His eyes flick to my mouth. “Very.”
An attendant appears, a vision in charcoal and tact. “Champagne for takeoff, Mrs. Dillinger? Mr. Dillinger?”
“Yes, please,” Vasso answers for both of us, and I should object to the presumption but my tongue has other concerns—like remembering the shape of his when our mouths melded and dueled in filthy and or so delicious?—
I shut that down so hard the thought ricochets.
Flutes arrive, pale gold and civilized. He lifts his, turns it a fraction, studying the bubbles like he wrote them a performance review. Then he raises it toward me.
“To practice,” he says, and when I roll my eyes, he adds, softer, “To appetite. To the part where you stop pretending you don’t have one.”
The champagne is cold; the implication is not. My cheeks rebel again. I take a sip because my dignity needs coolant.
We drink as the moment stretches taut as violin string.
When it gets too much, when I feel that pulse between my legs is going to explode, I stand abruptly, wisely choosing to fleethe battlefield before I admit I already surrendered. Which I haven’t.
“I’m going to lie down,” I say, smiling like a woman whose heart isn’t trying to climb out of her dress. “I’m sure you have more worlds to conquer.”
His gaze travels over me, unhurried, unapologetic, as if mapping me is his right and my obligation. “Indeed I do.”
I hate the way my knees like that. The way my nipples rise and my belly heats.
So I tip my chin, walk past him down the short corridor, and swear the air changes when I leave, as if the cabin misses the charge as much as I do.
In the bedroom, the lights are low, the bedding a crisp invitation I try to ignore and fail within a minute. I kick off my heels, slide onto the duvet, and stare at the ceiling while the jet leans its shoulder into the sky.
I close my eyes and try not to replay the orchard of things we didn’t say last night. The way he unclasped the necklace with steady hands and unsteady eyes. The way I heardpossessionand bitterness and recalled that damned the driveway. In hindsight I can’t miss the moment he turned from the boy in the greenhouse to the fierce, ruthless man he is today.
The man who bristles with sizzling passion one moment and cuts you down with his tongue the next.
God, the way we flung the truth at each other like knives and somehow didn’t bleed out right there. It can’t happen again. Which mean I need to get my emotions under control before we land. Before we board the cars on the tarmac in Florence, and arrive at the villa outside Montalcino.
Where I need to put my game face on or risk failing at the agreement we made.
But is it so easy to distance oneself from a repeat of searing memories made real last night. Especially by my own choice?When even now, I only need to close my eyes to feel him moving inside?—
A soft knock, draws a gasp and deep chagrin at being caught dwelling on last night. Again.
“Naomi?”
My name in that rough voice is a wicked little hinge. I turn my head and find him leaning in the doorway, one shoulder propped, hair a shade too disordered to be legal in daylight. Dark eyes track over my body once more, setting fire wherever they touch.
“We’ll be wheels-down in two hours,” he says. “Would you like a tray brought to you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar,” he murmurs, a trace of fondness that lands where fond things should not. “Before you go back to being fine—” He holds up the iPad, taps the cooking class. “I’ve approved the itinerary. I’ve been told Nonna Rosaria has a soft spot for people wholookhungry. And Enzo will definitely need you to look the part so you might want to practice your besotted face.”
I snort. “And yours is already perfected.”
“Only because the subject matter’s compelling.”
He means it like a tease. It doesn’t land like one. Something inside me does an odd, warm roll, and I hate that it feels different than a win, or a checkmark, or a box ticked in the pursuit of power.
“Okay, noted. Anything else?”
“Get some rest,” he adds, gentler. “You’ll need your strength for the Vespa. I drive like a sane man when I’m alone. With you, I make poor choices.”
