She looked so fierce, arms crossed, eyes blazing. Tiny and terrifying. And God, I adored her.
“Still,” I said, “It involved you. And that part kills me.”
She stepped closer. “You know what pissed me off the most? That article didn’t just leak a photo. It implied you—everything you’ve earned—meant nothing.”
Her fingers brushed my cheek.
“That they disrespectedyou.”
I blinked at her. “Not mad about the whole bombshell romance reveal?”
She shrugged. “Despite all my anti-relationship speeches…Ilikeyou, Matteo DeLuca. And it’s driving meinsane.”
She was close now. So close I could count the gold flecks in her eyes.
“Nicola Moretti likes someone?” I teased, “Never thought I’d see the day.”
She swatted my arm. “You’ve completely ruined my men-are-trash worldview.”
“You’re so very welcome.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“But youlikeme,” I teased.
She groaned. “God, I already regret telling you.”
She took a breath, her gaze steady now. “But I’m serious. I’m suing that media outlet for defamation.”
I grinned. “You’d sue the tabloids for me, Moretti?”
“That’s exactly what I said, stupid.”
And then her fingers hooked in the collar of my shirt. Tugged me down.
“Now shut up,” she murmured, “And kiss me already.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. The second those words left her mouth, my hand was on her cheek, sliding slowly like I was trying to memorize every inch of her skin. My fingers traced the line of her cheekbone, brushing behind her ear before sinking into the soft waves of her hair.
“All you had to do was ask, Princess,” I whispered, lips ghosting over hers. My voice was rougher than I meant it to be, but she made it impossible to breathe, let alone sound suave.
Then I tugged her to me, and kissed her like the world might end. The second our lips met, it was chaos and clarity all at once. It was electric when our lips collided. Kissing her was like the first sip of espresso in the morning: it shot right through me, woke me up, and invigorated my very soul. My favorite damn feeling in the world. And she kissed me back like she felt it too. Like she’d been waiting for this. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even consciously. But deep down? She’d been craving it just as much as I had.
Her hands fisted the front of my shirt, pulling me even closer, and God help me, I groaned into her mouth. There was nothing soft or tentative about it anymore—this was messy, greedy,real. Every unsaid word, every lingering look from the last few weeks—it was all pouring out in the way our mouths moved together.
“You’re going to be the end of me,” I mumbled against her lips, kissing her again before she could answer.
Her smile broke through the kiss, lips curving right against mine. “You wish you were that lucky.” She pulled back, just an inch, breath heavy, lips kiss-swollen. Her hands stayed on my chest, but her eyes searched mine like she was waiting for something.
For me to say it.
To mean it.
To prove I wasn’t scared of this, even if we both kind of were.
“I rather like you too, Moretti,” I murmured, brushing her hair off her face. “And I’m not saying that to complicate things. I’m saying it because it’s true. And because I don’t want to stop.”
Her brows knitted together, but her hands tightened on my shirt like she wasn’t ready to let go either.
