“Did you just—” She leans forward, studying the board with sudden intensity. “You made a mistake.”
“Did I?” I ask innocently.
The gleam in her eyes tells me she thinks this is finally her chance. For the next several moves, I continue to play just poorly enough to keep her confidence high. She’s more focused now, her wine-induced drowsiness temporarily forgotten as she pursues what she thinks is an inevitable victory. I’m charmed by how her tongue peeks out when she concentrates, the wayshe second-guesses herself before each move, then commits with renewed determination.
“I’ve got you now,” she murmurs, capturing one of my rooks.
“So it seems,” I agree, moving my knight into position.
She doesn’t see it coming. Three moves later, her king has nowhere to go.
“Checkmate!”
Her mouth falls open. “Wait—what? How did you—” She leans forward to study the board, tracing back the moves with her finger. “But I had you! I was winning!”
“Were you?” I ask, unable to suppress my grin.
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed quickly by indignation. “You let me think I was winning. You played badly on purpose!”
“I can’t tell you all my tricks, now can I?”
“That’s cheating!” she protests, but there's no real heat in it. Just exhaustion creeping back in as the adrenaline of the game fades.
She yawns. “Let’s play another game. I’ll win this time for real.”
“Surely, you’re not someone who goes back on their word, are you?” I tease, smiling when those drowsy eyes turn to me. “I didn’t think so. You need rest. Tomorrow, you’re moving in.”
I push back the board and take her hand to help her up before she can argue. She staggers a little before leaning heavily on my side, so I assume walking to the bedroom is out of the question here, too, so I pick her up in a bridal carry again. I’m getting too used to the feel of her in my arms.
She wraps her arms around my neck and presses her face so close to mine, those pretty green eyes watching me and testing the limits of my self-control. It would take so little effort to lean down and press my mouth against hers, kiss her until this need burning in me is sated but I hold back.
“I bet your bed is soft. The one at the apartment is so lumpy and hard,” she says dazedly, pushing up and nuzzling her face into my throat, and I hiss out when her lips brush my Adam’s apple and her soft breath caresses my skin, causing my cock to harden in my pants.
Fuck!
I don’t respond—certain I don’t have the words—as I carry her down the hallway and to the guest bedroom. What I actually want is to take a detour to the master bedroom, but I'm sure she's not ready for that. Not yet.
I lay her down on the bed, but her arms stay locked around my neck with her face still buried in my throat. “Dante,” she whimpers, nuzzling my skin. I hold back a groan when her lips brush against my skin. “Hmm, you smell so good. Have I ever told you that?”
“You have.”
It’s tempting. So fucking tempting to strip off her little dress, but there is no telling what I'll do if I see the soft pink of her pebbled nipples or touch the silky smoothness of her thighs.
I can’t touch her.
And yet, I can't seem to help myself either when her lips move to my jaw, gentle and seeking, until they're a breath away from mine. Her heart hammers hard against mine, her breath coming in short puffs that send blood roaring in my ears.
Dante.
I push into the kiss, pressing my mouth against hers, and Lord above, they’re as soft as I imagined. Softer even and so fucking responsive under mine. I groan when I taste the wine on her lips, and that seems to snap some sense into me.
Fuck, what am I doing?
Gia is clearly not sober and I’ll be damned if our first moment is shared with her in a drunken haze. No, I need her wide awake and sober when I claim her as mine, and I fucking will. Just not tonight.
She whines when I push back and slowly nudge her to lie down on her back. “Don’t move, Gia. I’ll go get you something to change into.”
“But–”
