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“God, that’s fucking good,” he groans, and I’m captivated by the sound. Why does he have to make it sound so sexual? And does he have to lick the fork clean like he’s displaying his oral skills?
Rest in peace, my panties,I think before shaking my head and clearing it.Get it together, Julia.
“What, you didn’t get French patisserie in the Navy?” I tease, taking another bite.
A tiny smile creeps up his face. “Nah. Closest we got was an ice cream night now and then.” He takes another bite, pushing the last piece toward me.
“You can have it,” I say, but he shakes his head.
“I’m stuffed. Besides, it’s your favorite. I’d be a real asshole if I took the last bite.”
He stands, picking up the paper wrappers and empty soup containers before stacking my plate with his. I start to stand, but Mateo blocks me with his body. I crane my neck back to look up at him.
“I’ve got this. Sit,” he demands, his whiskey eyes holding mine, daring me to argue with him. His voice is so intensely demanding, so powerful. Without realizing it, I find myself wondering what it would be like to have him command me elsewhere.
A spark of pleasure wraps its way around my spine, twisting and spreading out every nerve in my body. My nipples pebble under my bra and I shiver. My tongue flicks out of my mouth and I lick my lips as I stare up at him.
Instantly, I’m horrified with myself. My reaction is as involuntary as it is visible, and Iknowhe sees it. The corners of his eyes tighten, a muscle in his jaw jumping. I can’t tell what he’s thinking because unlike me, he’s completely unreadable.
I wrap my arms across my chest, rubbing my upper arms like I’m trying to warm myself up. “It’s cold in here. I’m going to go grab a sweater.” Mateo holds my gaze a heart beat longer before stepping out of my way. He’s so fucking inscrutable that I can’t tell if he believes me or not.
His eyebrows draw together. “You’re already wearing a sweater, Jules.”
I look down at my shirt, and yes, I am in fact wearing a sweater. Duh.
“Yup. Another one.” I skirt around him, heading down the hall. Once I’m safely back in my room, I shut the door and sag back against it.
Fuck me. Why the hell was that sexy? I really don’t get it. I’m always head bitch in charge. I donotlike being told what to do. Usually. But that was… fuck. I’m so confused. I need a therapist to sort this out for me because I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m in over my head.
I grab my chunkiest, heaviest sweater from my closet, pulling it over the first one. I look insane, but I can’t very well go back out there without it. I might end up sweating like a pig, but the silver lining is that my nipples could go into full-on, rock-hard, head-beam mode and no one could ever see them under this many layers.
I snag an extra blanket for Mateo but freeze up when it comes to a pillow. All the extras are in the guest room where Luis is likely passed out cold. Reluctantly, I pull two of the pillows off my bed. I don’t really have any choice, but it feels weird to give him one of the pillows I sleep with every night. It feels very… personal.
I am in suchaweird place right now.
Shoving all my confusing issues down as deep as I can, I make my way back to the living room. I’m kind of hoping I can just give Mateo the bedding and call it a night. Ideally, I would just hide out in my room for the next couple days, but even I have to admit the logistics would be tough.
Mateo is waiting for me, sitting in the middle of the couch,The Italian Jobqueued up on the TV. I set the bedding on the coffee table and pat the stack.
“Since I can’t get rid of you, I brought you some bedding… I’m kind of beat,” I lie. “I might just go to bed.”
“Not a chance,” he says, nodding at the cushion next to him. “This was your pick, and it’s like seven o’clock at night, Grandma.”
Well, shit.
I drop down next to him. He’s so big that the cushions dip toward him like a big sexy black hole. My options are limited here. If I don’t want to be in his lap, I can either sit at a weird forty-five degree angle or prop myself on the armrest. I opt for the armrest, tucking my feet underneath me.
Mateo watches me settle in before starting the movie. I’m trying to watch the Venice heist scene, but he isn’t cooperating. Mateo keeps moving, and it’s distracting as all hell. He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he absentmindedly unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt. He rolls each sleeve up slowly, eyes glued to the screen. I feel like a Victorian hussy, but each inch of tan forearm he exposes is sexier than the last. Then he’s leaning back, resting both arms along the back of the sofa.
Twenty minutes in, he leans toward me. “You mind if I grab another beer?” he asks.
I shake my head, “Knock yourself out. Unless you want peppermint schnapps? I might have a bottle somewhere.”
Despite what looks like his best effort, he can’t fight the smile pulling at his lips as he rolls his eyes.
“Smart ass,” he mutters as he stands. He disappears into the kitchen and I take the opportunity to spread out, letting my feet take up the spot he just vacated, hoping he’ll relocate to the other end of the sofa. If I put just a little more physical distance between us, maybe he won’t be such a potent distraction.
Mateo reappears with two open beers, handing me one.
