen and head to my bedroom. It isn’t until I throw open the door and flip the light switch that I remember it isn’t mine anymore.
Cornelia is sprawled in the middle of the bed, snoring like a chainsaw.
She has a nightlight shaped like a giraffe. She has a water bowl that appears to be real china, elevated on a silver stand beside the bed. She has a pink blanket with frolicking bunnies that covers the lower half of her huge black body.
Her name is painted in flowery fucking letters on the wall.
“Get out of my bed, dog!” I shout.
Waking with a snort, Cornelia jerks and scrambles upright. She sees me standing in the doorway, throws back her head, and howls in fright.
Drama queen.
I stand aside and point into the hallway. “Out!”
The dog launches herself from the bed. She promptly gets tangled in the sheets and falls to the floor. Frantically struggling, she kicks the stand with the water bowl, which topples over and smashes against the floor.
“Oh my God. This is a frickin’ circus.”
I stride over to the flailing mass of blankets and legs and grab a handful of fabric. I pull, and the dog is released like a rock from a slingshot. She blasts from the room in a blur of fur and tears off down the hallway, baying like a banshee.
Leaving the cheese and salami on the dresser where Cornelia’s wardrobe presumably resides, I stomp over to the bed and strip off the sheets. I wad them up and toss them into a corner. I sniff the mattress, certain it will reek of dog, but smell nothing. I don’t spot any suspicious stains, either. Satisfied, I get fresh sheets from the linen closet in the en suite bathroom and make the bed.
It isn’t until I’m finished that I realize I have company. Matteo’s leaning in the doorway, watching me with a smile.
“Look who it is. Count Egotistico. Here to give me another fake kiss?”
“If you’ll let me.”
His smile grows wider, the prick. I smile back violently.
“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”
With my chin held high, I go over to him, push him out of the doorway, and slam the door in his face.
The door instantly swings back open.
Shit. No lock.
“You know, hate and love aren’t so different, bella.”
He’s being philosophical now, pursing his pretty mouth and gazing at the ceiling, as if viewing the stars.
I could kill him.
“Why do you enjoy torturing me? Are you some kind of sadist?”
He ignores me, naturally, and continues his little Socratic speech. “They’re two sides of the same coin, really. Passion, obsession, sweaty palms, and a racing heart. Lost sleep.” He slides his gaze over to the cheese and salami on the dresser. “A poor appetite.”
“You want a poor appetite? I’ll give you a poor appetite. I’ll take that salami and wedge it so far down your throat you won’t be able to eat ever again.”
Amused by my fury, he smiles. “Passion,” he reminds me, smug as shit.
I look around for something to throw at him.
“Let’s call a truce.” He strolls forward, hands in his pockets.
As if I’ll feel safer that way.
“No truce. No way. And you’re the one who started this war, remember?”
He makes a face, like he’s doubtful.
“Yes, you. Wait, why am I even talking to you? You fake kissed me!”
“Did I?”
“Yes! You admitted you did!”
“Hmm. I don’t recall that.”
“So we’ll add dementia to your long list of problems.”
By now he’s trapped me at the edge of the bed, advancing so stealthily I hardly noticed it, which was probably his dastardly plan all along.
I stand my ground and flatten my hand in the center of his chest, bracing my arm so he can’t move forward. “I’m not a joke,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m not a plaything.”
“I never said you were.”
Under my palm, his heart is a jackhammer. We do the hate breathing at each other again, which apparently is becoming our thing. Then we do the hate eye fucking again, which is definitely becoming our thing.
He says softly, “You’re giving me grief about how I look at you? You should see your eyes right now.” His voice drops an octave. “So dirty, bella. So very, very dirty.”
“I’m not selling the company, no matter how much you try to sex it out of me.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Sex it out of you?” As I watch with ragged breath, he sinks his teeth into his full lower lip. “Now that sounds interesting. Let’s discuss.”
“You’re a pig.”
