Page 46 of The Crowned Garza
“Pick another gift.”
“Trust me, you don’t wanna hear what else is on the list of things I want from you,” I tell him. “A kiss is as harmless as it gets.”
He regards me contemplatively, tapping his thumb against his chin. “If I give you this ‘gift,’ will you leave me the fuck alone?”
“Only if it’s good. So don’t bother trying to be a bad kisser to throw me off.”
A slight smile tugs at one corner of his mouth as he mutters under his breath, “There goes that plan...”
He stands, reminding me how toweringly tall he is.
Disbelief has me forgetting how to breathe.He’s entertaining me?He’ll really do it?
Nah, he’s likely gearing up to shove me out of the room and slam the door in my face. That’s more on-brand for him.
As he closes the gap between us, I tip my head back in accommodation of his height. Slowly, as if giving me time, he removes his glasses and rests them on the keyboard.
Breathe. Remember to breathe. He won’t do it. He’s messing with you.
Heated amber eyes settle on my mouth. “Change your mind?”
Forcing out the breath caught in my throat, I shake my head.
“Good, ’cause it’s too late to back out.”
With that, he cups the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine. No hesitation, his tongue delves inside and declares its presence with confidence and prowess, with flow and rhythm, giving me no chance to reciprocate, to pick up the gauntlet thrown down. He kisses me with greed and dominance. With a controlled fierceness that exposes his desire—he’s wanted thismorethan I do, for longer than I have.
This isn’t a gift. This is plundering.
I love it.With a melting heart, I take what he gives, letting his desire taste mine.
Until he slows, punctuating the end with a stinging nip at my lower lip.
We part, breaths short, and stare at each other.
I glide my tongue across my lips, licking up the vestiges of him. “That was—”
Saint clasps my face and slams his mouth to mine again, whisking me into a whipping vortex of a kiss. And it feels like I’m being kissed by an entirely different person. This kiss is all hunger and greed with zero control or flow. It’s as if he’s strapped me into a pressurized rocket with him, blasting us off into blazing chaos.
I flatten my palms to the desk beneath me and brace for… I don’t even know what.
Mother of sins, this man can kiss.
Abruptly, he rips away and growls the Italian equivalent of “Fuck!” under his breath. With another grumbled curse, he plants his hands on the desk on either side of me and grits out, “Happy?”
“Horny,” I whisper.
Something akin to a defeated sigh flows from him, and he hangs his head, muttering, “Jesú Cristo.”
“I know you’re religious and all, but don’t bring Him into this right now,” I say. “It’s just us here. This isourmoment.”
“There’s no ‘us’ or ‘our.’” He straightens and backs up from me. “Now leave, like you agreed.”
“I said I’d leave if the kiss was good. It wasn’t. That kiss was awful. Ghastly.” I reach out to grab his arm and tug him back to me, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m kind, generous, and believe in second chances, so I’ll let you give it another go.”
He steps out of my reach and strides to the door, standing off to the side. “This is your house now. You don’t have to leave it. But I need you to leavemealone to focus on what I came here to do.”
“I’m not—”
