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“What?” he asks as he nips at the side of my jaw.
“You were the second creep. The one who sent me a ton of flowers.”
“Yes.”
I lean away and pin him with my gaze. “A hundred vases?”
“Ninety-six. That’s all they had.”
“One would have been more than enough.”
Salvatore watches me for a moment, then bends forward and touches his nose to mine. “It’s all or nothing with me, Milene. You should have figured that out by now.”
Yeah. I guess it is.
* * *
I comb my fingers through Salvatore’s hair, watching him frommy spot astride his waist as he reaches to pick up his bottle of beer from the floor. It still surprises me, seeing him so relaxed.
We’ve been lounging on the sofa in the living room for almost an hour—him watching the game and me sprawled across his chest, texting Bianca. She stopped replying to my messages about ten minutes ago, meaning Mikhail probably came home. God knows, those two can’t keep their hands off each other.
“I can’t believe you like beer,” I say.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You always seemed more like the fine-wine type to me.” I trace the line of his jaw with the back of one finger. “It’s the suits.”
“I have nothing against wine. But it goes better with cheese than it does with football.” He tilts his head and kisses my finger. “What did your sister say? Any news from home?”
“The same. I’m still waiting for her to reply to the last text.”
Salvatore lifts his hand and traces his thumb over my bottom lip. “Ask her to pass on a message to Petrov for me.”
“To the Russian pakhan?”
“Yes. He should know that the Albanians have started to do business with the Irish.”
I type a quick text and send it to Bianca. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” He takes the phone from my hand, places it on the coffee table, and removes the throw pillows from the sofa, throwing them on the floor.
“Did the poor pillows do something to offend you?”
“Yes.” He throws the last one over the back. “They take up too much space.”
“Maybe we should shop for a larger couch.” I bend my head and plant a kiss on the side of his jaw.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
His arm comes around my waist, and he pulls me down so I’m lying on my side, pressed between his body and the back of the sofa. I reach for the waistband of my leggings and take them off, before removing Salvatore’s sweatpants and boxer briefs. I do the same with my panties, tossing them next to Salvatore’s clothes on the floor.
He takes my hand, lifts my fingers to his lips, gently kisses each one in turn, then proceeds to move his lips across my wrist and along my arm, sending tremors throughout my body. He does all of this very slowly, holding his lips over the spot for a few seconds before moving on, as though every kiss is meant as a statement. It’s captivating, the way he caresses my skin, because Salvatore has never seemed like a patient lover. The attraction between us has always been an explosive force, both hard and intense.
“You have no idea what you do to me, Milene,” he whispers when he reaches my shoulder, and I tremble. “No fucking idea.”
His lips meet mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing him to me with all my strength. I don’t think he realizes how much he’s messed up my own mind. It’s scary. I don’t even know what I feel anymore. Am I in love with him? With this controlling, grouchy, closed-off man? Someone I haven’t even seen smile once in all the time I’ve known him? I’m afraid I am.
My hands travel down his neck and over his shoulders to rest on his chiseled chest, and, without breaking the kiss,I throw my leg over his waist and move so I’m seated on top of him.
