Page 69 of My Italian Love Affair

Her lashes flutter, and for the briefest second, she leans in -

And then voices echo from the adjoining corridor, snapping us both back into reality.

Daphne’s eyes go wide, panic flickering across her face as the footsteps grow louder.

I take a quick step back, exhaling sharply as I shove my hands back into my pockets. She straightens, inhaling deeply and blinking a few times like she’s resetting her brain.

And then - once she seems to have remembered herself - she turns her glare back to me.

Her cheeks are still flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, looking utterly flustered - andveryfuckable.

"I hate you," she whispers furiously, and then she storms off, her head held high, her spine rigid.

I watch her go.

Watch the sway of her hips, the way they roll with every step, the smooth curve of her waist tapering into those high-waisted trousers that fit her like a damn dream.

Watch the way her breath stutters, her shoulders rising and falling just a little too quickly, like she’s still trying to shake off whatever just passed between us.

Her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, like she’s resisting the urge to touch her own skin - to chase the heat I left behind when I pressed her against the wall. She swallows hard, tilting her chin up as if sheer defiance alone will steady her.

But I see it.

The way her thighs squeeze together for half a second before she forces them apart.

The way her hands fist at her sides, tense, restless.

The way she walks a little too fast, like she’s trying to outrun whatever this is between us.

I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through my hair as I attempt -unsuccessfully- to steady my pulse.

Fuck. This woman is going to ruin me.

I glance down.

And -double fuck.

Ofcourse.

Of course, I’m standing here, very visibly hard, in the worstpossible choice of clothing.

Grey. Fucking. Sweatpants.

I close my eyes, gritting my teeth as frustration and something much darker coil tight in my gut.

This is bad.Reallyfucking bad.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself to let it go, to shake her off, to treat her like just another journalist with a microphone and an agenda…

She’s under my skin.

Again.

And I have a feeling she’s not going anywhere.

Chapter Twenty-One

Daphne

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