Nico’s mouth twitches, almost a smile.
“You get used to them,” he says. “Eventually.”
And then we step into the dining room, and I realize there’s no backing out now.
Chapter Forty
Nico
The car is still warm from the drive, the interior carrying that faint dinner smell—garlic, wine, whatever Bianca put in the sauce that made everyone shut up for five full seconds as we ate in appreciation.
Erica is leaning toward me from the passenger seat, her cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed.
Mostly because my hand is in it, holding her exactly where I want her as I devour her mouth.
My hand slides from her hair to her neck, my thumb stroking the pulse hammering at the base of her throat.
God, I love that.
I love that I can make her pulse beat faster.
She makes a soft noise, her hands coming up to my chest, not to push me away but to anchor herself.
She shifts in her seat, leaning closer, a silent invitation for more.
The windows are slightly fogged. It’s just the two of us in the quiet dark.
My other arm wraps around her, pulling her across the console, until her body is flush against mine. The angle is awkward, the steering wheel digging into my hip, but I don’t care.
I need to be closer.
I deepen the kiss, tasting the pasta sauce on her tongue, the sweetness of the dessert she loved. She melts into me, all soft curves and willing heat, and for a minute, I forget about everything else.
Forget about the watchful eyes of my family. Forget about my father’s silent appraisal. Forget about Vito’s goddamn knowing smirk.
All I know is the woman in my arms, the scent of her skin, the way she fits against me like she was made for me.
She pulls back slightly, her breath coming in little pants against my lips.
“Nico,” she whispers.
My name on her lips is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
I lean in to kiss her again.
She sighs into my mouth.
"I have to go," she murmurs
I don't want to let her go.
Ever.
"Just a few more minutes," I say against her lips.
She nods, her eyes fluttering closed.
I kiss her again.
