“And now?”
He looks down at me, his expression unreadable for half a beat.
Then his mouth curves.
“Now,” he says, sliding his hand to the small of my back, “you’re carrying my children, moving into my home, and looking at me like you want me to drag you into the bedroom.”
Heat blooms hot and fast across my skin.
“You make me sound shameless.”
His hand tightens slightly.
“Dolcezza, I would never complain about that.”
I laugh again, softer this time, and tip my face up toward his.
The kiss he gives me isn’t rushed.
It’s slow.
Claiming.
Certain.
The kind of kiss that reminds me exactly who this man is.
And exactly who I belong to.
When he lifts his head, I’m breathless.
His forehead rests briefly against mine.
“We should finish packing,” I whisper.
“We should,” he agrees.
Neither of us moves.
His gaze drops once more to the dress still hanging from his arm.
“Later,” he says, voice low.
The promise in it sends a shiver through me.
I smile.
Because now I know exactly what later means.
Antonio
I’m in the kitchen packing up some things for Elsa. I’m not exactly sure what she wants regarding cookware since she isn’t much on cooking, but I can at least pack the perishables.
The rest can be packed up later.
The apartment is quiet except for the rustle of packing paper, the low hum of the refrigerator, and the occasional muted thud of me setting something into the cooler bag.
Then I hear it.