Perhaps I misheard. Misunderstood.
But then he says it again, his voice stronger this time, more insistent, the meaning unmistakable. “I want to go to bed with you.”
I try not to give away my surprise. And why should I be surprised, after all? Only yesterday this young man was in my lap, in my arms, kissing me passionately. Or doing a very close simulation of passion, anyway.
“You should mind what you say,” I tell him. “The wine is making you desire things you don’t really want.”
“No, it isn’t.” He shoves the wine glass aside, as though that will sober him up. “I’m not drunk. And I’m not lying. You wanted to know my secret? That’s it. I—I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’ve always…” He flushes, deep and true. “You read my DMs,” he mutters, looking away from me. “I know you did. So you must know it’s true.”
“But fantasy is not reality,” I tell him. “Now that you have seen me—” I gesture at my face, grimacing.
“I still want them.” His chin lifts up, and he glares at me. “If you don’t want to go to bed with me, that’s fine, but don’t tell me whatIwant. I know what I want.”
And as those blue eyes stare into mine, I believe him. I really do believe that he wants me.
A beauty like this deigns to desireme.
To cover up my shock, I press the button set into the underside of the table to summon the serving staff again. “Let’s have dessert,” I say diplomatically. “And some water, to wash away the wine.”
For the first time with this little mouse, I feel likeImight be in over my head.
* * *
Over dessert, a seductively silken panna cotta, I steer the conversation to safer topics, impersonal chatter, but the obstinate look in Teddy’s eye never wavers. The discussion becomes more challenging the closer we get to the end of the meal. It feels like a wall of water building up behind a dam, made up not just of his emotions, but mine, too.
Eventually I give up on small talk. After a long silence between us, Teddy asks, “Do you want to talk about the funeral?”
“No.” I set down my spoon, the sweetness of the cream turning sickly in my mouth. I stand. “Thank you for your company tonight, Teddy. Goodnight.”
He practically steps on my heels following me out of the room. “I’m tired too,” he says, with large, innocent eyes, when I turn at the bottom of the stairs.
We go up to my rooms in silence, and I walk him to his guest bedroom door, open it for him. “Goodnight,” I say again.
Teddy stares up at me, puzzled, leaning against the doorframe. “Alessandro?”
“Yes?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
He shifts, trying to find the words. “I mean…yesterday, I thought—”
“Yesterday, I took advantage of you.” I need to pull this out by the root. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“But I kissedyou.”
He has me there. I hesitate, try to pull my eyes away from him, but all I can think of is how lovely he looks in the soft yellow light coming from the lamp in his bedroom. “Still,” I say. “I should not have kissed you back.”
He looks so sad I think my heart might break. “Don’t you want to go to bed with me?”
“Don’t I want to—?” I choke on a laugh of disbelief. “You know the effect you have on me. You felt it yesterday, while we were kissing.” My hand moves of its own volition, my fingers threading into that soft, fair hair.
I was surprised, yesterday, at how forward he was, at his hand running over my crotch, at the gasp he gave to feel me so thick and hard for him.
I don’t know why it surprised me. A young man so beautiful must have had countless lovers, would be very experienced. He could have his pick of any man—just like I used to be able to turn my head, anywhere, and lay eyes on someone willing to share their body with me.
A surge of envy makes my clench my jaw, and my hand in his hair tightens until he winces. I let my fingers relax at once, and stroke through the silken gold, so unlike my own.
