Page 67 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

Another step. Then his hand reaches out, grazing my exposed thigh and wrapping around to my ass. “Fuck,dolcezza.The things you do to me.”

I swallow hard, the air thick with want. “You better get used to it.”

His eyes flick to my lips. “That a promise?”

I smirk, pushing past him toward the mirror near the door. “Depends how well you behave.”

Behind me, his stare is as tangible as his hands. Heavy. Hot. Possessive.

This game we’re playing is a dangerous one.

And I’m not sure I want it to stop.

As we stand side by side at the mirror by the door, Alessio adjusts the cuffs of his navy suit jacket.

The material molds to his frame like it was stitched by the devil himself, sleek, dark, and sinfully tailored. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric just right, and the crisp white shirt beneath makes his olive skin look even warmer.

His jaw is freshly shaven, lips a shade I’ve become too familiar with, and his cologne wraps around me in a way that feels... intentional. Disarming.

God help me, he looks like the kind of man who ruins you and makes you say thank you, and then ruins you all over again just for the pleasure of hearing it twice.

My breath hitches, heat creeping up my chest, because no one should be allowed to look that good in a suit and still smell like sin and cinnamon.

Then he meets my gaze in the mirror.

“You’re starting to feel like home,” he says softly.

I freeze.

Not because he says it like flirtation.

Because he says it like a truth.

And it scares the hell out of me. Because I want to believe it.

My throat tightens.

I look away, but not before I see the way he’s watching me.

Like I’m the only thing he’s sure of in a world that keeps changing.

And suddenly, the line between pretending and wanting blurs again, softening beneath the weight of his gaze and the way my pulse jumps every time he calls me his.

If this is an illusion, it’s the most dangerous one I’ve ever wanted to believe.

16

ALESSIO

I tap the steering wheel as I drive through the quieter part of Brooklyn, the city finally giving us a moment of peace. No security detail tonight. No press flashing bulbs in my face. Just us. Me and Sophie.

The charity event yesterday went better than anyone expected, flawless on the surface, a PR dream. But the part that keeps replaying in my head?

Sophie. Laughing. Letting loose. Her heels kicked off under the table, another glass of wine in her hand, her arm brushing mine like we belonged together.

For a few hours, it didn’t feel like a performance. It felt like... us. Real. Uncomplicated. And fuck, if it didn’t feel dangerously perfect.

I glance at her now in the passenger seat, hair pulled up, neck exposed, that short little dress hugging every curve like it was stitched onto her skin.

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