Page 35 of The Wrong Move

She giggles. “You have a beautiful face. It has all the right angles for a portrait.”

“I’ll take that.” I move hair out of her eyes. “Especially coming from the woman whose beauty leaves me breathless.” Our eyes meet, and our gazes lock. “Can I kiss you, Gigi?”

She responds by pushing up on her toes to kiss me—a peck, nothing more.

She pulls away and flashes an innocent smile.

“Not what I meant.”

Pulling her toward me, I kiss her in the way I intended. Our lips move together, our tongues meeting in an all-too-familiar way. I want this woman to myself and to feel like this with only her. I tighten my hands around her waist to stop me from touching her in other places.

Her parents are downstairs.

When I was younger, I didn’t show her that respect.

Her hand goes under my shirt, and she rubs her fingertips over my back. I pull away. Giana has that look in her eye that says I could take her here and now.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Hey,” she repeats, her voice raspy.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“What do you want to do?” By her sultry expression, I know what she has on her mind, and while I want Giana in my bed, I want us to do this right. Date first.

“We could go to…” Fuck. There are not many places I can go without people intruding on my privacy. “We could dine at Bloom? My brother could get us a table.” If he was in the freaking country.

“I was extremely happy with the chef last night. I’d like to try that restaurant again.”

This woman knows compliments are key. “I’ll make the reservations. Shall I pick you up around six?”

Giana glances down with a coy look. “That would be perfect.”

Giana sitson a stool at the counter, watching me cook linguine with a combination of seafood and a light rosé sauce. Tonight, she drinks the Chardonnay I imported from Burgundy.

“Would you like some help?” she purrs. “This dish is my specialty.”

“Not at all. Enjoy your wine.”

She raises her wine glass. “I like this… you cooking. It’s sexy.”

I turn and stare at her. “It’s the least sexy thing I do. You should see me clean. Naked.Dancing.”

She eyes me over the rim of her glass. “I can picture it.”

I laugh.

“Wait, don’t you have a housekeeper?”

“I do. They come once a week. I like to clean and cook. It’s therapeutic.”

“Said no one ever.” She shakes her head at me. “Though cleaning this house, I understand it.”

“I’m a private person. You, of all people, should know that.”

“Who is also a disciplined clean freak, which I didn’t know.”

I raise a brow. “We were the same at school.”

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