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She swallows, then glances away. “When did you have the time to get it?”
“My grandmother gave it to me when I turned twenty-one. She told me I’d know who the right woman was for it.”
She jerks her chin in my direction, her eyes wide with shock.
“I kept it in a safety deposit box in the bank. I took it out the first time I met you in L.A.”
“You’ve been carrying the ring around since L.A.? That was months ago.” She swallows.
“What can I say, I have good instincts.”
Our gazes hold, and the hair on the nape of my neck rises.
The space between us thickens further with unspoken emotions.
Everything else fades away except for the longing in her eyes. Her cheeks stain, her lips part, and the chemistry that connects us is so potent, a bead of sweat slides down my back. Her golden eyes turn amber, and I know she’s aroused. I lean in; so does she. Our breaths mingle, our noses almost bump, our eyelashes brush against each other… The whisper of a camera beginning to click cuts through the hair’s breadth of space between us. She begins to pull back, but I plant my fingers around the nape of her neck—a gesture that signals my possession and one which feels so right, too right, but that’s something I’ll think about later. For now, I hold her in place and search her features. "I’m going to kiss you now."
25
Gio
He swoops down and closes his mouth over mine. I’m aware of the journalist watching us, of her recording this, and I know I should care, but I don’t. All that matters is the firm grasp of his on the nape of my neck, which makes me feel cherished and possessed and his, his, his. And the scent of his, which I draw into my lungs, the hard feel of his lips on mine, the gentle swipe of his tongue against mine, and the tenderness of his licks slay me. As he cajoles me to open my mouth and allow him to slip his tongue between my lips and draw from me, he brings his other palm up to cup my cheek, and his touch sinks down to my core.
The dominance of his presence pins me down, holds me in place and yet, his touch is gentle. His assertive touch, combined with the openness with which he shares himself with me, makes my head spin. None of our previous kisses were this…potent. This intense. This searing. This all-consuming. So consuming he seems to have branded himself into every cell in my body. Then he releases me, slowly, with reluctance.
When he draws back, I chase his mouth with mine, and a low chuckle rumbles up his chest. "We have an audience, baby, and you know how much I hate sharing any part of you with anyone else," he whispers in a voice intended only for my ears. Moisture pools between my legs.
I draw in a breath and fight for composure as he increases the distance between us. He still holds my gaze, and only when he’s sure I’m steady, does he slowly release his hold on me. Even then, he twines his fingers with mine and places our joined hands on the table, which the journalist steals glances at through the rest of the interview.
"So, how did the two of you meet?"
I freeze.OMG. OMG.We never did discuss and decide what story to tell the press. And that’s PR lesson one-oh-one. Never meet the press until you have your story down. Something I’ve always gotten right in the past. It’s a testament to how off-kilter I am that I never thought of coordinating my narrative with his.
I open my mouth, but he interjects, "It was love at first sight."
I blink.
"It was?" The journalist looks between us.
"Indeed. I walked into a restaurant and was waiting for my meeting to turn up, and I looked over to the table next to mine to find she was seated alone. Of course, I was entranced right away."
"You were?" The journalist asks with interest.
He was?I begin to frown, then manage to school my features into an expression which doesn’t reveal the surprise I’m feeling.
"You bet I was. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Not in the conventional way. Gio is too unique to fit the normal conventions of beauty. It was her flashing eyes and her haughty stare at her date when he finally arrived that drew me in. Then, the two of them got into a fight."
The journalist gasps.
My eyebrows begin to knit again, and I smooth them out. You’re a PR professional. You know how to keep a mask on your emotions.Not as well as him, though. Who’d have thought the stony-faced Rick would turn out to be a consummate liar?
"It was clear she wasn't happy, but when she jumped up and tried to leave, the asshole—pardon my swearing, but he was one—stepped in her way and grabbed her arm. That’s when I jumped up from my seat. I walked over, draped my arm around her and said…"
The journalist is practically salivating, waiting for his big reveal.
So am I. He’s so convincing. I’m half sure all of this happened, and I forgot about it. Except, if ithadhappened, Iwouldn’thave forgotten about it. My every single encounter with this man is etched into my memory. That’s how much of an impression he’s made on me. So, he’s making all of this up right now. He flicks a glance in my direction and his mouth curls. "I said, 'Take your hand off my wife.'"
"Oh my god." The journalist fans herself.
