Page 39 of Out of Control

“Or I can arrange that for you. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.“

“We’ll work that out as the time draws near.”

“Thank you, Mr. Caminiti. Like I said, I’ll have my lawyer reach out to you and yours with the contract and terms. Get that all squared away on their end and then we’ll talk soon.”

“Adíos.”

I end the call and do a little hip shimmy in excitement. That’s five pieces so far. Five handpicked paintings from artists I love who have agreed to let me showcase their art in my gallery.

A part of me feels like a hypocrite. These artists are agreeing, despite my lack of experience, simply because of my last name. I’m definitely aware of that.

Caminiti’s call has given me a renewed excitement and encouragement to complete my run so I can finish and get back to work making calls. But just as I turn to start, I’m met with a pair of amber eyes and an undeniable presence.

“Sofia?” Rossi says, equal parts surprise and confusion. “You’re here. In Monaco.”

I nod to try and buy time for my body to recover from the sight of him. He’s simply devastating. There’s no other way to describe Oliver Rossi. The olive skin. The intense eyes framed by thick lashes. The . . . very naked chest and sculpted abs with a dark sweat stain down the front of his shorts from his workout.

“Hi. Yes. I’m . . .” Jesus. Every part of me wants him. “Here.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the race. Since his subtle dress down. Since his dark promise to not let me forget how good we were. The funny thing? He doesn’t have to say a word because the sight of him is enough of a reminder for me.

“Since when?” His eyes roam up and down the length of me, stuttering over my leggings and sports bra. Seeing his pure male appreciation for me in his dark gaze is thrilling.

“We’ve always had a place here, but . . . work. I’m here for work for the time being.”

“We? You and your . . . boyfriend?” He narrows his eyes and takes a step closer.

“No. My family. We have a place here . . .”

“Mmm. And you’re here for work. What is it that you do?”

“A little bit of this. A little bit of that.”

“Is that so?” He furrows his brows as he steps forward so that someone can pass around us on the sidewalk.

And I don’t think I’m ready to share the answer with him just yet. Especially not with this man who unnerves me on so many levels—good and bad.

“Yep. You seem to have opinions about everything I do so, maybe, I’m choosing not to tell you so I don’t have to care what you think.”

His chuckle is a low rumble and that smirk of his lopsided. “So you do care, huh?”

Our eyes meet and hold. Amusement dances in his.

“No. I don’t.” But even I’m not convinced from those three words.

He leans in. “I think about you, Sofia. All day. Every day. I think about you. What you looked like coming for me. What you felt like wrapped around me. The way your nails dug into my back. What a good fucking girl you were for me, taking me until you couldn’t take any more. Mm,” he quietly groans. My skin feels like it’s being lit on fire. “Do you think of me? Do you miss the way I felt buried in you? Are you willing to admit you want me?”

I take a step back, breath shaky and body on high alert. Listening to his words, knowing he’s thought of me . . . of me coming.

Fuck. That’s hot.

“I don’t want you,” I whisper as I swallow forcibly and fist my hands.

He laughs softly. “We both know that’s not true.” He reaches out and traces a line with his finger from my temple to my jaw. I fight the urge to lean into his touch. “But keep lying to yourself. Your body will win this fight.” His eyes flicker down to my lips and then back. “I have no doubts there.” He takes another step back. Smirks. Nods. “Off to finish the rest of my run.”

“Rossi?” I call out as he runs a few steps.

He turns to face me, jogging backward as he does. “I’ll see you around, Navarro. I’m sure of it.”