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He slowed down, put the indicator on then executed the maneuver.
“Wouldn’t love to be kissed by me again?”
Oh, how she wanted that. Fantasies proliferated in her mind, against her will.
“I don’t see any point in muddying the waters here. You want to buy my grandfather’s house; I desperately want him not to sell it to you. Kissing each other is a confusion neither of us needs.”
“Says who?”
“Besides,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You have women tripping over themselves to be with you, so there’s no need to waste time pretending to be interested in me. Here,” she gestured to a small row of shops up on the left.
He pulled the car to a stop in an empty space and scanned the building. Her own shop was right there—Flowers by Maddison. That explained the arrangement in the kitchen.
“I am interested in you,” he said, with genuine surprise in his voice. “I didn’t expect to be, and it’s not exactly convenient, given we’re at loggerheads about the house. That doesn’t change the fact that I also…didn’t hate kissing you.”
Her mouth went dry; her insides popped and fizzed.
“I liked it,” he corrected, reaching over and catching her face with the palm of his hand, angling her towards him. Or was she pulled there by gravitational forces she couldn’t explain? “I’d like to do it again.”
And he did. But this time, there was no slow and gentle enquiry, no building up of desire. This time, he kissed her in a way that stirred her insides to mush and made her whole body sing; he kissed her in a way that was like lava being poured into her soul. She was awash with heat and simmering all over, at risk of melting into the leather seat of his car.
“Rocco,” she groaned his name into his mouth, a plea—not to stop but to help her understand, because this was all so sudden, and so beyond her. It was madness and mayhem; it was perfection.
“Come to my hotel tonight,” he said, the invitation unmistakable. “Not because of the house, but because of this.” He moved his mouth lower, to her throat, flicking the pulse point there with his tongue until she was incandescent. His hand dropped to her side, separating her shirt from her pants, brushing her bare flesh. She trembled in the seat, flush and hungry.
“I can’t,” she tilted her head back though, granting him more access to the sensitive skin at the base of her throat.
He grinned slowly, ran his hand higher, up her torso, towards the underside of her breast, cupping her there in a move that was brazen and bold, and not quite enough. She sought his mouth with her own, kissing him again, moving her body deeper into his grip, so his fingers ran over her nipples, taut beneath the fabric of her clothes. Every brush, every touch, made her body sing, until she was a choir all on her own, humming just for Rocco.
“Come to my hotel tonight,” he said again, this time throatier, raw, a plea that flooded her veins.
There was no ambivalence about what he was offering.
Sex.
One night. No promises, no strings.
No potential for hurt.
This wouldn’t be like with Brock, who’d flirted with her and promised her, so many times she lost count, that he was the man she could count on. The man she’d been secretly waiting for. Someone who would build a family with her. Someone she could trust.
If only he’d been honest.
If only she hadn’t let herself care for him.
If only she’d seen things for what they really were.
At least with Rocco, she’d never make that mistake. She’d never be stupid enough to think he was offering more than this; she’d never want him to. Rocco Santoro was fine to sleep with but definitely not to care for.
“You’re a sleaze,” she said, pulling away and looking at him directly in the eye.
A frown glanced across his features.
“I don’t mean that to be rude, I’m just clarifying things. You’re someone who sleeps around, and now you want to sleep with me. Right?”
His brows knit together. “My sex life is not particularly relevant.”
She made a scoffing noise. “Were you not just propositioning me to have a starring—albeit temporary—role in your sex life?”
