I know when to read actions and this man is all about motion.
Massimo lifts his mouth from my skin. Those firm lips brush over my cheek until his mouth is back on the shell of my ear. “Ahh, Sloane. Trouble has found you. Will you let me help you?”
Raw heat explodes through me.
No. That’s wrong. Not explode. What is happening inside me is so much more chaotic and all-consuming as a result of those few words whispered to me.
"Okay." And this time when I speak there’s no controlling the wavering sound of my voice.
His exhale is sharp. Relief. Like he was braced for a no and my yes took the ground out from under him. "Okay?"
I nod instead of using my words.
The edges of Massimo’s lips coil into a dangerous smile. He steps back, slowly releasing me. But his hands linger on my bare arms a moment longer before dropping to his sides.
He opens the leather folio and pulls the contract free. Three pages. Cream-colored paper, heavyweight, and expensive between my fingers. He spreads them across my kitchen counter and his handwriting fills the margins where he's annotatedclauses in black ink, precise and slanted and offensively attractive because apparently even his penmanship has to be sexy.
Get it together, Whitmore.
I pick up page one and scan the first paragraph while he stands on the other side of my counter looking distractingly handsome. He opens my cabinet, finds the whiskey I keep behind the coffee mugs, and pours two glasses without asking where anything is. I guess because that is where my father keeps his stash too and Massimo figured I’d do the same.
Mine sits untouched because if I add alcohol to this situation, I will sign the contract and climb the man without reading a single thing and that is no bueno. I need to at least pretend I'm a woman who reads the fine print before she detonates her entire life.
"Hmm. Clause four," I say, tapping the paper. "My obedience. That's a broad term. You could order me to use a litter box and howl at the moon for all I know."
Massimo lifts his glass, takes a slow pull of whiskey, and sets it down on my counter without breaking eye contact. "It's intentionally broad and I don’t like cats. Now howling at the moon… that could be kinky."
I brush his musings aside when I see he’s not taking me seriously. "So you could, theoretically, order me to do anything."
He lifts a heavy shoulder with a shrug of what I take as indifference. "Theoretically."
"Like make me sit across from my father at Sunday dinner and pretend I don't know what your mouth tastes like."
He sets his glass down slowly, the crystal clicking against the marble. "That would require a level of self-control neither of us has demonstrated so far."
"So we skip Sunday dinners. I don’t think he wants to see me anytime soon anyway."
"Maybe. I don’t think complete silence is good for either of you. I could sit next to you instead of across from you and keep my hand on your thigh under the table while your father says grace."
My face burns. My thighs press together under the counter and I grip the edge of the paper hard enough to crease the corner. "That is not in the contract."
"Consider it a verbal amendment."
Now I know he’s teasing me.
I huff out a sigh of frustration.
“The pink in your cheeks makes them kissable.” He moves around the counter and takes my face in his hands. The scratch of his beard grazes my cheek as his lips press over the heated skin. His body heat wraps around me and for a moment I forget what we are doing.
“Massimo–”
“Did you intentionally message me on your birthday,” he husks, pressing his forehead against mine.
My inner devilish angel sits up and takes notice. Oh, wouldn’t he like to know?
My lips pull into a grin. His grip on me loosens a fraction, and he caresses my pulse point with the pad of his thumb.
I turn my face up to his. “Take me to bed and I’ll whisper the answer in your ear,” I offer in a sexy voice I never imagined using on Massimo Santoro.