Page 80 of Nicoli

“Is it a party or something? Because you told me to wear something casual.” I try to free my hand, but he only clutches it tighter as we enter the elevator. “Nicoli Del Rossa, if you let me wear denim jeans and boots, knowing you’re taking me to a party, I swear to God I will twist your nipples in your sleep.”

The elevator doors close, and Nicoli pushes me against the cold steel. “What you’re wearing doesn’t matter at all. At. All.”

“What? Why? Nicoli, you underestimate the power of first impressions, and I—”

“You’re not going to be wearing anything within the next fucking twenty minutes,” he snaps. “In fact, you’ll be wearing nothing for the rest of the night. Now, will you shut up?”

I study him, biting my lip. “Okay, now I’m nervous.”

“For Christ’s sake, woman.” He pushes himself off me and straightens, pulling a hand through his hair.

“Why are you so tense?”

“I’m tense because I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Do what?”

He presses his lips in a thin line, casting his gaze up to the elevator's roof. It stops and pings, the doors sliding open, revealing a professional and sleek foyer, almost like an attorney’s office or the doctor’s reception area. I freeze, staring out in front of me without blinking. “Nicoli Del Rossa, where the fuck are we?”

“Just walk.”

I grab the iron handlebar, forcing my heels down. “Is this where husbands bring their wives to off them or something?”

“What?Offthem?” He sends me a skeptical look. “You need to stop watching movies.”

“I don’t watch movies.”

“Then where the fuck does your wild imagination come from?”

I blink. “Books.”

“Books? I’ve never seen you read a book.”

“What do you think I’m doing on my phone at night?”

“I don’t know. Playing Candy Crush or something?”

“Who still plays Candy Crush?”

“What kind of books do you read?”

“Real dark and dirty books.”

Nicoli plants his hand on the elevator door as it starts to close again. “Dark and…dirty?”

“Where do you think I learned that thing I did last night?”

“I assumed Tuscany.”

“Why do you always assume it’s Tuscany?”

“Because apparently everything happens in Tuscany.”

I frown at him, unamused. “Not everything.” I glance past him. “Almosteverything.”

“For fuck’s sake, woman.” He grabs my hand and drags me out of the elevator.

He’s so wound up he doesn’t even give me a minute to admire the paintings against the wall.

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