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He leaned closer, his mouth tantalisingly close to her. “I know.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“Tonight,” he promised.
“Yes, tonight.” He passed his thumb over her lips, then stepped back, as if nothing had happened. “You go out first. Let me know when the coast is clear.”
Her heart twisted at his thoughtfulness. She knew instinctively that Alessio wasn’t the kind of man to care if anyone knew what he’d just been doing in the pantry, but he understood why secrecy was important to Charlotte.
She sucked in a deep breath then stepped out into the kitchen, which was blessedly empty.
“You’re fine.”
He strode out and moved towards the door. Her stomach dropped to her toes. She didn’t want him to leave! And not just because he could drive her wild, but because she wanted to speak to him. To ask about his day. To share a coffee with him.
But that was a silly, childish want—as if she could turn what they were doing into something more. They weren’t friends. They weren’t dating. She had to remember that.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, from the door, and she nodded once, not yet able to speak.
Chapter7
APART FROM HIS NIGHTNMARES, which were thankfully a thing of the past, Dash had always slept like the dead. Nonetheless, Charlotte still whispered when she opened the door, a little after nine, to let Alessio in.
He was carrying more brown paper bags and a bottle of wine, a simple gesture but one that touched her heart. Only her heart was way down the list of what she was aware of, as her libido kicked into gear at the sight of him.
Last night, she’d been attracted to him, but now, she’d been possessed by him, and that gave a whole other dimension to the way he made her feel.
“Hungry?”
“I’ve had dinner,” she said apologetically. “With Dash.”
“I thought you might have. But what about dessert?”
She shook her head.
“Good. Because I’m looking forward to watching you eat this.” He lifted the bag higher, and she wondered what was inside.
In the kitchen, he removed a couple of white cardboard boxes, then lifted the lids. Various cakes and tarts were inside, and the fragrance was delicious. “Where are they from?”
“A patisserie in London.”
“You’ve been to London?”
“Not personally, no.”
“You got someone to bring thesefromLondon?”
He lifted his shoulders. “You’ll love them.”
Her heart skipped a beat. He’d done that, for her?
Or was he such a sweet tooth himself that he’d wanted the desserts enough to send for them?
“So, you just called someone and asked them to do a two-hour trip out into the country because you wanted some sweets?”
“Specific sweets,” he responded with a wink, and her heart twisted. “And not because I wanted them, but because I wanted you to try them.”
Her heart soared. It was not a declaration of love, but somehow, it made her insides flutter with warmth.
