Page 160 of Lorenzo

“I disagree.”

His mouth curves. He walks to the bed and leans down, placing one hand beside my hip.

He kisses me once, slowly, as though he has every right.

I kiss him back before I can remind myself that he does not.

When he straightens, I tighten the comforter around me.

“You’re very casual about this.”

“About breakfast?”

“About waking up in my house.”

“I slept well.”

“I wasn't asking for a review of your stay.”

“I also enjoyed the accommodations.”

I throw a pillow at him.

He catches it and places it neatly back on the bed.

“Get dressed, Donatella.”

“Stop ordering me around.”

“Then remain naked. I have no objection. But be warned, I may not leave if that’s what you choose.”

He turns and walks out of the room.

I stare after him.

By the time I come downstairs in leggings and a loose shirt, he has found the coffee, the filters, and the mugs.

Mocha is sitting beside him.

Traitor.

Lorenzo looks over his shoulder as I enter the kitchen.

“Where do you keep the pans?”

I stop near the island. “Why?”

“I’m making breakfast.”

“You cook?”

He turns fully toward me.

“I’m Italian.”

“It's not a requirement.”

“It should be.” He opens the wrong cabinet, closes it, and tries the next one.