Page 24 of The Lies We Tell

Matteo shrugged. “A hobby. Did you need something?” He indicated the stack of folders he’d carried in with him from the car. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Damn it. She’d meant to come in here and get him to kiss her, and instead they’d talked about art she didn’t care about. She needed a change of venue. Something more romantic to set the mood.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to sit out on the balcony with me tonight. Enjoy the new space heater together.” She sent him what she hoped was a flirty smile.

Matteo stared at her for a long moment. “Do you have something in your eye?”

Thrown off guard, she blinked. “What?”

“You keep fluttering your eyelids. Do you have dirt in your eye or something?” He frowned, and she tried to figure out if he was actually concerned or making fun of her.

“My eye is fine,” she said, her irritation warring with her desire to keep that sweet, innocent facade in place.

“I can ask Giulia to get you some drops.”

“I don’t need fucking eyedrops,” she snapped. “Do you want to sit out on the balcony later or not?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t give in to it. Instead he lifted his hand and crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer. Her instinct was to disobey purely on principle, but she needed him to say yes, needed him to kiss her, needed him to do more. Need. Not want. That’s what she kept reminding herself.

“Tessa, are you trying to get me alone with you?” he asked when she stopped in front of the desk.

“What?” Fuck’s sake, she never knew what this man was going to say next. “Why would I need to get you alone? We’re alone right now.”

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes darkening as he rounded the desk to stand in front of her. “We are. Why do you want to sit on the balcony with me?”

“To say…” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, stomach tightening when his eyes fixated on her mouth. “To say thank you. For the heater. And for…” He took a step closer, and every thought drained from her head.

“For?” he prompted.

He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He was so warm, so inviting. And he smelled good. Were men supposed to smell that good? Seemed like it might be a crime.

Jesus. Focus. She had to focus. This was what she needed him to do. To kiss her again so she could get him to take it to the next step and be closer to freedom.

“For everything you’ve done for me. I wanted to say thank you.” She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her eyes.

He didn’t speak, and the silence made her feel stupid. She was obviously reading these signs and signals of his all wrong. Maybe she should kiss him and be the one to make the first move. The rejection might sting in the moment, but at least she’d know exactly where they stood and how much work she had left to do.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, pushing onto her tiptoes and tugging the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer.

Her mouth crashed into his, and she couldn’t help the little sigh that escaped her. His hands immediately found her hips, kneading and squeezing while her tongue darted out to trace across his lower lip.

He groaned at the contact, and the sound reverberated into her bones. It was such a perfect sound, deep and gravelly. She wanted to hear it again, so she gently sucked his upper lip into her mouth and nibbled it with her teeth.

This time his groan was louder, and his hands tightened on her hips, tugging her closer at the same time he rotated their bodies and pushed her back against the edge of the desk. She was trapped between his body and the solid wood, but she didn’t care. This was exactly what she needed from him, and it felt damn good too.

Pulling her up onto her toes again, he shifted her back onto the edge of the desk and pressed her legs apart so he could step between her thighs. He trailed his hand up her back and fisted it in her hair, tugging her head back gently and exposing the skin of her neck.

Her bruises were mostly faded, but he pressed kisses against each one that remained, heating her skin and making her tremble. Jesus, the man was good with his mouth, and the rough feel of his beard on sensitive skin was its own kind of aphrodisiac.

Something toppled over behind her when she leaned back on her hands so his lips could roam further south, but she didn’t care what it was as long as he kept doing that thing with his teeth. He tugged her shirt down enough to expose cleavage, pressing kisses to the tops of her breasts.

Halting his exploration, he brought his face level with hers, his breath warm on her lips when he spoke. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you again since I took your phone.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “And more.”

He claimed her mouth again, rough and needy, and she gasped when his hand found her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra. He pinched the bud with two fingers, and she arched against the sensation.

She’d done that to herself many times, but nothing beat the feeling of someone else doing it to her. Of not controlling the pain and being at the mercy of his fingers, his desires, his will.

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