“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, letting my hair fall now that the necklace is in place. “Oh God, tell me Francesca didn’t pick this. I’ll cry. You might actually have to rehire her?—”
“Magnum helped me select it this afternoon when we picked up your rings,” he says, smiling at me in the mirror. “I was surprised. I didn’t think they’d be available for a few more days. Spin around for me, darling.”
I turn to face him, and he pulls a small ring box from his pants pocket.
“I’m going to save your wedding ring for a special occasion.” He pops the box open, and an embarrassing gasp slips from my lips. “I nearly went with the marquise cut. Something about it reminded me of you, but upon examining them in person, I decided it didn’t fit your personality.” He plucks the ring from the box, sliding it onto my hand. “The oval solitaire in platinum seemed like a much better fit. Anything over five carats gave off the appearance someone was trying too hard, and no one wantsthat. Your ring is just over four carats. Hopefully it’s up to your standards.”
I blink as he twists my hand back and forth, allowing the light to hit the stone.
“It’s huge,” I whisper, grimacing. “I mean, it’s beautiful. I love it.”
He chuckles. “Both things can be true. It can be hugeandyou can love it.” It’s not his words but how he purrs them that makes the statement feel sexual, and my face heats.
My hormones have never been so out of control.
It’s going to be a long night.
Moretti refused to let me leave without a jacket, but it was unnecessary. The rooftop restaurant is warmed by large propane heaters. Some are built like stationary fireplaces, except they put out heat in all four directions. Others almost look like fancy lamps, and they can be moved closer to the tables in use or moved away if someone complains it’s getting too hot.
I’m about to be the one complaining.
I’ve already taken off my coat, which should be borderline irresponsible, considering our location and the time of year, but the heaters are crushing their job.
While I’ve never been to Bella Morte, it’s beautiful and upscale and exactly the type of place women dream to be taken on a first date. The restaurant has some type of awning that covers the tables and bar, which must come in handy when it snows. By the looks of things, I’d bet it can be rolled back during nice weather.
Our table is near the edge of the railing, offering an excellent view of the city.
The guys Moretti is meeting with are on the opposite side of the table in chairs, while my husband and I are seated next to one another on a curved booth.
How Moretti can carry on a conversation with his associates while also teasing the backs of his fingers up my thigh is beyond me. I’m so distracted that I haven’t heard a single word of what they’ve been discussing.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as he hand-fed me my dinner—at first, I wondered if he thought I didn’t know how to cut my own steak, but then he was offering me bites…
I don’t know.
It just happened.
And Ilikedit.
In fact, I loved the way he murmured, “Good girl,” every time I took a bite.
I’ll be embarrassed about that later…maybe.
He fed me my entire meal while talking business, and then he pulled me close to his side while he ate his chicken.
Once he was done, he twisted into me and planted his hand on my thigh.
With his arm tossed over my shoulder, it makes it easy for him to run his fingers through my hair. Add in his other hand dangerously close to my vagina…
I’m overwhelmed.
His scent is everywhere, which should be impossible with how windy it is up here on the rooftop.
He’s so warm, and it’s just a lot.
He’s relaxed, yet his dominance is unmistakable.
Does that even make sense?
