“Oh, no.” I fold my arms. “You don’t get to dump my coffee and then tell me to be careful.”
“That was not coffee.”
I narrow my eyes. “You owe me a new cup.”
“I’ll make you something drinkable.”
“American coffee is drinkable.”
“Barely.”
His hand settles on my waist.
“I missed you this morning,” he says quietly.
All the teasing drains from me.
“I missed you, too.”
“I should have woken you properly.”
“You kissed my forehead,” I say, smiling.
“That was not properly.”
My cheeks heat, and he smiles like he sees every single thought that just crossed my mind.
“I have thirty minutes before I have to meet Stefano.”
“And?”
“And I intend to use at least three of them making you forget about that terrible coffee.”
Only three?
I almost say it, but I don’t.
Mostly because his mouth is already on mine.
He lifts me before I can form another thought, carrying me from his personal kitchen like I weigh nothing at all.
“Maverick,” I whisper against his lips.
He doesn’t answer.
He just kisses me again.
By the time he gets me back to our room, I’ve forgotten the coffee.
The kitchen.
The fact that there are armed men all over the estate.
For a little while, there’s only him.
His hands.
His mouth.
