Page 90 of My Italian Love Affair

Or his stupidly handsome face.

“You think I neededsaving?” I throw back at him, my breath coming faster now. “You clearly don’t know a damn thing about me. I’ve been handling that man just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

For a split second, Matteo’s smirk falters, the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes betraying him.

But then he steps forward just as quickly, effectively closing the remaining space between us.

“I didn’t say youcouldn’thandle it,” he says through gritted teeth. “I just didn’t think you shouldhaveto.”

His words land on me like a weight.

Something in the way he says it makes me feel like he wasn’t just defending me in that moment, but he was somehow alsoprotectingme.

The thought makes my stomach churn and my heart race all at once.

I inhale sharply in an attempt to ground myself, but before I can form a retort, I realise I’ve stepped too far into his space.

Too far into his territory.

And I feel it again.

This thing I’ve been trying to ignore. This feeling I’ve been doing my best to push down.

Thispullbetween us.

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” I tell him, my voice trembling despite myself. “I can handle that man - andanything else- on my own, without you playing the white knight.”

He’s so close that I can feel his breath against my skin, his chest rising and falling in time with mine.

“You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice now a low rasp. “You don’t need saving.”

He leans closer still, and I can’t breathe, my pulse hammering in my throat.

"But if you think for one moment that I can just stand by and let someone talk to you like that - letanyonetreat you like that - then you're fuckingwrong.”

I swallow hard, my whole body alight with anger, confusion, and something else.

Something that makes my hands tremble at my sides.

“I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect,” I say, the words raw and unsteady. “I can handle myself."

His eyes flick to my lips for a brief moment, and the change is instantaneous.

Like a spark igniting a fire, the switch flips.

“No,” he growls. “I don’t want you to handle yourself. I’ll handle you just fine.”

And then, without another word, Matteo closes the distance between us, his large hands gripping my shoulders with undeniable force as his mouth crashes into mine.

It’s rough. It’s heated.

There’s no gentleness, no hesitation.

Every bit of frustration, every ounce of tension that’s built between us in the last few days, the last fewweeksseems to collapse into our kiss.

I don’t pull away.

Ican’t.

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