I quickly wipe it away, angry at myself for this weakness, for this crack in my armor.
He takes another step toward me, closing the small distance between us, and before I can step back, he gently takes my face in his hands.
He brings my face to his and kisses me.
I make a weak soundof protest.
"One more," he murmurs against my lips. "One more and I'll let you go."
I don't know if it's the desperation in his voice or the fact that I'm so tired of fighting, but I stop struggling. I let him kiss me. I let him deepen the kiss, and I feel a fresh wave of tears sting my eyes as I kiss him back.
It's not the kiss of a predator claiming his prize. It's not the kiss of a man trying to close a deal. It's a sad, desperate, achingly tender kiss. A goodbye kiss. And I hate myself for the fact that a part of me doesn't want it to end.
A part of me wants to melt into him and forget everything else. So I do, for just one moment. I gather his shirt in my fingers and open to him. A soft moan escapes my throat as his tongue tangles with mine.
I’m so weak for him. I was so weak for him from the beginning. I was weak from the moment he looked at me at that party, from the moment I heard his voice in my ear, from the moment he smiled at me. I didn’t stand a chance.
I sob into his mouth, a ragged, broken sound. And he just holds me tighter, pouring everything he has into this one last kiss. Everything he's not saying. Everything he can't say.
I pull away, my chest heaving, my face wet with tears. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do this anymore.
He rests his forehead against mine, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, wiping away the tears I didn't even realize were still falling.
"This is so stupid," I choke out, my voice breaking. "I don't even know why I'm crying." I press my lips to his again and murmur, "I barely know you." Another deep, consuming kiss. "I barely know you, and it feels like I'm losing everything."
"You're not losing anything,dolcezza," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You're choosing yourself."
He's right. I know he's right. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like I'm being torn in two. One half of me wants to run and never look back. The other half wants to stay here, in this room, in his arms, and let the world burn down around us.
"I'm so mad at you," I say between kisses. "I'm so mad at you for doing this to me."
"I know," he murmurs against my lips. "I'm mad at me, too."
I press my lips firmly to his again, and it's a frantic, desperate thing. I'm trying to memorize the way he tastes, the way he feels, the way he makes my heart feel like it's going to beat right out of my chest. I'm trying to commit it all to memory because I know, with a certainty that feels like a physical blow, that this is it.
This is the last time.
This has to be the last time.
Because if I let this happen again, I know I won't be strong enough to walk away a second time.
I pull away and bury my face in his shirt. I breathe in his scent—spicy and intoxicating—and it makes my head spin.He holds me, his arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my head, and for a few seconds, I let myself believe that this is real. That this can last.
But it can't.
And I know it.
I push away from him, my hands flat on his chest, creating a space between us that feels like a chasm. "I can't do this," I say, my voice shaking. "I can't. I have to go."
I turn and practically run for the door, not daring to look back. He doesn’t call my name.
Chapter TwentyOne
Antonio
I’m on the bed in the suite Elsa and I spent the night in, staring at the ceiling like it’s going to give me the answers if I look long enough.
It’s pathetic. I know it is. I can hear my own voice saying it in my head—Antonio Conti, grown man, strategist, the one who always has a plan, lying on a hotel bed because he can’t let go of a woman he knew for a day.