Page 47 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
He lifts his brows, obviously amused. “You have the most interesting internal conversations. Are you going to choke me?”
I growl. It sounds silly, like a kitten trying to be scary.
Matteo leans forward. My arm is still locked at the elbow, so it puts more pressure around his throat. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Go ahead. I know you want to.”
Boy, do I. I curl my other hand around his neck so now I’ve got him good and surrounded. I feel his pulse, beating hard against my palms. It’s weirdly arousing.
Intently watching my face, he whispers, “Those eyes.”
Then from the doorway comes a sharp voice.
“What’s going on here?”
“Nothing to worry about, only Kimber trying to strangle me.” Matteo turns around and smiles at his mother as I whip my hands guiltily around my back.
The marchesa’s frosty gaze cuts to me, then back to Matteo. In her arms, Beans is dressed in a white nightgown that matches her mistress’s. She’s baring her teeth.
“Ah. I see you’re working your usual charm.” The marchesa glances back at me. “If you really want to annoy him, make fun of his hair. He’s obsessed he might lose it.”
She turns on her heel an
d leaves, her nightgown billowing like a sail behind her.
I gape after her, breath leaking from my lungs like a tire leaking air. “Did your mother just diss you?”
Matteo regards me with a sour twist to his lips. “No.”
“She totally did! Oh my God, I need to buy a lottery ticket. Do they have the lottery in this country? ’Cause this has got to be some kind of sign from the universe that my luck is changing.”
The rest of Matteo’s face turns sour, and now I’m gloating. “Aw, whassa matter, Mattie? Did Mommy hurt widdle Mattie’s feewings?”
The stare he sends me smolders with annoyance.
It’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen.
I smile at him and bat my lashes. This game of tit for tat wasn’t fun, up until now. “Do I detect a chink in your glossy shining armor, stepbrother dearest? Have I finally found your Achilles’ heel? Mumsy-Wumsy despises you as much as I do, is that it?”
He says darkly, “Careful.”
For some reason, that particular word, spoken in that particular tone, gives me pause. “Oh. You actually think she does?”
Matteo says nothing. He simply stares at me with his hands clenched, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
I’m tempted to tell him how her eyes lit up when Lorenzo announced his arrival, but keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t deserve peace of mind. He fake kissed me.
“Well, this has been real. But it’s late, and I need to get to bed.”
Matteo’s gaze drifts to the bed. I picture us together on it, writhing around in a sweaty, moaning tangle. I swallow so loudly it sounds like a cartoon.
“Certo,” says Matteo gruffly, still staring at the bed. Then he turns and heads to the door. Just as he’s about to pass through it, he stops, puts a hand on the doorframe, and turns back. “Since you’re going to be living in Italy now, I assume you’ll be attending Fashion Week in Milan next month?”
His face is impassive, but there’s something I don’t trust simmering in his eyes. “I’d have to get an invitation. Why do you ask?”
He allows himself a smile, but there’s not a trace of humor in it. “I think you’ll be interested to see the House of Moretti’s spring collection. We have some truly incredible new designs.”
He lets that sink in for a moment. When I realize his meaning and suck in a breath, his humorless smile grows wider.
He raps on the frame with his knuckles. “Sweet dreams.”
