I grab Emma by the wrist and pull her into the pantry, slamming the door shut behind us.
“I’m sorry,” she starts to say, but before she can get another word out, I grab her jaw and kiss her.
It’s not gentle. It’s not polite. It’s a kiss that borders on something primal—raw and way too familiar.
Emma responds instantly, wrapping her arms around me, pulling me in, and I grip her ass tight, letting her feel just how much she drives me wild.
“You did that on purpose,” she breathes, her words breaking against my mouth, hot and shaky.
“Of course I did,” I growl, rough and low, my lips grazing hers with every syllable. “I like seeing you territorial over me.”
I slam back into her kiss, deeper, hungrier, pinning her against the shelves until the boxes rattle. Her nails dig into my shoulders, dragging, desperate, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough.
God, that mouth. That body pressed flush against mine. The way her hips grind against me like she’s seconds from shattering.
“I can’t take it anymore, Lamb. I need to have you—right here, right now.” My hands are everywhere, skimming under her shirt, tugging at her waistband, frantic to bare her skin.
She catches my wrist, breathless, pupils blown wide.
Confusion flashes through me—she’s trembling, hot all over, her pulse slamming against my fingertips. There’s no way she doesn’t want this, too.
“Shhh,” she whispers, pressing her finger to my lips. Her voice shakes. “They’re looking for us.”
“I don’t hear a damn thing,” I rasp, my hand sliding higher, claiming every inch of her.
“That’s because you were very focused on doing that thing you do with your tongue.”
Her voice is clipped, but her chest heaves, cheeks flushed crimson.
I laugh darkly against her neck, sucking at her skin until she gasps. “Sorry, did that bother you? Because your moans said otherwise.”
Her hand fists in my hair, tugging, not nearly hard enough to make me stop. Her lips hover over mine, trembling, needy.
“Shut up,” she breathes, but her body arches into mine. “Let’s go before I can’t.”
Out of habit, she grabs my hand—and we both freeze for a second. Her hand in mine feels too damn familiar. Almostnatural.Shit. I want to hold this hand forever.
No, Luca. You already offered her forever once, and she walked away—remember?
It’s obvious something happened between us. Emma’s hair is a mess, and my lips feel way too warm, but everyone pretends not to notice.
Except Karen. She’s fuming.
I should tell her she could never compete with Emma—not even close—but that would require giving a damn. And I don’t.
So...
“Shall we start?” Emma says way too cheerfully. She’s trying too hard, and I want to laugh because no one is buying it.
The producer starts giving instructions. Apparently, we’re filming in my office first, since the sun isn’t fully hitting the beach yet. The whole crew moves that way.
I don’t spend much time in this room—I usually work out of the P.G. offices—but it’s a nice space. The walls are paneled in light wood, except for one that’s all glass from floor to ceiling, facing the ocean. My desk is the same pale tone as the rest of the house, imported from Norway. I like nice things—and luckily, I can afford them.
I sit down in my chair and wait for instructions.
Emma glances around, studying everything.
“It’s organized,” I mutter when I see her messing with my things.
