Chapter Eight #2
I shake my head. “I missed them last night. I can’t miss them again today.”
Antonio’s eyes narrow slightly. “So you’re leaving.”
“I have to,” I say, and it feels like an admission I didn’t want to make.
He sighs like it physically pains him. “Can you stay a bit longer?”
I feel my resolve wobble as I look at him, and I hate that too.
“Antonio,” I say carefully, “I can’t exactly go like this. I have to go back, shower. get dressed.”
His gaze drops. “You can shower here.”
The suggestion is simple. Casual. But his eyes give it away—dark, hungry, already imagining it.
I point at him with my phone still in my hand. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”
He grins. “Why not?”
“Because,” I say, and my cheeks heat again, “you have that look in your eye.”
His smile goes sharper. “What look?”
“The one that says you’ll follow me into the shower,” I say.
He scoots closer, hand sliding up my waist like he’s proving the point. “There’s a lock,” he says, completely innocent.
I narrow my eyes. “Something tells me a lock wouldn’t stop you.”
He laughs, then leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Try me,” he says wickedly, and my whole body lights up.
I want to. God, I want to.
I want to stay here all day. Forget my job. Forget the world. Let him keep breaking me apart and putting me back together.
The phone buzzes again in my hand.
“Stop it,” I say, but my voice is too soft. “I need to go.”
He pulls back, but only just. “You need coffee.”
"I do, but I don't have time. I’ll get some there.”
"I'll get it for you," he says. "You can get dressed. It'll be here by the time you're ready."
I look at him for a long minute, searching. There's something in his expression I can't read—a flicker of something serious beneath the charm.
"Okay," I give in quietly. "In a to-go cup."
His whole face lights up like I've given him the world. “Okay,” he repeats, then leans in and kisses me again, slow and deep.
I break it before it gets dangerous and blow out a breath.
“I need to find my dress.”
“That godawful thing?” he says. “It’s around here somewhere.”
I hit him on the arm.
“It’s not a bad dress,” I say with a laugh.
“It was covering up that perfect body and not doing it justice. Criminal, if you ask me,” he jokes.
I roll my eyes and glance around the room for my clothes, and find bits of clothes thrown in random spots. The whole thing looks like a crime scene.
The dress is under the window in a heap, fabric wrinkled.
“I told you it looks great on my floor,” Antonio says with a wink.
I laugh again. I think I’ve laughed more since meeting Antonio than in the entirety of any other relationship in the past.
I swing my legs toward the edge of the bed. The movement is slow. Calculated. My thighs ache, my hips ache, and I have to breathe through it like I’m doing a difficult exercise.
I suddenly realize Antonio is watching me with an amused—and very smug—look in his eye.
“Don’t you have coffee you should be ordering?” I mutter.
“And miss this?” he says, voice thick, and I snap my head to look at him fully.
He’s lying back against the pillows, completely relaxed, eyes dark with satisfaction. He looks like he wants to drag me back down by the ankles and start all over.
And the horrifying part is that I might let him.
I plant my feet on the floor and stand.
For approximately one second, I feel triumphant.
Then I take a step and immediately understand what he meant.
My legs wobble. Not dramatically. Not enough to fall. But enough that my knees feel unreliable, and the soreness between my legs flares with a sweet, sharp reminder.
Antonio laughs once, low, delighted.
“Stop laughing,” I say through my teeth.
He pushes himself upright, slower now, like he’s enjoying the view. “I’m not laughing.”
“You are.”
He steps closer, wraps an arm around my waist, and steadies me with a grip that’s gentle but possessive. His mouth brushes my shoulder. “You’re adorable.”
“I’m not adorable,” I say automatically, and then I make the mistake of shifting against him.
The contact lights something up between my legs, and I inhale sharply.
Antonio’s hand tightens at my waist. “Oh,” he murmurs, pleased.
“Do not,” I warn again, voice shaky now.
He kisses the side of my neck. “Do not what?”
“Do not start,” I say, because I can feel myself sliding.
He hums, like he’s thinking about it. “You’re the one who stood up and showed me all of this.”
“I have to leave,” I insist.
He kisses my jaw. “I’m not stopping you,” he murmurs, lips busy on my skin.
I turn my head back and up to his, because I’m not a saint, and kiss him. My fingers find their way into the hair at the back of his neck, and I lean back against him for a minute with a wistful moan.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t like your meeting.”
“I don’t like it either,” I whisper.
He kisses me again. Another long, hungry kiss that makes my knees go weak, and I hate how predictable my body is.
“I need to get dressed,” I remind myself, and him.
“Fine.” He exhales, then steps back as if it costs him. “Did you drive here last night?”
I walk over to my dress as Antonio walks around the bed to the phone.
“No, I took a cab,” I say, bending to pick up my dress. The movement makes me wince.
I hear him talking to room service on the other end, ordering coffee to be brought up within the next five minutes.
I doubt they’ll make it. I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, and I’ve never had room service snap to it like that.
