Her eyes get hazy with unshed tears, and it takes everything in me not to pull her against my chest.
“Then why does it feel like I do?”
“Because you’re scared.” I lift one hand, unable to resist touching her anymore, cupping her face. “Whatever happened to you — it doesn’t change what you’ve done for my son. For me.”
She leans into my touch, just slightly, and that small gesture makes me want to give her everything. I don’t think, I just do, kissing her when I know I shouldn’t. Trying to draw her back to me from the dark place she’s retreated to.
I mean for it to be gentle. Comforting. A reassurance that she’s safe here in my home. But the moment my lips touch hers, and gently goes out the window.
She tastes like chocolate, sweet and warm, and I want more. My hands slide from her face to her waist, pulling her to the edge of the counter, fitting myself between her thighs where I belong.She gaps at the new position, and I take advantage, deepening the kiss until I can feel her melting against me.
“Basili,” she breathes against my mouth, and hearing my name in that breathless tone makes me want to do very bad things to her right here on this counter.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge her. My hands are moving, sliding under her sweater, palms against bare skin that’s softer than anything has a right to be. “Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want me.”
“I can’t. I do want this; I want you. Even though I shouldn’t.”
Christ. She’s going to be the death of me.
I growl low in my throat— elation mixed with sexual frustration — and move my mouth down to her neck, finding that spot that makes her shiver when I bite her there.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” My hands trace patterns on her back, her ribs, deliberately avoiding the places I want to touch most. “Both wanting things we shouldn’t.”
“You’re a terrible influence,” she manages.
“Fair’s fair.” I trace my teeth over her pulse point, feeling her quiver in my hands as I do so. “You’ve been tempting me since that first night. Did you know that? The way you looked at meat the orphanage, the way you challenged me. You’re defiance. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About you.”
“I threw Raffaello on the floor,” she reminisces with a light giggle between heavy breaths.
“And it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Got my attention.” I pull back just enough to look at her, and her eyes are dark with desire, her lips pouty from my kisses. “You weren’t afraid to fight back. You weren’t cowed by the gun or my threats. You defended what was important to you.”
“I was terrified,” she admits.
“But you didn’t let it deter you. That’s the difference.” My hands slide higher, thumb brushing the side of her breast beneath her bra, and she arches into the touch with a sound that makes my cock ache. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”
“I’m not the dangerous one.”
“You’re the most dangerous thing in my life right now, Chloe. Because you make me want things I swore I’d never have again.”
I kiss her again, harder this time. My hands are everywhere as she curls into me, her hands buried in my hair. I grab her hair and pull her head back, exposing more of her throat, pulling her hair free from that ridiculous knot that I can fist my hand in properly.
She gives every bit that I give, her nails digging into my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist, and pulling me closer against her.
This is spiraling fast. We’re in the kitchen. Emmanuel could wake up any minute. Anyone could walk in.
But I don’t stop. The consequences be damned.
I pull back suddenly, my breathing harsh as a thought occurs. “Stay right there. Don’t move.”
I step away, leaving her flushed and confused on the counter. I move to where my suit jacket is draped over one of the chairs, pulling my belt from my slacks, and grabbing my tie from the pocket.
When I turn back with the items in hand, her eyes go wide.
“What are you?—”
“Do you trust me?” I’m back in front of her, kissing her before she can answer. Belt and tie in hand, relenting just enough to allow her to answer before I go any further.
“That’s a complicated question.”
