‘damn you’ crap—”
Her intention wasn’t to sound so emotional. Perhaps it worked, because he drew back and watched her in silence for a second. The gleam in his eyes could lighten up a dark forest. Why was that man still hot even when he was so undeserving of her?
Forget Rachel. I’m the one who needs therapy.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “You are right. I’m sorry.”
“You just said that back at the ballroom.”
A smile she found hard to resist curved his lips. “Now, I mean it.”
Hell no, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily, even though a part of her was foolishly warm and fuzzy, like she had been wrapped in a hot blanket. “Keep going. That was a very short apology.”
He ran a hand down his face. “I’m not good at apologies.”
“Obviously.”
He gave her a quick glance, and something flickered in his eyes. “Getting these paintings is extremely important to me.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you. What I can say is”—he paced again, as if searching for the right words—“ever since I saw you naked, I get distracted when I think of you.”
A wave of female empowerment washed over her. “Is that so?”
“I never felt like this before. The way I do right now,” he said, with the excitement of a man about to hear his death sentence.
“What do you feel right now?”
He tipped her chin up, and the brush of his fingers seared her skin. “Like I can’t breathe if I don’t fuck you,” he said, his voice coarse, his accent more pronounced. Crap.
By all means, breathe. Like, right now. She cleared her throat. “That’s…strangely romantic.”
“It’s annoying,” he mumbled, cupping her chin and lowering his lips to hers. “Painfully annoying.” The words flew from his lips before he flicked out his tongue. She was about to open her own mouth to either agree with or protest his assignment—she wasn’t yet sure. Thoughts tangled in her mind like a long braid. He stroked her lips with his tongue, and she let out a sultry moan. Even though the kiss wasn’t rushed, her nerve endings seared with anticipation, as if somehow the languidness was even more heart attack–inducing.
She linked her arms around him, shamelessly rubbing her body against his. Even though she was wearing an absurd amount of skirts, there was no missing his bulge. He caressed her cheeks and intensified the stroke of his tongue. When she nipped his lip, he drew back. Her sex throbbed. Harder.
“Easy, tesoro…we can’t make love here.”
She lifted her hands to her cheeks, desperate to know if they were as hot as they seemed. “Just for the record, I am on the pill and just saw my downstairs doctor a month ago. I’m safe and clean as a whistle.”
He grinned. “I’m safe, too. The sheer thought of burying myself into you without restraint drives me crazy. For now, though, we must go back to the party,” he said, and ran a finger through the cut of her dress. “Later, I might have to fetch some scissors to get you out of this.”
“Just be careful. I’m not wearing any panties,” she said, then turned in the direction of the party. “Shall we?”
Chapter Seven
Why the hell did he admit to wanting her badly? Why on earth would he give her so much power by voicing his raging desire? Lorenzo curled and uncurled his fists and couldn’t help stealing a glance at Alice’s ass once again. No underwear. That revelation had been a blow below the belt. Well, so was his painful hard-on. No pun intended.
He was grateful he had been able to pull his coat together from both sides, and he visualized cock-blocking images all the way from the gardens to the party indoors.
First things first. They couldn’t just disappear from view. He had performed poorly at the soccer match, and he couldn’t afford to not impress Viola. Especially since Joan had been smart enough to pretend she was interested in a friendship with Alice. What if she discovered Alice was, in fact, his nanny? His whole plan would be compromised—and he would become a laughingstock.
Barbara was bragging about being super close to sealing the deal with Viola when he and Alice joined the other guests at the table. He would have chosen to sit far away from Paul, but as the host had shown him in the beginning, they were assigned the same table.
“She should announce her decision tomorrow,” Barbara said, tossing her hair to the side. “Well. Make it official, I mean. It’s a