“I should go,” I said, leaning against the cool plaster, trying to ignore the spinning in my head. From champagne. From proximity.
“Okay,” he said, voice low again, stepping closer to me as if he felt this pull between us and couldn’t help himself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
His gaze dipped to my lips before returning to my eyes. The pause was painful, it felt like minutes or hours passed before he answered, barely saying the words out loud as if afraid to make them real. “I think you want to kiss me, Moretti.”
I did. God help me, Idid.
His fingers caught my jaw, tilting it up, and for a half second my pride flared—ready to shove him off, to tell him he’d had the wrong idea if he thought I’d melt just because he looked at me like that. But the fight didn’t come. Not when I could feel his breath warm against my mouth, not when the room was spinning from too much liquor and too much wanting I shouldn’t have felt. I should have pulled back. I should have stopped it before it started.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Instead, I leaned in.
Our lips brushed, just the faintest, teasing touch, and it sent a sharp jolt down my spine. Sparks raced beneath my skin. My stomach twisted, a molten ache pooled low, and suddenly nothing in the world mattered but the half-inch of space left between us.
Then he closed it.
Matteo didn’t kiss like any normal kiss, he kissed me like it was his life’s breath. The kiss landed with the weight of something breaking open, the snap of a taut thread finally giving way. His hand stayed cupped against my jaw, steady, grounding, fingers sliding back until they skimmed the skin behind my ear and dove right into my hair, holding on as if I’d disappear. Hekissed me like it had always been inevitable. Like this whole time we’d been destined for this moment. My body pulsed with anticipation.
His other hand found my waist, firm and certain, fingers biting into my hip as he dragged me into his chest. The shock of it ripped a gasp from me, and I used it as an excuse to clutch him back, curling my fists in his shirt as if I’d fall if I let go. His mouth moved against mine, greedy and sure, and I hated that I matched him, that my body betrayed every sharp word I’d ever thrown at him.
The wall caught me before I could stumble, the cool plaster pressed at my back, his body a wall of heat and strength pinning me in place. I felt caged. I felt alive.
And it should have been all wrong.
He was wrong for me. The last person I should want.
But with his mouth on mine and his hand dragging fire down my side, I couldn’t seem to conjure the list of why I shouldn’t want this.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my skin, breath warm where his lips dragged down the line of my throat, then hovered and waited for my answer. Then a door opened somewhere in the distance, the loud thrum of music and reality slammed back into me. I pulled away, taking space and shaking my head. I watched his eyes sadden for only a moment before I grabbed his hand and tugged him with me.
Because against all odds, I wanted Matteo DeLuca.
By the time we reached the sleek black town car waiting outside, the air between us was a live wire. Matteo opened the door, and I slid in. The silence inside the car was thick, broken only by the sound of our breaths. His thigh brushed mine as the driver pulled away from the curb, and I swear I stopped breathing altogether. I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. I just stared ahead, my pulse thrumming in places I was too proud to admit.The ride was filled with stolen touches, as if not wanting to break the haze. I wanted nothing but to have my lips on his again. It was the only thought rattling around in my brain.
Kiss him again.
Again.
Again.
His knee pulled away for a moment then tapped mine, my attention immediately snapping to him. His eyes were soft, in that tender way he reserved for big moments I’d seen him share with his inner circle of friends. It shocked my system with warmth all over again. He leaned in slowly, eyes on my mouth like he was giving me a chance to change my mind. I didn’t. Our lips met in the hush of the leather seats and tinted windows. The kiss was slow at first, like he was trying to learn every curve of my lips, every fiber of my being. His hand brushed my knee, then up, fingers tracing the edge of my dress. Every inch of me buzzed under his touch. My breath hitched as his palm slid to my thigh, anchoring me to this moment.
His voice cut into the quiet, low and warm. “Kissing you is pure sin, Moretti.”
His expression was dark and heavy, fixed on me, jaw tight, his other hand curled on his knee like he’s trying to hold something back.
My heart trips over itself, and with a roll of my eyes, I said,
“Shut up.”
His eyes alight, dimples on display, he said two words, “Make me.”
I found myself wanting to prove him right.
We walked next to each other through the hotel. Our rooms were booked across from each other as they usually were. Ever since Lucia and Gianna joined us halfway through the season, we’d all become a bit of a unit. My best friend’s brother beingaround was usually rather irritating, but now I wanted to pull him into a room and forget about that.
