Page 6 of His to Win

“That’s a lot of pressure,” he agrees, “especially with your family watching and ready to be critical of your every move.” He raises a hand, calling the server over.

I’m not sure I can handle another martini on an empty stomach, so I’m glad to hear him order food.

“I figured we should soak up some of the alcohol,” he says, and I laugh.

“Probably a good idea.” I’m completely at ease and loosened up. The conversation flows effortlessly and I was right about asking Enzo for his opinion because the man has a brilliant business mind. It’s like I’m sitting in a master class as he shares some of his tips and tricks. And I soak up every last drop of his wisdom, mentally taking notes.

For the next two hours, we talk about work, but we also flirt outrageously. He scooted his chair around the small table and now we’re sitting side by side. Every so often, he touches my hand or arm and an electrical zing shoots through me.

“So, what’s your final opinion on my potential acquisition?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and studying the sharp line of his chiseled jaw. It was clean-shaven earlier, but now I can see the dark five o’clock shadow growing in and it’s got me squeezing my thighs together. The man is too damn sexy for his own good. Thoughts of his stubbled jaw scraping along my inner thigh has my panties soaked.

“After everything you told me, I’d say it sounds like a very good deal and sound investment.” He eyes me closely. “I’d go for it.”

I send him a sly smile. “Maybe I will.”

For a long moment, we just stare at each other and I can feel my heart thrumming in my ears. Then Enzo’s attention drops to my lips. Before I can register what’s happening, he leans in, places a large hand on my leg, and kisses me. It’s exactly like I imagined it would be. Enzo is the kind of man who doesn’t play games and knows what he wants—and right now, he clearly wants to kiss the shit out of me.

Sighing into his mouth, he doesn’t hesitate and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue between my lips. It moves against mine, exploring my mouth and sending tingles down my spine. Oh, my God, can this man kiss.

Since we’re in public, he breaks it off sooner than I would’ve liked. A shaky breath escapes from between my lips and I know I’m going home with him tonight. All he has to do is crook his finger at me.

“If you’re not busy, you should come back to my place for dessert. I have some homemade cannoli. If you’re interested…”

Oh, hell yeah, I’m interested. But not in cannoli.

“Let’s go.” I grab my purse and reach inside to pull out my wallet when he narrows his eyes at me.

“Don’t you dare, Bri,” he says, plucking out his credit card. Of course, it’s a black Amex.

“But I invited you,” I insist. “I should pay.”

“How about you pay me back in some other way,” he suggests, voice low and husky.

As the server grabs his card, I feel my heart accelerate in anticipation of what’s to come. “Got any suggestions?” I ask, voice far too breathy.

“How about we start with another kiss?”

I lick my lips. “Okay, but outside,” I murmur. The server can’t come back fast enough and as soon as Enzo signs, we both pop up and practically bolt out of the restaurant. I hand the valet my ticket and while he retrieves the car, Enzo lays his hands on either side of my face, tilts my head back and kisses me deeply.

Oh, God. My knees threaten to give out and we kiss and kiss until I hear the roar of my Hellcat’s engine as it pulls up alongside us.

“To be continued,” he murmurs seductively and my clit pulses in answer. “Can I drive?”

At this point, Enzo Rossi can do whatever he wants. I feel like putty in his hands and when I nod, he exchanges a tip for the key fob with the valet. Enzo opens the passenger door and I slide inside, unbuttoning my jacket and struggling to pull in a full breath of air. I’m ready to jump him, so I hope he doesn’t live too far away.

Enzo pushes the seat back to accommodate his ridiculously long legs then adjusts the mirror. He looks right at home behind the wheel of my baby and he grins as he revs the powerful engine. “Better buckle up, Ms. Bianche,” he says, echoing my earlier statement to him.

Once I do, he cranks the wheel, hits the gas and we zoom away.

“Where do you live?” I ask, leaning back in the comfy seat. I’ve never been a passenger in my own car before.

“Hudson Yards.”

“Oh, by the pier.”

“It’s a refurbished warehouse loft.”

“Nice.” I can only imagine how cool his place must be. The man has money to burn and I’m curious to see what his home looks like. Although if he’s like me, he probably spends more time at the office than there.

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