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God, those deep dimples are so sexy, and his eyes go warm and dark as he gazes at me. He shrugs his broad shoulders, the gray T-shirt he’s changed into stretching over firm pecs, and my mind rolls right into the gutter.
“Boys,” I whisper, rolling my eyes, trying to hide how he affects me.
“It’s the way it is.” His grin widens and my gaze zeroes on his mouth. I have this inexplicable need to lick his dimples, his lips, find out how he tastes.
I must still be in shock from everything that went down today. Yep, that must be it.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” he says as if hearing my thoughts, and I nod.
“Me neither. Someone paid my fees.” I shoot him a suspicious look—okay, more of an attracted-and-suspicious look combo—and have to avert my gaze before it lingers. “You wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“If I had the money,” he says, his grin fading, “I’d have given it.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes. That leather band on his wrist is sexy.
Everything about him is sexy.
“Why?” I whisper. “You barely know me.”
“But I don’t have it,” he goes on, sitting down beside me. “My clan is broke. It’s…” He shakes his head. “A long story.”
“That’s okay,” I say, strangely touched by his words. “Um, thanks. For wanting to offer, even if you can’t.”
The grin makes a brief reappearance as he glances sideways at me from under his golden lashes. “You’re welcome.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Mia, huh.”
“What?”
“Mia meansminein Italian, doesn’t it?”
He looks so proud for knowing the word that I laugh. “Sure.”
“So your name means you’re mine.”
“Dream on,” I whisper.
He leans closer, his green eyes darkening. “Back in your old clothes, I see?”
“The trash bags.” I wince, looking down at myself.
“I don’t mind them,” he says. “They make the thought of undressing you more exciting.”
“You have thoughts of undressing me?”
His gaze sparkles. “All the time.”
I stare at his fine profile, his bright eyes. “Pinch me.”
“What?”
“Pinch me. This is the weirdest day, and I swear I don’t know if I’m awake or still sleeping.”
“I have a better idea,” he says and cups my face, then he leans over and puts his mouth on mine.
He kisses me and I fall into the kiss, throwing my arms around him, holding on for dear life. He tastes of earthy spices, cinnamon and nutmeg and brown sugar, and something deeper, intoxicating, sexy, and masculine. The heat of his mouth, the strength in the hand cupping my face, his scent, they rip me away from the confusion and uncertainty.
I escape in his taste, in the feel of him. His other hand snakes around my waist and hauls me against his very hard, very muscular chest as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gaining entry, licking into my mouth, getting me hot, so hot I think I’ll burst into flames.
A sweet ache forms in my belly. My breasts, pressed to his muscular chest, tighten and throb, my nipples hard like pebbles. I want him, I need him to touch me—
“Mia Apollinari,” someone says, and I almost jump out of my skin, an undignified sound escaping my throat before I recognize the voice.
