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"I did not…" One dark brow rises as if daring me to finish that lie. I quickly swallow it back and take a deep breath. "We're not trading barbs," I say instead. "I'm just speaking facts. Hell will freeze over before you leave me to my own devices."
He chuckles again, stalking across the bathroom toward me. "Quando il gatto non c'e, il topo balla," he murmurs, tipping his head down to look at me with those steely gray eyes.
"What?"
"I said good morning, little mouse." Humor dances in his eyes, convincing me that isn't what he said at all.
I make a mental note to learn Italian.
"Liar."
"Are you spoiling for another fight this morning, cara mia?"
"No."
"Then say good morning."
"Good morning, Mattia." I bat my lashes at him. "I hope you had a lovely shower in your ridiculously oversized bathroom and the water was exactly the right temperature."
Maybe I'm my own worst enemy because the last thing I should be doing is pushing this man's buttons when he's already demonstrated exactly how unfair he's willing to play when I fight him. But I can't help it. He's so freaking unflappable. It drives me crazy.
Every time he's near me, my body feels like a livewire. Meanwhile, he looks at me all calm, cool, and collected. It makes me want to mess up his neatly ordered world.
I want to make this man snap.
It's a psychotic desire, honestly. I know precisely how hot he can run. I know what he's capable of doing. I was the one coming on his tongue last night. I know who he is. But he looks at me like he finds me amusing, and I hate it. I want heat. I want fire. I want fury.
I want him all over me because he can't stop himself, and I'm willing to fight dirty to make it happen. I'm not sure what that says about me, and I don't think I want to find out.
I'm taunting a sleeping giant. But I can't seem to stop myself from doing it, either. When he's as rattled and out of control as I am, I'll be satisfied. But not until.
My comment doesn't piss him off. He simply throws his head back and laughs before bending to press a kiss to my temple. "Shower before you get yourself into trouble, cara mia," he murmurs against my skin. "I'll find you something to wear until we're able to see about getting you a wardrobe."
"A wardrobe?"
His heated gaze skims down my body. "Unless you'd prefer to walk around in your nightgown or nothing. Then, by all means…"
I narrow my eyes on him, which only makes him laugh again.
"Shower, topolina." He strides from the bathroom. Except, he drops the towel on the way out, so I watch his firm ass waltz out the door, my mind reeling.
Naturally, he glances over his shoulder on the threshold and catches me staring. I harumph like a crazy person and spin on my heel, pretending I wasn't staring at his ass. Judging by the smirk on his face, he doesn't believe me.
If I survive this, I may kill Brio Cascella myself.
An hour later, I find Mattia in the kitchen—fully dressed, thank God. I stumble to a stop in the doorway when I realize that he cooked for me.
He turns from the marble island, his gray eyes crinkling with amusement when they meet mine. "Topolina." His voice is a heated caress.
He's dressed in a black suit that fits him like a glove. He looks every bit the lethal consigliere I know him to be.
God, the man is just so…so everything.
"You cooked for me?" I find myself asking, stunned.
His lips lift into a smirk as he glances toward the dishes spread out on the counter. There's an omelet, bacon, fresh fruit, yogurt. It's a feast.
"It may surprise you, but I am capable of more than killing people."
