“Jess.” He takes a step closer.
“Marco.” I should step back. Should maintain professional distance.
I don’t.
“This is a bad idea,” he says.
“The worst.” I agree.
“The contract explicitly states no fraternization.”
“Very explicitly.”
“And Ethan would kill me.”
“Slowly. With his bare hands.”
We’re inches apart now. Close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him. Close enough to see his pupils dilate.
“We should stop,” Marco murmurs.
“Definitely should stop,” I agree.
His hand comes up. Cups my face. That rough palm against my cheek sending electricity straight through my nervous system.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
Instead I grab his shirt and pull him down.
Our mouths crash together and it’s nothing like our first kiss. This one is desperate. Hungry. Two weeks of restraint detonating in the space of a heartbeat.
His hands are in my hair. Mine are under his shirt. We’re stumbling backward until my spine hits the butcher block.
“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth. “Fuck, Jess.”
“Bad idea,” I gasp between kisses. “Such a bad idea.”
“Terrible.” His teeth graze my neck and I nearly come apart right there.
This is happening.
This is actually happening.
And I have absolutely no intention of stopping it.
13
Marco
Her mouth is on mine and every rule shatters.
I kiss her back hard. Hungry. My hands are in her hair, fisting those waves I’ve been thinking about for two goddamn weeks. She tastes like the coffee she had after dinner. Sweet and bitter and addictive as hell.
“Marco.” My name comes out breathless against my lips, spoken from that oh so sweet mouth of hers.
“Shh.” I walk her backward until her spine hits the butcher block. The impact makes her gasp and I swallow the sound. “You came back.”
“You told me to.”
