Page 102 of My Italian Love Affair

And yet, it hasn’t settled anything.

It just left me wantingmore.

I curse, shoving the sheets off me as I sit up on the edge of the bed, my hands dragging down my face.

This isn’t me.

I fuck, and I move on.

I don’t get obsessed. I don’t do attachment.

But withher-

Well.

When it comes to Daphne Sinclair, apparently it’s not that simple.

I push off the bed and stride into the en-suite bathroom, cleaning up the mess I made -because of her- before flicking on the cold water and splashing it over my face.

I need to snap the fuck out of it.

She’s a journalist. She’s here for a few months, and then she’s gone.

I can’t afford to want her.

Not like this. Not when deep down, I know that one night will never be enough.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my chest rising and falling in time with the lingering frustration still thrumming through me.

She was already under my skin. I’d come to accept that.

Butnow?

Now, I know that she’s not getting out.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Daphne

Iwake up with a pounding headache.

I’m not hungover. I’m pretty sure that my headache isn’t a consequence of alcohol.

After all, I’d only had one glass of champagne all evening - and I hadn’t even finished that.

No, my current headache comes as a direct result of the mess of thoughts swirling in my mind.

And the moment my eyes open, the memories of last night crash into me all over again.

Matteo.

His hands. His mouth.

The way he felt against me,insideme.

I squeeze my eyes shut and groan, dragging a pillow over my face as though it might hide away the picture of him in my mind.

What the fuck was I thinking?!

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