Page 54 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

I blink rapidly, the burn behind my eyes rising. “My father, Denver…they don't know anything about it. If my father knew, I probably wouldn’t have been hired to take lead on the Marchetti and Salvatore merger."

Anger builds inside me when I think of my father and what he said back then.

"What did you do to mess this up."

I never told him. He’d probably blame it on me anyway.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Alessio growls.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I signed an NDA before I left. And even if I hadn’t, no one would’ve listened. Not when it’s Cash Carson versus me. Afterwards, Cash told me I should’ve just been a good girl and played the game.”

Alessio mutters something sharp under his breath in Italian, then adds, “That rhinestone-wrapped hillbilly jackass is lucky I don’t shove his own microphone down his throat.”

A broken laugh escapes me. “Yeah. Well. That’s been well-established.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand.

And I don’t pull away.

The tension between us is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and pent-up emotions.

Alessio's hand on mine is a grounding force, a lifeline in the storm of my memories. The heat of his touch, the rough calluses on his fingers, the strength in his grip are a stark contrast to the softness of his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, sending shivers up my arm.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. My heart pounds in my chest, my blood rushes in my ears.

I want him. I want him with a desperation that scares me. I want his hands on me, his mouth on mine. I want to lose myself in him.

The pulse in my throat won’t settle. An ache builds low in my belly, electric and coiled. Every brush of his skin against mine is gasoline to a fire I’ve tried too hard to smother.

I lean in, just a fraction, and his breath hitches again.

His hand tightens on mine, his thumb stilling. The tension in his muscular body, the coiled energy just beneath the surface are palpable. The heat radiating off him, the scent of him, spicy and masculine and intoxicating…

He watches me as if he knows exactly what I’m feeling. As if he feels it too.

I reach up, my hand cupping his cheek.

His stubble is rough against my palm, but his skin is soft, warm.

He leans into my touch, his eyes never leaving mine.

There’s a struggle there, a battle between his anger and his desire. But there’s also surrender, the moment he gives in to the need.

I should stop this. I should pull away, remind myself that this is temporary. Messy. Dangerous.

But I don’t move.

He leans in, close enough for me to savor his breath, warm with a faint aroma of spearmint and sin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

I don’t. Because I can’t.

Not when his thumb grazes my jaw.

Not when his gaze drops to my lips and stays there.

Not when he closes the distance between us, his mouth crashing down on mine.

---