“But?” he asks, too damn unperturbed. In fact, he seems downright cool, calm, and collected as his thumb lightly strokes my jawline, the dominant touch shaking my foundations.
“Raffael…” It’s meant to be a warning. A plea. I don’t understand what he’s doing. Where this is going. Yet all I can focus on is how my body screams for more. “You’re my client.”
He inclines his head. “One that isn’t contractually obligated to keep his hands to himself.”
Is that really what he wants? “It may not be a contractual requirement but it’s definitely a moral one.”
“I work in private equity, Isla. Morals aren’t a prerequisite.”
No, but he’s always had them. Always acted professionally. Acquired failing businesses with decorum. I swear that’s why my father has placed the Cavallo Group on a pedestal, alwayspushing our employees to provide them with a service superior to our other clients.
“You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about this.” His thumb continues to stroke my sensitive skin. “About us.”
I stare, utterly thrown. “You have?”
“Of course.”
My body responds as though it’s straddling both an adrenaline surge and an anaphylactic response.
I shake my head and repeat, “You’re my client.”
“And if I want us to be more than that?” He slides his hand to my neck, his fingertips awakening goose bumps along my hairline.
I swallow a curse. A whimper. A moan. “I’m not looking for a one-night stand.”
“Good.” Those earthy eyes attempt to lull me away from thoughts of complications, toward dreamy X-rated territory. “One night would never be enough.”
“Raffael...” I rasp.
Bitch, please. You want to control boardrooms and can’t even rein in your hormones.
Why is it so hard to step away?
“Isla,” he mimics my tone, the slight glimmer of his smirk returning. “I like seeing you like this. All unsettled and caught off guard.”
I suck in a breath of a laugh. “Of course you do. You’re a sadist.”
The stunning weight of his lethal confidence increases as the sweet spice of his cologne sinks into my lungs—all cinnamon, dark cedar, and a curl of smoky amber.
“Am I?” He leans in, his nose brushing mine, his whiskey-scented breath whispering over my tingling lips. “Then tell me to stop.”
I brace to do exactly that, but the word doesn’t come. Instead, my eyes flutter closed, and I fall victim to his trance as my hips lean into him.
A low, approving rumble echoes from his chest. The hand teasing my hair grips tighter.
Air congeals in my lungs and his mouth sweeps over mine. Soft. Teasing. Enough to melt skin and bone.
It’s a perfect kiss. Pure indulgence and masterful control.
I lean in for more, his tongue coaxing my lips apart, my palms finding the front of his shirt, my fingers clenching the fine fabric. I can barely breathe through the want. Through the rush of blood and sparks of flame.
But before I can pull him closer a hard knock rattles the boardroom door, the interruption shocking sense back into me.
“Give us a minute.” Raffael raises his voice to the unseen gate-crasher.
The door opens regardless, his younger brother, Michelo, storming in—face hard, dark eyes harder. He takes in our compromised position, glancing from Raffael to me, then back again as I retreat a step.
“Brother—” Raffael growls.
