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His hold on my shoulders gentled. Even when he was gripped by his darkest urges, he never lost control with me. He might offer a rough touch now and then, but he never crossed the line. And the next touch he’d give me would be ten times as sweet.
“Most of all, I’d wish for time.”
I blinked, not understanding. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“Come home with me tonight.” He fingercombed the long dark hair I’d chosen for this evening away from my face, following the long wavy strands to the tips before starting from the top again.
My mind told me to say no. But my gut, my body, and the part of my heart that wasn’t worried about getting trampled were all much more agreeable.
“Are you going to rip my clothes off again?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek, then he surprised the hell out of me by smiling. Sort of. It was a pained expression, but the effect was there. “That was my intention when I came in this room.”
My breath caught. “So what stopped you?”
“It occurred to me I’ve never done anything else.”
The sadness I heard in his voice pulled at me, causing a pang in my chest. “Did you hear me complaining?”
“Actually, yeah, I did.”
“I wasn’t complaining about the sex, you jerkoff. The sex is perfect. Magical. Damn near a transcendent experience, with a side of fairy tale orgasms.”
Now he smiled for real, long enough for me to rise and trace the curve of his mouth. “What’re you doing?” he asked against my fingertip.
“Memorizing this moment. I don’t see this smile nearly enough and it’s beautiful.” I pretended to click a camera with my other hand and stepped back, giving him a smile of my own. “There. Saved it. I have proof.”
He ducked his head, and for a second, I had no idea if that was a good sign or bad. Then I realized I’d embarrassed my big, brawny, badass fighter and nearly made him blush.
“Aww, so cute,” I teased, playfully nudging his arm. “I should take a mental picture of that expression too.”
“Go ahead. I’ve taken mental pictures of all your expressions—and more than a few of your positions.”
“Hmm. Guess it’s a good thing these mental picture reels will never end up on the internet then.” Lightly, I shoved him toward the door as someone knocked. Probably another one of the dancers who, you know, actually wanted to change in the dressing room. “I’ll see you after my next set.”
“Okay.” He turned and hesitated as if he was on the verge of saying something. Then his mouth was on mine, and I rose on my tiptoes, pressing myself against his massive chest. Such strength there and in his powerful hands, but he touched me with such tenderness in spite of the hunger emanating from every pore of his body. In the center of the storm, he treated me as if I was precious even as our tongues tangled and our breaths came short.
When we pulled apart, the knocking had become thunderous, and my reservations had dwindled away.
Tomorrow would take care of itself. Tonight, I needed him.
“Wait.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want to let him out of my sight. In this room, he was safe. We were safe. Out there, that could change in an instant.
He waited.
“You didn’t tell me if you won tonight.”
“What do you think?”
The cocky Gio I knew was back. I’d missed him, though I had to admit I enjoyed knocking him down a peg or two. But only for fun. Not when his eyes were so grim and desolate.
“I think you’re going to get lucky tonight to celebrate.”
“I’m lucky already.” He wrapped his hand around the doorknob and laid the fingers of his other hand on my lips. Then he brought them to his own mouth in his version of a goodbye kiss. “Later, amore mio.”
I smiled after him. I really needed to get a pocket Italian dictionary or something.