“You’re unbelievable!”
“Yes, women have told me that before. Usually right after they come.”
I can’t even with this guy!
Then it’s like he remembers something. He looks around, frowning. “What are you doing in here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to get rid of you!”
He looks at the wad of sheets in the corner. He looks at the freshly made bed. Then he looks back at me. The smile that breaks over his face is breathtaking.
“My darling ex-stepsister. Are you moving in?”
Very deliberately, I slide my hand up his chest until I reach his neck. Then I grasp his throat—lightly, but enough to let him know I mean it.
His skin is hot to the touch, and his throat is strong. Thick. It makes me think of other hot, thick body parts.
I officially hate myself.
He lifts his brows, obviously amused. “You have the most interesting internal conversations. Are you going to choke me?”
I growl. It sounds silly, like a kitten trying to be scary.
Matteo leans forward. My arm is still locked at the elbow, so it puts more pressure around his throat. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Go ahead. I know you want to.”
Boy, do I. I curl my other hand around his neck so now I’ve got him good and surrounded. I feel his pulse, beating hard against my palms. It’s weirdly arousing.
Intently watching my face, he whispers, “Those eyes.”
Then from the doorway comes a sharp voice.
“What’s going on here?”
“Nothing to worry about, only Kimber trying to strangle me.” Matteo turns around and smiles at his mother as I whip my hands guiltily around my back.
The marchesa’s frosty gaze cuts to me, then back to Matteo. In her arms, Beans is dressed in a white nightgown that matches her mistress’s. She’s baring her teeth.
“Ah. I see you’re working your usual charm.” The marchesa glances back at me. “If you really want to annoy him, make fun of his hair. He’s obsessed he might lose it.”
She turns on her heel and leaves, her nightgown billowing like a sail behind her.
I gape after her, breath leaking from my lungs like a tire leaking air. “Did your mother just diss you?”
Matteo regards me with a sour twist to his lips. “No.”
“She totally did! Oh my God, I need to buy a lottery ticket. Do they have the lottery in this country? ’Cause this has got to be some kind of sign from the universe that my luck is changing.”
The rest of Matteo’s face turns sour, and now I’m gloating. “Aw, whassa matter, Mattie? Did Mommy hurt widdle Mattie’s feewings?”
The stare he sends me smolders with annoyance.
It’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen.
I smile at him and bat my lashes. This game of tit for tat wasn’t fun, up until now. “Do I detect a chink in your glossy shining armor, stepbrother dearest? Have I finally found your Achilles’ heel? Mumsy-Wumsy despises you as much as I do, is that it?”
He says darkly, “Careful.”
For some reason, that particular word, spoken in that particular tone, gives me pause. “Oh. You actually think she does?”
Matteo says nothing. He simply stares at me with his hands clenched, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
I’m tempted to tell him how her eyes lit up when Lorenzo announced his arrival, but keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t deserve peace of mind. He fake kissed me.
“Well, this has been real. But it’s late, and I need to get to bed.”
Matteo’s gaze drifts to the bed. I picture us together on it, writhing around in a sweaty, moaning tangle. I swallow so loudly it sounds like a cartoon.
“Certo,” says Matteo gruffly, still staring at the bed. Then he turns and heads to the door. Just as he’s about to pass through it, he stops, puts a hand on the doorframe, and turns back. “Since you’re going to be living in Italy now, I assume you’ll be attending Fashion Week in Milan next month?”
His face is impassive, but there’s something I don’t trust simmering in his eyes. “I’d have to get an invitation. Why do you ask?”
He allows himself a smile, but there’s not a trace of humor in it. “I think you’ll be interested to see the House of Moretti’s spring collection. We have some truly incredible new designs.”
He lets that sink in for a moment. When I realize his meaning and suck in a breath, his humorless smile grows wider.
He raps on the frame with his knuckles. “Sweet dreams.”
Then he leaves, taking the last of my faith in humanity with him.