Page 103 of Out of Control

“I have many more talents I could show you,” he teases.

I lean in and whisper in his ear. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been on the receiving end of many of them.”

“Lucky for you, Bellissima. Lucky for you.”

We both laugh, but the contentment remains. That he opened up to me. That we’re in a really good place right now. That despite what my brother thinks, this is the real Oliver Rossi. The man, right here, right now. The man giving me this gift—his time, his honesty, his effort—is the real one.

The private tour is followed by a candlelit dinner in one of the museum’s private rooms. An oval room with paintings all around and us at its center. The food is decadent and flavorful but the company is the real star of the show.

“How did you even arrange all this?” I ask as he tops my glass off with wine.

“You may be a Navarro, Bellissima, but I’m an F1 driver and that does count for something in this world.” He winks and smiles, ever playful but clearly still struggling with our situation.

“Do you worry about the next race? About Cruz and what he’ll say or do?” I ask.

“No. If there’s a problem with it, it’s his. Not mine.”

“I know but—”

“No buts.” He takes my chair by its seat and abruptly pulls me toward him so that my knees are between his thighs. “Stop talking about your brother. This is about us. You. Me. Tonight.” He cups the side of my neck and pulls me into him so that his lips can brush against mine. “And how I’m falling for you and don’t know what to do about it.”

My breath hitches. My soul jumps with joy.

It’s his goofy smile—the one that matches mine—that gives me the confidence needed to respond.

“Well at least we’re both on the same page.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Rossi

“A part of me feels privileged for this chance—to see all this incredible art. The Monet. The Bosch. A freaking van Gogh. I mean . . . every piece in here is like a capsule in time we were privileged to get lost in.”

“I know.”

“And another part of me feels selfish and slightly ridiculous at this spoil of riches. Art is meant to be seen. Shared. The general public should get a chance to see this too.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed?” She turns and looks at me.

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly. There’s a lot of stunning things in this gallery, Bellissima, but I assure you the most gorgeous one is you.” I slide my hands around her waist from behind and nuzzle her neck.

“You’re trying to distract me, Ollie.”

“Is it working?” I nip her shoulder. “God, I fucking want you.”

“Hmm. There’s no shortage there.”

“You’re talented and gorgeous and funny and—”

“You’ve already got the girl, Rossi. You can stop trying to impress me.”

“Uh-uh. Never.” Another kiss to the curve of her shoulder. Our docent has given us privacy to walk around and admire the pieces without her. And while I truly appreciate a second chance to look at the art, all I can think about is getting this fan-fucking-tastic dress off her. “If there weren’t cameras covering every inch of this place, I’d do a hell of a lot more than simply impress you.”

“Oh?” she murmurs as she shifts and moves to stare at the next painting.

“Mm. I’d start by peeling you out of this sexy-as-fuck dress.”