Page 67 of Out of Control

But he doesn’t and just as quickly as she came, she leaves.

I’m left looking at the closed door with the feel of her lips still on mine.

That’s what makes this whole thing so hard to ignore.

To feel the heat.

To feel the passion.

And to have to pretend like it doesn’t exist.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Sofia

I’m overwhelmed to say the least as I take in the studio. All the windows are taped with paper blocking any view of outside, the floor is covered in drop cloths, and a paint tray with a roller on it is on the far side of the gallery.

One wall is done.

Another is half done.

And I’m in way over my head but determined to do this myself.

I think.

I might be calling in reinforcements because, what looked like a small task now seems insurmountable and then to add to that, the days are ticking down. I have art being delivered soon. This place needs to be ready.

With a groan, I move across the space and wince when I step in a blob of paint that squishes between my toes. My shoes have long since been taken off, and there’s absolutely no hope for salvaging this outfit that’s now covered in paint splatter.

“Sofia?”

I startle at the sound of Rossi’s voice calling in through the back door I’ve left unlocked.

We’ve talked nonstop over the past several days but hearing that voice in person has my heart leaping into my throat.

“Hi,” I say as the sound of rustling paper bags fills the room.

“That is the most relieved, most desperate greeting I’ve received in the longest time,” he says as he comes into view and holds up the bags I heard. “I brought food.”

“You brought food?”

“I did. We got on the jet after the race. Just landed. I made sure your brother went his own merry way and then I came straight here. I hope you don’t mind,” he says and sets the food down on the folding table I have set up.

“Mind?” My body sags in relief at the sight of him. “Mind?” I step into him and wrap my arms around him, pulling him into me to let him know just how much I don’t mind him coming straight to me.

Jesus.

The things this man does to me.

Our lips meet. The kiss is slow and simmering, packing a powerful punch of lust and longing that a simple kiss can’t compete with.

I revel in the feel of his hands as they slide up my rib cage, his palms hitting each indentation in slow motion as his tongue dips and dances against mine.

He’s the slow dose of a drug I’ve been waiting to take but now that I have, I fear how quickly the high will be over.

“I’ve missed this,” I murmur between kisses.

“This?” A kiss. “Or me?” A lean back with his teeth tugging on my bottom lip. “Or both?” A deeper, longer kiss. “Don’t bruise my ego with your answer, Bellissima,” he says, his lips curving up into a smile against mine. “Remember I’m soft, after all.”