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“Problem?”

“Keep talking.”

“You like my talking now?”

“Right now I’d let you read the fucking dictionary.”

I laugh. Then lose the laugh completely when his hand finds exactly the right place.

“Oh, you cheating bastard.”

His eyes open. “Thought it was your show.”

“It was.”

“Still is.”

“That hand says otherwise.”

“You want me to move it?”

“No.”

His smile is intolerable. “Thought so.”

I lean down and kiss him because murder would probably ruin the romantic atmosphere.

The pleasure builds faster this time because there is no fear getting in the way of it, no part of me standing outside my own body evaluating every flaw. There is just Enzo beneath me, his hands on me, and the startling realization that I feel desirable. Not tolerated. Not pretty for thirty-seven. Not attractive despite the extra softness around my middle. Wanted. Completely.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do. Something in his expression nearly undoes me before his touch can.

“Beautiful.”

I shake my head.

“Bridget.”

“Don’t get sentimental while I’m naked.”

His mouth curves. “Come here.”

He pulls me down and kisses me, and whatever joke I had left dissolves against his lips. When the pleasure finally crests, I bury my face against his neck and hold on. Enzo holds me tighter. His control doesn’t last much longer.

Afterward, I collapse across his chest, breathing hard enough to be personally offended by my cardiovascular system. Neither of us speaks for several seconds. Then I lift my head.

“Well.”

Enzo laughs, his chest moving beneath my cheek. “That again?”

“I’m updating my review.”

“And?”

I pretend to consider it. “The Malibu branch shows promise.”

“Shows promise?”