“You’re cute.”
“I’m a detective and you’re going to-”
“Ask you to towel me off, massage my shoulders every day, and enjoy some luxury since there’s tension rolling off you in waves,” I say, grabbing my towel from behind her and offering it to her.
She looks from it to me. Oh, my mouse pretends to be big and scary, but right now she looks like I’ve trapped her in a cage. She takes a step back. “Come inside and eatsomething so you can’t say I’m starving you.”
“Ask nicely,” I dare her.
“Give me a reasonnotto tase you,” she counters.
I can’t help but smile. This is going to be fun.
FOUR
Luisa
Somehow Angelo had already mademe reveal that I remember our stupid liaison in the past. That means I need to stay on my guard.
I expected him to come right at me directly—try to seduce me, belittle me, maybe threaten me with a knife. Or ignore me entirely for some staff he’s allowed to keep in the house.
Instead of waiting for the inevitable, I head to the kitchen. The chef is working on something that smells incredible. I pull out my phone and text Eric again.I hate you. You’re taking every case I don’t want for a year.He sends me a thumbs up instead of answering. Asshole.
I’m sure he’s wrapped around his own Rossi, holding Emilia and showering her with love. He’s probably utterly charming with her. Honestly, she’s a damn good person.
She picked him—and what’s right—over what was easy, even when everyone expected her to fold.
But Emilia isn’t her brother.
He likes being as terrible as he is.
I take a slow breath and stare at my hands, focusing on my bitten nails, the way my pinky and ring finger aren’t straight anymore after a fight. Anything to ground myself. Anything to push him out of my head.
“So tense,” Angelo murmurs behind me. I jerk, but he only smirks. One eyebrow arched, half smiling like the devil himself. “Shame I can’t touch you. I’ve heard my cock is good for stress relief.”
I whip around, glaring. “You cause stress, you don’t relieve it.”
“I could do both in equal measures,” he muses, settling onto the barstool beside me. He ignores the chef, like we’re the only two people in the room.
His knee brushes mine. I jerk away, shooting him a glare.
He smirks. “You’re twice as sexy when you’re pissed. Has anyone told you that?”
My tongue tries to knot itself.
I don’t know how to deal with a man flirting with me this blatantly. Angelo doesn’t flirt like other men—he doesn’t test the waters or gauge reactions. He throws himself in, all confidence and arrogance, like he already knows the answer.
I just need to focus on who he is and not the words dripping from his mouth. “Mr. Rossi, you only need to speak to me if you have a request for something outside the house.”
“Don’t act like you’re part of the staff.” He snorts, his expression twisting with something close to disgust. “We both know you’re more than that.”
I glance at the chef, deadpan. “Spit in his food for degrading you.”
The chef looks at us but says nothing. Angelo’s knee rubs mine again. I feel the heat of his breath near my ear. He invades my space like it’s his right. Like he knows I won’t stop him.
His cologne—or maybe his soap or whatever the hell that mouthwatering, masculine scent is—fills my nose.
I move away before it can fill my head, too. Before it can make me think stupid thoughts.
