26. Matteo
26
MATTEO
A breathy sigh left Esmé’s lips as she came to a trembling climax at my hand in the storage room. Dio , she was incredible.
Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, and her lips curved. “I love how you spoil me,” she whispered.
My heart burgeoned. It’d been one week since our zip line adventure. One week since we first kissed properly, and one week since I lost my heart.
“I’m under strict instructions from my boss to keep you as relaxed as possible, so consider any extra attention as part of my job description.”
She giggled and my toes curled.
As we stood together in the dark, voices from outside made their way through the walls. The rest of the gallery buzzed around us. Lola and Maurice bickered outside the door, the latter haranguing a delivery driver. Tomorrow was Esmé’s exhibition.
Luc du Comtois and his wife were here. She and Esmé were good friends, and I wondered how much Luc’s wife knew about our situation. I’d caught her studying me—studying Esmé and me together—more than once.
Es, for her part, played things cool, sticking to her decision to keep our relationship hidden. But I’d found it increasingly difficult to act as if everything was normal. Like we were just a boss and assistant. Like we hadn’t begun a relationship.
And that’s what it was. A relationship. True, I only paid late night visits to Esmé’s apartment, but both Claudette and I had become almost permanent visitors.
I’d brought some clothes over to replace her ex’s, and we’d moved Claudette’s bed upstairs. She’d made the apartment her own, coming and going from the kitchen balcony. She’d almost become a “proper” pet, not a stray.
I cooked Esmé dinner most nights and even ran her a bath. At this point, I might have officially graduated from stray to certified boyfriend material myself. I liked taking care of her.
Esmé kissed me on the mouth and straightened, rearranging her dress. She pushed her fingers through her hair, shaking it out until she looked like Medusa.
“Leave it down,” I said, tucking my shirt into my trousers. Even though I’d been in control during our storeroom fumble, Esmé had used her nails. I sucked in a breath at the sting of my scratched skin.
She shook her head and bunched her hair into a tight bundle at the back of her head, poking a pen through to keep it in place. “This’ll have to do. I can’t find my clip.”
“Then leave it down,” I repeated, doing up my shirt buttons.
“I can’t. I came in here with my hair in a chignon. If I leave tangled like a banshee, someone’s going to notice. There’s only so many reasons to explain letting my hair down in a storeroom.”
I chuckled, kissing her temple. “Then I’m glad we found the best one.”
She turned her lips to mine, her breath at my mouth. “ Definitely,” she whispered before running her hand across my buttocks with a grin.
My body jumped to attention. “Sweet lord,” I groaned, my growing hardness pressing at my fly. “Can’t you just put me out of my misery? I don’t want to hide away like this.”
She brought her lips to my ear. “Like what?”
I swallowed. “Like you’re ashamed of us—of me. Trying to hide.”
Esmé sighed and stepped away, running her palms down my arms. “We’ve talked about this. I’m not ashamed of anything, but in our situation, timing is important.”
I hung my head, clasping her hands. “But I want to do this with you—out in the open.” I took her hand and brushed my lips over the back of her knuckles. “I want to touch you. To hold you. I want people to know we’re together.”
Her eyes searched mine. “I know, and I want that, too. Just give me this weekend. After that, I swear, you can hold me anywhere you want—as long as it doesn’t get us arrested.”
Something warm flickered in my chest. Last time we’d talked, she’d asked for more time—for my grandfather to formally invest in her new gallery. Now, all she wanted was the weekend. Until Luc’s exhibition was over.
“ Si .” I nodded, pressing a kiss to her nose.
A knock at the door made us both jump.
“Matteo. Are you still in there? I have a question about one of the paintings.”
My gut sank. Lola. She’d been an almost constant presence these last few days. Esmé still had her and me working together. She’d been slightly distant, and I’d become more and more creative about my regular disappearances to check in with Esmé. This time, I’d told her there was a problem with the boiler.
“Matteo,” she said, knocking again.
Esmé widened her eyes, shaking her head .
“I’ll be out in a minute!” I called. Esmé and I had been in here for at least twenty. Who knew what Lola thought I was doing.
After a long beat, the door handle rattled—twice—and I rolled my eyes. Lola was like a dog with a bone. Ever since her birthday, I’d catch her watching me. Not with desire, but as if she were studying me, tracking my every move.
“But what are you doing?” she asked. “It can’t take that long to check pipes.”
I looked at Esmé, a smirk on my face, wiggling my brows. If only Lola knew.
Esmé wagged her head at me like I was a naughty child. The door handle rattled again, and I raised my hands at my sides.
“I’ll deal with her,” she hissed, smoothing down her dress.
She moved to the door, and I followed, fighting a smile. After a brief pause, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and unlocked it.
Her eyes stayed locked on mine—completely ignoring Lola, who stood right outside, her mouth hanging open when she saw our boss.
“And that’s the problem with limescale buildup in these old boilers …” Esmé said smoothly. “Oh! Lola. Have you come to check on the heating, too? I’ve done my best, but I may have to call a plumber.”
“Get back to work, Matteo,”she said with a flick of her eyebrow.
My body fizzed with longing as I watched her walk away. Esmé was incredible—brave, unapologetic, and completely captivating. I couldn’t wait for the day we could be together without hiding.
“What were you doing in there?” Lola asked, her eyes narrowing.
I winked at her. “Limescale buildup. It’s a thing. Google it.”