Her lips tugged to the side. ‘I’m surprised you make time for leisure.’
‘Are you?’
She considered him a long moment and then, as though she were forcing herself to go on, almost against her will, she spoke slowly, purposefully. ‘I suppose the women you date expect a degree of attention.’
He relaxed back in his chair, despite the strange sense of unease stealing across him. Why did he want to obfuscate? To move conversation away from his previous lovers? The instinct caught him off guard and so he forced himself to confront it, by answering her question directly. ‘Yes.’
She flicked a glance down at the menu, her features shifting into a mask of something he didn’t understand. Uncertainty? Embarrassment? He narrowed his gaze, as though that might be able to help him. ‘So you bring them here?’
His original instincts surged back, stronger, more determined. ‘I can’t remember.’ He brushed her enquiry aside, even though he knew he’d never brought a woman here before. ‘Let me help you with the menu.’
She nodded, a cool, crisp acknowledgement that pulled at something in his chest. He didn’t like cool and crisp. Not when he’d seen her eyes storm-ravaged by desire. He scraped his chair back, coming to stand behind her, breathing in her sweet fragrance before he could stop himself. His gut rolled; he ground his teeth together. The first moment he’d seen her at that party in Rome, he’d imagined her naked. He’d fantasised about making her his. Why the hell had he thought he could simply switch that desire off? Because he lived for control—and the harder it was to get, the more rewarding success was. He would control this.
‘Here, there is fried calamari.’ He pointed to the menu, his arm inadvertently brushing her breasts as he reached across, and he heard the smallest of gasps escape her lips, so any idea of control ran completely from his mind. He leaned closer, his cheek almost pressed to hers, his arm deliberately close to her now. ‘Rice balls stuffed with cheese, spinach and cheese pasta.’ He paused, finger pointing to the next item. ‘Scallops carpaccio. Do you like scallops?’ He turned to face her, his lips almost brushing her cheeks, and he waited.
Sure enough, as though the same invisible, magnetic force were operating on Olivia, she turned towards him. They were so close, he could see every fleck of colour in her magnificent blue eyes; he could see desire in them too, even when they shuttered slightly, her eyes dropping to his lips in that disarming and distracting way she had.
Kiss her.
Temptation hummed in his body. He was only an inch or so away. It would be so easy to brush their lips—but how easy to pull apart? On the two occasions they’d kissed, it had taken a Herculean effort to stop what was happening between them.
‘I have to tell you something,’ she said quietly, the words just a whisper against his cheek.
‘I’m listening.’ He couldn’t help himself. Luca lifted his thumb and brushed it over her lower lip, so her eyes closed on a wave of anguish, fierce need like a cyclone around them.
‘Luca.’ God, his name on her lips was its own aphrodisiac. Her voice was husky, as though they’d just made love, as though she’d screamed herself hoarse. He dropped his hand, letting it rest on her shoulder. Stop this. Control it.
But was there really any harm in a kiss? It wasn’t as if they would be having sex. It wasn’t as if they’d be falling in love. If anything, it might actually work to their advantage, bursting the tension that was building between them.
Liar.
‘Olivia.’ He deliberately layered her name with his own sensual needs, watching as the drawled intonation flushed her cheeks pink.
‘This isn’t—’
He didn’t want to hear what this wasn’t. He knew their marriage wasn’t real, and he was glad for that, but that didn’t mean the passion could be ignored. Perhaps there was a compromise? After all, they were two sensible, consenting adults.
But hadn’t he set the ground rules here? Hadn’t he been the one to insist they’d never be more than spouses on paper? Could there be new rules?
‘I know what our marriage isn’t,’ he said gruffly, bringing his face closer to hers. ‘But I no longer think it makes sense to continue ignoring what it is.’
Her lips parted, and panic flared in her eyes, so he stayed where he was, thankfully with it enough to know that if they kissed now, it had to be her choice. He’d made it clear what he wanted. But would she be brave enough to admit what she wanted?
‘I’m not ignoring that,’ she whispered, her eyes like saucers as she leaned infinitesimally closer.
‘Aren’t you?’ Her brows drew together.
She shook her head slightly, and with the movement, closed the distance the rest of the way. Almost the rest of the way, because her lips were still separated from his by a hair’s breadth.
‘But how—?’
‘Do we really need to answer that?’
Her moan was the final straw. It was so quiet, only he could hear it, so sensual, he couldn’t help imagining her in the throes of passion. Every cell in his body reverberated with fierce, undeniable need.
‘Kiss me,’ he commanded.
Another husky intake of breath.