“Something funny,cara?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow like a man who’s never been denied a damn thing in his life.
I wrap the towel tighter around myself, ignoring the heat still simmering low in my belly from what we didinthe shower.
“I think you’re forgetting a few things, old man.”
He crosses his arms, all dark-eyed challenge. “Enlighten me.”
“Your fiancée, for one.”
The words land like a slap, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Instead, his jaw tightens and he mutters, “I can handle Fran.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah? Because I have a feeling if she caught me in your bed, she wouldn’t exactly offer to make me breakfast. And I don’t blame her.”
He steps forward, close enough that I can smell the bergamot of his cologne under the heat of his skin. “You let me worry about her.”
“I do worry. Mostly about your judgment,” I say, lifting my chin. “You’re already risking a lot just being with me.”
He brushes a damp strand of hair from my cheek, fingers trailing down to my jaw.
“And yet, here you are. In my arms. In my shower. In my life.”
His voice is low and steady, but there’s something underneath it that makes my chest tighten.
I could push him away. Remind him I didn’t sign up for mafia soap opera drama. But instead, I whisper, “Maybe you can convince me.”
He smirks. “Deal.”
And that smirk should be a warning sign. A bright red flag with flashing lights. But instead, it coils heat low in my stomach.
Lorenzo steps closer, and I feel the shift in the air between us, heavy with the kind of tension that makes it hard to think, let alone breathe. His gaze drops to my mouth for a beat, and then returns to my eyes.
“You don’t believe I can convince you?” he asks, voice silk over gravel.
I swallow. “I didn’t say that.”
“No,” he says, eyes darkening. “You didn’t.”
He lifts his hand again, brushing the edge of the towel still tucked under my arms. I shiver, but I don’t pull away.
“You say I’m forgetting things,cara,” he murmurs, stepping behind me so his mouth is near my ear. “But I remember every moment. Every kiss. Every time I’ve had to stop myself from doing exactly what I did last night. And this morning. Twice.”
His hand comes to rest on my hip, his fingers splayed over the damp fabric.
“I’m not a man who regrets his decisions,” he continues, “but you make me want things I’ve spent a lifetime denying myself.”
I turn to face him, heart thudding in my chest. “What kind of things?”
He leans in, brushing his mouth against mine close enough to make me ache. “Dangerous ones.”
I exhale shakily, eyes locked on his. “Then maybe we’re both in trouble.”
His smile is wicked and full of promise.
“I can live with that,” he murmurs.
And then his mouth is on mine. It’s the kind of kiss that steals my breath, my sense, and every last ounce of restraint I thought I had. My fingers curl arounds his shoulder, holding on as heat surges through me. I’m already dizzy from him when he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing mine.
“Get on the counter.”
