“But we’re not in a relationship,” she said unevenly, acutely aware of his body, his breath, the size of the room, the light of the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window, the way his hand had felt when he’d cupped her breast.
“No, and we can’t be,” he said, without moving away.
She nodded, wondering at the strange dipping sense in her belly.
“This is just pretend.”
His words should have reassured her but they didn’t.
“When you kissed me,” she said thoughtfully, not sure she was game to finish the sentence.
“Go on.”
To hell with it. “It didn’t feel pretend.”
“No?”
“But I have very limited experience.”
“With being kissed?”
“With other men.”
“Ah.” Did he move closer or did she? “Meaning?”
She squirmed inwardly. “Do I have to spell that out?”
“If you want me to know what you’re saying.”
“That Ashton was the first guy I was with.”
“You’ve mentioned that. At twenty one he was your first romantic experience?”
The way he asked the question had her stomach sinking. She nodded slowly.
“And since him?”
She took a small step back, colliding with the door. It was hard against her back; he was hard at her front, his arm shifting to brace at the right of her head, trapping her where she was, in a way that made her toes curl and her knees knock.
“No one.”
“Not even a night of red-hot revenge sex?”
Her blood pressure sky-rocketed. She shook her head.
“I see.”
She doubted that. How could a man like Luca understand?
“Not even a drunken kiss?”
“A drunken strip-tease for my boss,” she reminded him huskily. “Does that count?”
His lip twisted cynically. “Not when your idiot boss didn’t take advantage of it.”
“Not idiot,” she demurred. “Chivalrous.”
“Yes,” he grumbled. “Far too damned chivalrous.”