That breaks me. I burst into laughter, unable to maintain the charade any longer. Scarlett follows immediately, slapping her knee as she howls.
"Your face!" Lucrezia gasps between giggles. "You looked like someone suggested feeding the baby raw meat!"
Damiano shakes his head, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Very funny."
"We had you for a second," I say, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. "Admit it."
"No comment," he replies, tossing the pillow back to Lucrezia. "I'll leave you ladies to your plotting. Just remember I have veto power on anything that goes in this room."
"Says who?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow.
"Says me," he responds with a playful growl before backing out of the room.
We dissolve into another fit of giggles once he's gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I'm folding a small onesie Scarlett brought over when Damiano walks into our bedroom, loosening his tie. The fading evening light catches on his sharp jawline, highlighting the day's stubble that's starting to darken his cheeks.
"Pack a bag," he says, shrugging off his suit jacket. "We're leaving for the weekend."
I set down the tiny garment. "Where are we going?"
"Just us. Away from everything." He unbuttons his shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos that map his chest and arms.
I watch as he pulls his shirt off completely. The sight of him still makes mybreath catch.
His muscles flex as he reaches for a t-shirt, the movement highlighting the perfect V-shape from his broad shoulders down to his narrow waist.
"See something you like, lupacchiotta?" Damiano's voice drops to that dangerous purr that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
"Just appreciating the view," I answer, trying to sound casual even as my pulse quickens.
He smirks, knowing exactly what effect he has on me. His hands move to his belt buckle, and I find myself unable to look away as he slides the leather through the loops.
Damiano stalks toward me with predatory grace, his eyes darkening. I can't help but bite my lip as I admire the way his muscles ripple beneath his tattooed skin.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that rough velvet tone that makes my skin tingle.
I lean back on my palms, tilting my head with exaggerated innocence. "Am I? I thought I was just packing for our trip."
"Doesn't look like much packing is happening." He's at the edge of the bed now, towering over me.
I reach out and hook my finger through his belt loop, tugging him closer. "I got distracted by this incredibly hot Italian guy who just started stripping in my bedroom."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Your bedroom?"
"Our bedroom," I correct, unable to contain my grin.
Damiano's hands cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. "Good girl."
I wrinkle my nose playfully. "Don't push it, Feretti."
His laugh is low and warm, washing over me like honey. In one fluid motion, he places a knee on the bedand leans over me, forcing me to lie back as he hovers above.
"My beautiful, stubborn wife," he whispers, his lips just inches from mine.
I reach up to trace the thorned rose tattoo over his heart. "Your pregnant, hormonal wife who still needs to pack."
