I poked him in the chest. “You did not tell me you can sing! You are abuttero.” I poked him again. “This is why your handsarerough.” I flung the observation at him as if it was an accusation.
He took me by the hand and pulled me to a more secluded spot. A darker spot. Atta had taken the stage and had started to sing. I was going to slap herculolater for the song choice! She was singing about dirty looks.
“Tell me if it would have changed anything,” Casanova demanded.
“Yes!” I screamed. “No! I do not know!” I turned away from him, trying to catch my breath, and when he turned me toward him, it was as if the fire that had started between us had finally made it to the detonator.
He came for me, and I went for him, and our mouths crashed into each other’s at the same time.
He was much hotter than me. Scalding.
I melted.
Melted into his embrace.
Into the way his mouth was working mine, making me whimper small little noises of pleasure.
His lips were the softest thing about him, beside the color of his eyes, but at the same time, the kiss was firm, not sloppy. His tongue was teasing mine. He tasted like mint and whiskey. He tasted like everything I had been starving for my entire life. I could not imagine ever wanting anything else but this.
Him.
Ahhh…my hands curled around the lapels of his tux, and I refused to let go. My knuckles were so tight, if anyone had tried to take him from me, I would have ripped the fabric of his expensive suit into shreds.
What started out crazed and hot turned into something deeper, warmer…something that could burn longer than the night.
The way he was holding me?
I knew it was a dare—if anyone tried to take me from him, he would ripthemto shreds.
At first, I thought the room was applauding our kiss, and then I realized they were cheering for Atta. Her first song had ended. With the roar of it, reality snuck in. I was making out withtheCasanova Prince. And instead of him having my heart, it was the man who had earned the name. Mariano Leone Fausti.He had my heart, and the realization made me feel as if I was havingan anxiety attack. The kiss had made me breathless. So did the reality that I had given into him.
I would have yanked myself away. Run away. But the way his massive hands held me so close, I could not move.
“Release me,” I whispered, setting my hands over my lips when I could find the strength to pull away. It was not a choice. I could not breathe.
“Never.” His voice was rough, just as affected as I was.
However, he gave me room to breathe, and in the clarity, I understood what he had truly meant. He would never let me go, even if he did give me a couple of inches to work out my feelings.
“I need to go home, Casanova,” I whispered.
He nodded, about to turn to get the keys from Remo, but he stopped when the auctioneer approached me. The moonlighting comedian reminded me of where I had to pay for my bid.
“How much?” I could not remember.
“Five million.” He whistled as if he was impressed.
I whistled as well, to a different tune. A panicked tune. I did not have five million dollars!
My eyes rose to Casanova’s, as if he was the first person I would go to with trouble.
Dannazione!
He was. I realized it in that moment.
If something went wrong…he would be the first person I called for.
He seemed to realize this as well.
