She didn’t want to.
It was insanity, but it was also the thing she wanted most in the world.
At his look of enquiry, she smiled. ‘What are we waiting for?’
He expelled a breath and leaned forward, his lips claiming hers quickly, tasting her so she moaned, lifting her hands to the lapels of his shirt and gripping him tightly.
‘Not a goddamned thing. Come on.’ He growled the instructions into her mouth then pushed his door open, holding it and waiting for her to step out. She’d entered and exited limousines with the world’s press waiting to get a shot up her skirt. She knew precisely how to disembark with an air of dignity—but it was a lot trickier to manage when her knees were quivering and warmth was spreading through her in anticipation of what was to come.
Despite the fact this was a residential address, there was a lift on the other side of the basement. He laced his fingers through hers, pulling her towards it, his enthusiasm making her smile even as his face was so serious.
The lift was as elegant as you’d see in any five-star hotel. More so, in fact, because it had only one occupant, so there was no wear and tear, no scruffy carpet. It was immaculate, just like Cesare—highly polished wood-panelling, a darkly tinted mirror and five buttons, indicating it served the whole house.
‘Five storeys?’
His eyes pinned her to the spot. ‘A basement and a rooftop terrace,’ he pointed out. ‘So only three.’
‘Oh, that’s far more modest.’
His expression showed scepticism as the lift doors opened onto the second floor. He held the door open, waiting for her to step out. ‘And you live in a flat share, I suppose?’ he responded.
‘I live in a flat.’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing like this.’ She waved her hand around the room. The lights had come on when they’d stepped out of the lift, subdued and golden, and they filled the space with a warmth its furnishings required. It was...austere. Yes, that was probably the best way to describe it. She looked around and, even as she recognised every piece was the very best, designer and in brand-new condition, there was an incredible lack of personality.
‘Do you spend much time here?’ she asked, genuinely curious. After all, it didn’t exactly look lived in.
‘No.’
‘Ah.’ She was strangely pleased by that. It wasn’t even remotely homely.
‘This is good?’ he prompted. ‘Are you worried I’m going to want to see you again after tonight?’
She stilled, her eyes finding his. That thought hadn’t even occurred to her. In fact, she hadn’t spent any time thinking about what happened later, tomorrow. ‘I...’
‘Relax, uccellina.’ He said the word in his native tongue, and she had no idea what it meant. ‘This is strictly a one-night thing.’
Her eyes flared wide, her heart lurching at the line he was drawing. She was glad—simple, quick, no complications. That was better for everyone, including Laurence. ‘Perfect,’ she murmured, her pulse slamming through her veins.
‘I wanted you the moment I saw you tonight.’ Something like determination glowed ferociously in his eyes and, for no reason she could think of, a frisson of something like a warning shifted down her spine.
‘And here I am.’ There was fatalism in her words.
He didn’t react.
‘Why do I think you always get exactly what you want?’
‘What do you base that on?’ His hand lifted to the flimsy strap of her dress, sliding beneath it, running it down her shoulder slowly, his eyes holding hers.
‘Am I wrong?’
His eyes flared. ‘No, uccellina.’ His fingers ran lower, tracing her arm lightly, his gaze not shifting.
It was the second time he’d used that word. ‘What does that mean?’
His hand moved to the other strap, gliding it over her flesh so her breath snagged in her throat.
‘Little bird.’ His words were gravelled. The straps slipped lower until the dress began to fall. She bit down on her lower lip to stop a sigh escaping. The fabric was silk, and it moved like water over her breasts, her nipples puckering at the slight touch. His hands guided the dress lower still, over her hips, until it fell to the floor, leaving her standing in front of him in only a pair of heels and a lace thong.
Her breathing was ragged, her body covered in goose bumps that had nothing to do with the temperature.