Page 42 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

It feels so damn good.

“Michael—“

“Yes, Doll?” he replies, his lips still brushing my neck.

His hand eases down the front of my bra, fingers circling and lightly pinching my nipple, drawing a quiet gasp from my lips. I moan softly, the sound escaping before I can stop it, and suddenly the spark of irritation that had me fuming earlier feels distant, overshadowed by the rush of desire. Why was I mad again?

A sudden throat-clearing from behind us snaps the air taut. Michael pulls his hand away in an instant, spinning to face the intruder while positioning himself squarely in front of me.

“Somebody better be fucking dying,” he growls, his tone laced with warning.

“Boss,” the voice says hesitantly from the doorway. “I apologize for the interruption. I didn’t realize you were occupied.”

“What the fuck do you need?” Michael snaps. His body is still angled protectively in front of me.

I haven’t seen this side of him. Internally, it hits like a jolt.

“Matteo Messina’s on the line. He wants to talk to you directly.”

Peeking around Michael’s broad shoulder, I catch his expression: raw fury etching lines across his features, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Inform Matteo that our deal is over,” he barks. “There will be no more talks. Make it clear.”

“Yes, sir,” the intruder stammers.

“And Sal?” Michael presses, his voice a whip-crack.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Interrupt me with Miss Miller one more time, and you’ll regret it deeply.”

With a quick bow of his head, the man vanishes from the conservatory, leaving us in charged silence. My pulse races, drawn to the fire in Michael’s eyes as he turns back to me. His entire expression changes the moment he looks down at me though. He rests his hand on my arm and begins rubbing it, the friction warming my chilled skin, a deliberate effort to draw me back from the distance his anger created.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says. “He never should have come in here.”

“It’s…it’s okay.” My voice comes out small, the words a reflex.

“It’s not okay,” he says, shaking his head. “It won’t happen again.”

“You were really mad.”

I look up at him, and he swallows, the motion revealing a crack in his composure. His eyes search mine.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He cups my face then, the gesture intimate and apologetic. I lean into it hesitantly, my hands finding his waist, but the question bubbles up—what have I gotten myself into?

“Let me take you to breakfast now?”

“I don’t know,” I say, looking away from him.

He bends down until his face is level with mine.

“Katie,” he says quietly. “Please.”

Chapter 15

Katie