I guess I’ll be getting coffee at the meeting.
“I’ll drive you back,” he says when he’s done.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll just take a cab again.”
“Absolutely not,” he repeats, and there’s something in his tone that makes my stomach flutter. Possessive. Protective. Unreasonable. Hot.
“It’s fine. I’ve taken cabs my whole life,” I insist, pulling on my underwear.
“Not today,” he says firmly.
“Antonio, I’ll be fine.” I work the dress up my legs, not bothering with my bra. “I’m running out of time, and I need to get home so I can get ready. You’re a distraction. And I mean that in the best way possible.”
He sighs. “Fine, but only because you said that, and I really like you. But you’re not taking a cab. I’ll call a car for you.”
The dress settles into place. I reach behind to find the zipper, and Antonio’s there immediately, hands at my back.
“Let me,” he says, and he doesn’t wait.
His fingers close the zipper slowly, and I know the slow slide of his knuckle up my spine is deliberate.
He leans in, mouth at my ear. “Still want to shower alone at home?”
I shiver. “Not a want. A need.”
He laughs quietly and kisses the side of my neck. Then his hands slide to the straps at my shoulders.
He hooks one finger under one strap and tugs it lightly.
“This,” he says, voice low, “is still a crime.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “It’s a dress.”
“It’s an offense,” he says, and his finger traces the strap again like he’s considering ripping it. “Tonight, wear literally anything else.”
I turn to face him, a questioning smile on my face. “Tonight?”
He doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. “Yes. Tonight. At dinner."
I feel a ridiculous flutter in my chest. "We haven't made plans for dinner."
"We’re making them now," he says, his smile sure.
“I don’t know,” I say, playing it cool. “I’m a very busy woman.”
"Even busy women have to eat," he says, leaning in and kissing me. "And I'm pretty good company."
He is. Dangerously good.
“I’ll pick you up,” he continues. “Eight o'clock.”
“I haven't said yes.”
"Eight o'clock," he repeats, ignoring me.
He deepens the kiss, and I melt against him.
My arms wrap around his neck, and I lose myself in the taste of him.
For a moment, I forget about the meeting, the coffee, the responsibilities waiting for me.
All I can think about is him, and the way he makes me feel, and the way I want to feel it again.
A sharp, polite knock on the door breaks the spell.
We pull apart, both of us breathing heavily.
"Your coffee, dolcezza," he murmurs.
"Right," I say, pulling myself together. "My coffee."
I take a step back, then another one.
“You should get dressed,” I tell him, because he's still naked, and I'm not sure I'll be able to control myself much longer.
He looks down at himself, then back at me, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. “I thought you liked me like this.”
“I do,” I admit, because there's no point in lying. I take a deep breath before turning away to answer the door. "Too much," I add under my breath as I walk.
He laughs, a low, satisfied rumble.
I open the door, and a young woman is there, with a cart holding a silver carafe, small bowls of cream and sugar, and two white paper cups.
I smile, a genuine, easy smile that feels out of place on my face this morning. “That was fast. Thank you," I say to her.
“Of course, ma'am.”
She wheels the cart into the room, then leaves as quickly as she arrived, closing the door behind her.
I turn around to see that Antonio has pulled on his suit pants from last night.
They hang low on his hips, and he's still gloriously shirtless.
My eyes trace the line of taut skin that disappears into the waist, and I have to physically stop myself from walking over and undoing the button I just watched him do up.
I look down at myself. I, on the other hand, am rumpled. My makeup is smudged. My hair is a mess. And Antonio is looking at me like he’s looking at a masterpiece.
I’m already thinking of what I have in my closet and deciding that nothing will work. I have to find time to go shopping.
As crazy as it is, I want to wow him tonight. I want to knock him off his feet.
He walks over to the cart and pours coffee into one of the paper cups. "How do you take it?"
"Just cream. No sugar."
He nods, and adds a splash of cream before sealing the lid. He hands it to me, and our fingers brush.
Then he quickly yanks me into his arms and devours my mouth.
I make a small, surprised sound that he swallows. My free arm comes up to wrap around his neck, clinging helplessly as he plunders my mouth, a desperate, hungry kiss that says everything he won’t. All the things I want to say back.
He pulls back too soon, leaving me breathless.
I stare at him. My lips are tingling.
“Get out,” he says, but he’s smiling. “Before I change my mind and tie you to the bed."
I blink, my mind still hazy. “Right.”
He turns me around and gives me a light pat on the ass.
"Go," he says. "There's a car out front for you. He'll take you anywhere you want to go and pick you up there tonight at 8:00." He gives me a final, lingering kiss on my cheek. "Don't be late."
I walk out of the room in a daze, the coffee still warm in my hand. I'm not even sure my feet are touching the floor. The elevator ride down is a blur. I float through the lobby and out the front doors.
A black car, sleek and immaculate, is waiting at the curb. A driver in a crisp uniform steps out and opens the back door for me.