"Was your sandwich," I correct, taking another bite while maintaining eye contact. "Now it's our sandwich."
"You—" She reaches for it, but I lift it out of her reach, grinning when she has to stretch up on her toes, the movement making my hoodie ride up and expose an even larger strip of her stomach that I want to put my mouth on. "Luca, give it back!"
"Make me, Fiorella."
She glares at me, weighing her options, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she decides whether this is worth fighting over. Then her expression shifts into somethingsweeter, softer, and she steps closer, placing one small hand on my chest.
"Please?" she asks, looking up at me through her lashes. "I'm hungry."
Oh, she is good.
"Nice try," I murmur, finishing the sandwich in two more bites. "But you're going to have to do better than that."
Her mouth drops open in outrage. "You ate my entire sandwich!"
"Half your sandwich," I correct. "The other half is right there."
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is the point?" I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms, thoroughly enjoying the way her cheeks are flushed with anger, the way her eyes are sparking with fire.
“The point is…” she pouts. “I’m hungry.”
"We’ll grab something while we’re out," I reach out and tug the hood up over her messy bun, grinning when she swats at my hand again, her fingers lingering against mine for just a second too long.
She freezes, suspicion flooding her expression immediately, eyes narrowing. "Out?"
"Yes, Lina. Out. Shopping." I let my hand drop from the hood to trail down her arm, fingertips barely grazing the fabric. "You know, that thing people do when they need clothes and don't want to steal them from innocent men who just want their favorite hoodie back."
"I'm not stealing it. I'm borrowing it."
"Without asking."
"I'm asking now!" Her voice pitches higher with frustration.
"And I'm saying no." I let my hand trail down from her arm to catch her wrist, thumb pressing against her pulse point where I can feel her heart racing. "So. Shopping. Today. You and me."
She pulls her wrist free, taking a step back, her hips hitting the counter. "Why would I go shopping with you?"
"Because Gabriel got to take you on a run." I take a step forward, closing the distance she just created. "Dante got to spank you at dinner—which, by the way, was incredibly hot and I'm still thinking about it—and I haven't gotten any alone time with you yet."
Her breath catches audibly, lips parting slightly. "That's not my problem."
"It could be your solution though." I lean in closer, bracing one hand on the counter beside her hip, watching her pupils blow wide. "Come shopping with me. Let me buy you an entire new wardrobe. Let me watch you try things on and model them for me like the gorgeous creature you are."
"That sounds like it's more for you than for me," she says, but her voice has gone breathier, less certain.
"Oh, it absolutely is." I grin, letting my gaze travel deliberately down her body and back up. "But you get new clothes out of it, so everybody wins."
She stares at me for a long moment, tongue darting out to wet her lips—a nervous gesture that makes me want to pin heragainst this counter and kiss her until neither of us can think straight. She is clearly trying to find the trap, the catch, the reason she should say no.
"Fine," she says finally, lifting her chin. "But I'm keeping the hoodie."
"We'll see," I murmur, reaching out to trace the neckline where it has slipped off one shoulder, fingertip barely grazing her collarbone.
She shivers.
Two hours later, I am sitting in a plush velvet chair in a private fitting room at one of the most expensive boutiques in Manhattan, watching Rosalina model outfit after outfit, and I am fairly certain I have died and gone to heaven.
