Ricardo Benedetti.Holding court near the terrace doors with the same casual arrogance that once made me stupid enough to fall in love with him.
Laughing too loudly, one hand on the hip of Saskia the Blogger Barbie he left me for.
His eyes skate past me, then land.He blinks.
Recognition.Smugness.
And that’s when I walk.
Out onto the terrace, down a short flight of steps toward the garden path.
The night breeze off the Mediterranean feels like salvation compared to the suffocating atmosphere inside.I pace over the stone-lined walkway, trying to calm my racing heart.
Cooler air hits my skin.My chest tightens.
"Running away from something?"Roarke's voice behind me carries an edge I haven't heard before.
"Or someone," I admit without turning around."My ex is here.With his new girlfriend."
“Not that celebrity chef guy?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“I could have guessed.Heard that he was serving up much more than canapés on his clients’ charters.”He exhales.Hard.“Do you want to leave?"
"No.No, I don’t.”
“Understood.”
Fire burns in my chest as I finally turn to face him.“Actually, I’m more interested in you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.And any excuse you may have for why you've been treating me like a stranger all week."
His jaw tightens."I've been professional."
"You've been cold.There's a difference."
"Mia—"
"Did I do something wrong?Because three nights ago you seemed perfectly happy to?—"
"That's exactly the problem."He steps closer, his voice dropping."I can't stop thinking about it.About you.I haven't been able to focus on anything except the way you felt, the way you tasted…” His expression shutters, blue gaze falling.“And it was wrong.It’s still wrong.I’m your fucking boss, Mia.I have responsibilities.I sure don’t have time to think.And obsess.And follow you around.”
I swallow, chin lifting.“Well, you didn’t have to follow me.”
“I didn’t like the look on your face.”
“You haven’t looked at me all week.”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw flexes.
“One minute, you’re touching me.Holding onto me like I was air.Like you needed me.”
His voice is tight.“I still do.”
I don’t know who moves first.Maybe we both do.But suddenly his mouth is on mine, and nothing about it feels “wrong.”
