“Go on.” It was a husky command.
She lifted her other hand to his shirtfront, pressing her fingertips to his chest. “I just wondered what it would be like to be you, I suppose. To have meaningless sex whenever you felt like it…”
“Sex isn’t meaningless,” he said, and now he moved, closing the distance between them completely so his body pressed hers – hard – to the door, every inch of them in contact, the closeness bliss – utter, head-spinning bliss. “Even if it’s a one night thing. It’s still intimate, important, special. It’s still something you share with another human, bringing you as close as it’s possible to be, physically. That’s not meaningless.”
A frisson of something like warmth ran the length of her spine.
“This is ridiculous. I came in here to say –,”
“You came in here angry that you’ve been thinking about that kiss all day.”
Her eyes flew wide. “How do you –,”
His lips twisted with muted anger. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either, cara.”
His hand moved to her side, separating her flimsy cotton shirt from the waistband of her jeans. She shivered when his fingertips connected to her bare hip.
“If you were any other woman, I’d be making love to you right now.”
She shivered, lifting her face to his. She should be running a mile from this conversation, but she couldn’t. Desire kept her right where she was.
She tried to cling to common sense, to remember all the reasons he’d sensibly espoused as to why this was a very bad idea.
“I’m not working for you this weekend.”
His eyes speared hers, and then, he shook his head, taking a vital step backwards, dropping his hand away from her body at the same time.
“There’s chemistry between us, but we’re not going to act on it, Bronte. Understood?”
She was still fuming several hours later when they took their seats at the dinner table, hemmed in on one side by Bronte’s parents and on the other by Edward’s. Luca had left the room while she’d showered; she hadn’t seen him since the incredible moment pressed up against the door, his body pushing all thoughts from her mind except one – sex.
And now the night stretched interminably before her, the prospect of making small talk with her parents and Edward’s parents like some form of torture.
/> “You two work together, then?” Edward’s mother Gladys asked, her lipstick a shade of coral that perfectly matched her cardigan.
“Not in close proximity,” Luca responded, leaning back, a study in relaxation as he lifted his arm and rested it along the back of Bronte’s chair. “Bronte’s in our London office, I tend to work out of Rome.”
“I see, dear,” Gladys nodded, and Bronte wondered if Luca had ever been called ‘dear’ in his life. It made her smile when a moment ago she would have said nothing could. “So you don’t see each other much?”
Bronte stiffened, the question one she hadn’t been prepared for.
Luca however responded smoothly. “On the contrary; it’s a short flight, and I am happy to make it often.”
Gladys seemed appeased by this. “Very nice.” Her eyes shifted to Bronte. “And I suppose you could transfer to the Rome office if things got serious.”
“Easy going there, Gladys,” Charles Hill laughed but there was a note of surprise in his voice. “I’m losing one daughter this weekend; don’t start talking about the other one flying the coup.”
“You’re not losing Alice, dad. She’s getting married. Technically, you’re gaining a son.”
“And a darned fine one at that,” Edward’s dad said with a nod.
Charles grinned. “Can’t disagree with you there.” Conversation swirled around them, focussed on Edward and Alice, giving Bronte a slight reprieve. She shifted in her chair – but that was a mistake. Her knees brushed Luca’s beneath the table, her shoulder catching his fingertips as she moved.
Tension zipped through her. She wanted, more than anything, to lean into him. To feel his warmth, his touch. She needed more than a slight brushing of their knees beneath the table. She needed –
Her eyes moved moodily around the room, looking for a distraction and landing squarely on Ashton. He was talking to his girlfriend, but a moment after her eyes had found him, he looked up, directly at her, as though he had foreknowledge of where she was sitting. As though he’d been looking at her already, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Heat ran through her, a heat borne of anger and frustration. This wasn’t what she’d planned. This wasn’t what her life was meant to be. Everything had been so neatly ordered, so perfectly planned out. How the hell did they end up at her sister’s wedding, each with a date?