Page 83 of My Italian Love Affair

And everything shifts.

Daphne Sinclair.

And fuck me, she looks…

Stunning.

The word doesn’t even come close.

It’s inadequate. Too simple. Too small.

There isn’t a word in any language that could do her justice.

She’s breathtaking. She’s devastating.

She’s fuckingunreal.

My feet slow of their own accord, something low and deep tightening in my chest.

She’s wearing a long, black gown that hugs her body in all the right ways, the silky fabric flowing effortlessly over curves I already know would feel like heaven beneath my hands. There’s a slit up her leg, just high enough to make my mouth dry, and her auburn hair is curled, soft waves framing her face and cascading over her bare shoulders.

Then, there’s her lips -fuck, herlips.

They’re painted the kind of deep red that makes my fingers twitch with the urge to smear it with my mouth.

And the worst part?

She doesn’t even look like she’s trying.

She’s justeffortlesslybeautiful, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s by far the most stunning woman in the room.

And the moment her sharp green eyes land on mine, I smirk.

At this point, it’s instinct.

Because I see it.

The way her breath catches for half a second. The way her eyes widen ever so slightly. The way her lips part just so - like she didn’t even realise she was doing it.

It’s subtle, but I see it.

Andfuck, if it doesn’t go straight to my head.

Straight to mycock.

Right then - right in that second - it hits me.

She’smine.

I have to have her.

I don’t know when. I don’t know how.

But I know that it’s inevitable.

I let my smirk deepen, tilting my head just slightly like I’m considering something, just to see how she reacts.

She narrows her eyes immediately, straightening her posture like she’s trying to shake off whatever just passed between us.

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