Page 12 of Ricardo

The sound runs over my skin and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

I pick up the coffee tray because I need to break the moment before I do something stupid, like ask him what he sees when he looks at me that way.

“More coffee?” I ask.

He glances at his cup, then back to me. “Please.”

I take it from the small table beside him.

This time our fingers do brush.

Barely.

Nothing more than skin against skin for the space of a heartbeat.

My body reacts as if he touched the inside of my wrist with his mouth.

His gaze drops to my hand.

Then lifts.

Neither of us says anything.

I turn before the heat in my face becomes obvious and walk to the coffee service. My hands are steady. Thank God. My hands, at least, have the decency to behave.

The rest of me is a traitor.

Mario’s office door opens.

I turn at once, relieved.

Malcolm Reeves steps out first, smiling too broadly in the way men do when they are trying to pretend they are not unsettled. Mario follows beside him, relaxed and immaculate, his face showing nothing except professional courtesy.

“Julia,” Mario says.

“Mr. Conti,” I reply, turning from the coffee station to face them.

Mr. Reeves gives me a quick, distracted smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Mario walks him toward the elevator himself. Ricardo rises from the chair, and the lounging amusement disappears.

Mario and Mr. Reeves shake hands near the elevator. The elevator opens. Reeves steps inside. The doors close.

For one beat, Mario remains facing the elevator.

Then he turns.

His gaze moves from Ricardo to me, and something in his eyes narrows just slightly.

My spine straightens on instinct.

Ricardo looks perfectly at ease.

“Ricardo,” Mario says when he walks back.

“Mario.”