He leaned back, satisfied. “Alright, then. Let’s make it official.” He picked up the pen, scrawled his signature with a flourish, and pressed the papers flat with a heavy palm. “There. Done. We move forward.”
The deal was sealed. Simple as that.
But my chest tightened, not from business, not from the expansion that would line pockets from here to NewYork – no. It was from the girl at my side, from the heat I refused to acknowledge, the hunger sitting like fire in my blood.
I still didn’t look at her. Not once.
Because if I did, it was over.
The meeting wrapped, signatures drying in black ink, hands shaken, promises sealed. The Vegas Boss poured another glass of bourbon, but I didn’t stay for the toast. Business was finished, and lingering would’ve meant too much time in that room with her.
But Francesca was already on her feet too, slipping out with her usual poise, every movement sharp enough to cut. I followed, keeping a measured pace, until the heavy double doors closed behind us.
The hallway outside was dim, lit only by recessed lighting that bathed the marble floors in gold. Tony leaned against the wall, phone in hand, already buzzing with energy.
“There y’all are,” he grinned, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Vegas is calling. Clubs, cards, the whole damn strip. You coming, Matteo?”
“Yeah,” I said evenly, though my eyes had already caught on Francesca.
She was straightening her clutch, her fingers precise, as if the simple act of aligning the clasp could distract from what was happening inside her head. She glanced up briefly, first at Tony, then…Past. Me.
God, this woman…
“As much as I would love to,” she said, her tone dry. “I need to get this contract back to New York. Papà will want it in his hands by morning.”
Tony frowned, pushing off the wall. “Frankenstein, relax. He’ll get it when he gets it. Stay. Have some fun.”
“First of all, don’t call me that.” Her lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t miss the warning. “And second, I got business I need to handle in New York.”
Tony rolled his eyes, but hugged his sister nonetheless.
Pulling back, Francesca turned to me, her eyes coming up to mine.
Everything else vanished like a vacuum. Like it was just me and her and this stupid tension between us.
Her gaze lingered a beat too long, daring me to look away first. I didn’t. The air between us tightened, every unspoken word and unacknowledged want pressed into the space of a single breath. I should’ve hated the way her lips pouted like she was about to retort something, or the way her chin lifted in defiance – but all I felt was the pull, reckless and dangerous.
My voice was somber when I spoke. “See you around.”
Her glossy lips parted, but she didn’t answer.
I watched her walk away.
The click of her heels against the marble echoed like a metronome, hypnotic. That dress clung to every line of her – hips swaying with the kind of rhythm that wasn’t intentional but left me groaning all the same. The curve of her waist was small enough I knew I could span it with just my hands, pull her in, hold her still.
The dress teased with each step, the flash of toned thigh against the shimmer of the Vegas lights pouring through the glass walls at the end of the hall. Those heels – too high, too dangerous – made her legs look endless,her back arched like temptation itself.
I told myself I was only watching to make sure she left safely.
But the truth burned in my chest.
I wanted her.
Bad enough that the thought of Vegas clubs and tables suddenly felt like ash in my mouth.
Three months ago, I wanted to bend her over and fuck the pent-up frustration and stress out of her. The way she needed it.
Now?
