Yet as I try to focus on the Colombian deal, all I can think about are sea-green eyes and the taste of words left unspoken between us.
Later that night at home in my office, I loosen my tie and drop into my chair, dragging a hand across my face.
The contracts for tomorrow's meeting sit untouched on my desk.
They need my attention, but all I can focus on is Isabella.
I pour two fingers of whiskey as my mind replays every second of the moment on the terrace.
Her scent.
The way her pulse jumped beneath her skin when I touched her.
How I’d be willing to give up my next breath to taste her.
Fuck.
I knock back the drink and set the glass down.
I can't let Isabella Vitale get under my skin.
She's a means to an end, a way to bring peace, or at the very least, keep my enemy close.
Hell, she could become leverage against Marco.
I give up on work and make my way upstairs.
By the time I reach my bedroom, exhaustion has seeped in deep.
I strip down and slide between cool sheets, willing my mind to quiet.
Sleep comes, but she follows me there.
In my dream, she's waiting in my bed.
Moonlight spills across her bare skin, illuminating her curves.
Her dark hair fans across my pillows.
"You kept me waiting," dream-Isabella murmurs, her voice huskier.
I move toward her like a man possessed, drawn by some primal force I can't resist.
I’m so fucking hard, I might come just from looking at her.
I crawl over her, my hands sliding up impossibly smooth skin I know has never been touched.
She arches beneath me, wrapping her legs around my hips.
I capture her mouth with mine, finally tasting what I've been dreaming about. She's sweet and spicy at once.
Like honey infused with whiskey.
My hands explore every inch of her.
The swell of her tits, the hard, beaded tips of her nipples.
I lean over, sucking one into my mouth.
