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I consider ignoring her for all of five seconds before I launch out of bed. Grabbing a hand towel from my bathroom, I wipe roughly at my stomach and hands, cleaning the physical evidence of my climax from my skin. Not ready to completely part from it, I throw the towel over my shoulder. Grabbing the jeans I removed last night before bed, I zip them up and move toward my front door with purpose.
I should calm whatever storms inside me before facing her—nerves, shock, anticipation, irritation. Each emotion swirls deep in my gut and slams against my rib cage, resembling my heartbeat. My need to look her in the eye outweighs my usual ability to find indifference and clarity. Entering my PIN and pressing my thumb against the panel beside the door, I yank it open, enjoying the way she gasps at the ferocity with which I come into focus.
Her pantsuit is a deep forest green, and I know she picked it out especially for me. Tailored pants slide down her legs, and a fitted jacket hugs the heady curves of her waist. The bodysuit has intricate patterns of lace the same color as the suit, only it holds accents of gold woven through the lines.
She enjoys the way my eyes travel over her body, pushing her jacket back to slide her hands into her pockets with a sly grin.
“Are you going to invite me in?” She keeps her focus on my face, the faux show of confidence in her tone not entirely hiding the way her voice shakes.
I grab the cross at my neck, sliding it against the chain as I consider her. The move forces her eyes away from my face and down to my chest. Her nostrils flare as she pulls in a breath, her hazel eyes widening as they take in my naked torso.
“What are you doing here? And how did you get my address?”
That makes her smirk, and it takes everything within me not to wipe it off her face with my tongue.
“You’re not the only one who can use a computer.”
“Amadeo?” I push.
She shrugs, confirming what I already know.Fucker. The loyal little soldier needs to be taught a lesson about involving himself in my business.
“You’re being very rude. Invite me in or slam the door in my face, but hurry up and decide which path you want to take.”
“Who says I don’t have company?”
Jealousy flashes through her eyes before she can stop it. “Oh…” She lifts her shoulders in an indifference she in no way feels. “I’m sure you could send whoever they are on their way. This is rather important.”
“You can push that green-eyed little monster back into its cave,” I taunt. “I’m alone.”
I step aside to invite her in.
She steps through my door tentatively, testing her footing and assessing the threat before she lets me close the door behind her. She jumps at the automatic lock mechanisms. “I’m still not used to that.”
Standing this close, I can smell her, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to lean forward and savor the scent with an audible inhale.
“Is your visit for business or pleasure?”
She takes her time answering, letting her gaze swallow my apartment with eager eyes. I’ve never once considered what my home looks like to another. My mother and father aside—and that’s on obligation—I don’t invite others into my private space. I’m a happy loner, and nothing offers intruders more access into your inner sanctum than where you are safe to be your most authentic self.
I allowed Alessia access only because I breached hers without permission. It’s only fair that I offer her the same courtesy.
“I like the exposed brick,” she comments. “I imagined your residence to be more bachelor pad than homey, though.”
My house is lived in. Books line the coffee table, and washed dishes are stacked beside the sink. A basket of laundry I’ve been too lazy to fold has taken residence on my couch, my keys and wallet are thrown messily on the dining table next to one of my laptops, and my unopened mail is being used as a coaster from last night's coffee binge.
“I wasn’t expecting company.”
She nods once, checking the kitchen counter is dry before placing her handbag down. “What pleasure could I have interest in entertaining with you, Diego?”
I want to roll my eyes. I envisaged her more mature than to deny what was building between us.
“I don’t know. Maybe you wanted to do a little show-and-tell on how wet you were when my hand was on your throat and my tongue was tasting your lips.”
Alessia offers no reaction to my vulgar words.
“Do you forget who you’re speaking to?” she asks. “Or do you speak to all ranking family members with such indecency?”
I snort.
