Page 54 of Texting Mr. Stranger

Are you a mind reader?she responds.That’s it, exactly. I couldn’t have ever said that better myself. I’ve never been in a relationship before. I’m not sure how this is supposed to work.

You’ve NEVER had a boyfriend?

Are those capital letters judgment or shock?

Pure shock,I tell her.I find that so hard to believe. You’re talented, beautiful, funny, and dedicated. I could go on.

You’re going to make me blush!

My grin widens even more. The last thing I expected after telling her the truth was any flirting. If that isn’t what this is, I don’t know what to call it. I’ve got a goofy grin on my face as I type out my response.

Are you sure I’m the man you want to make you blush?

All I know is that when the sun sets and nobody’s watching us, we can let our true feelings out.

My body thrums with pure heat.Is that your bedroom light on?

As I watch, it flickers on and off.The one that just flashed you?

Don’t get my mind on you flashing me, but yes.

Ha ha,she replies.With how crazy this is, it’s kind of neat to forget it all, right?

She’s right. That’s the main thing with us, which causes everything else to fade. Maybe that’s how all relationships start—the ability to let the rest of the world go. When I’m texting Bella, all I hear is her music; all I feel is her. Even tomorrow, with this war looming, I can’t stress. I can’t overthink or let rage grip me.

It’s like magic,I tell her.How you make everything else seem meaningless and make the rest of the world disappear is sweeter than any music. After what we discussed earlier, I thought we’d never speak like this again.

Were you okay with that?

Hell no. The idea makes me SICK.

Is that why you’re up so late?she asks.Or is it all the other stuff?

No, it’s you. I can typically sleep when I need to. Refuel my mind and my body so I can fight another day. This is one hundred percent the work of soon-to-be-world-famous Bella Rossi.

You really are trying to flatter me, aren’t you?

I can’t help it, but it would be much better to do it in person. How about a midnight snack? I was too stressed to eat earlier.

Me too, which is pretty rare for me.

My body stirs.If you’re trying to talk about your curvy, thick figure like it’s a bad thing, you’ve come to the wrong man. Your body is the very definition of perfection.

Then yes, Matt, I’ll take you up on that snack. We have to be quiet and careful.

Careful, yes, but quiet? No chance. I’ve got just the place for us.

“My dad used this room for private meetings,” I say, pushing the door open to reveal a small dining room with classical paintings on the wall, a two-person table, and chairs glittering beneath a small chandelier. “It’s completely soundproofed.”

She walks in behind me. I’m sure she must’ve put on some perfume. She’s changed from her house clothes into a loose-fitting dress, which means my men have collected their belongings from the apartment. The dress might be loose, but the way it grazes her curves has me stirring as I think about tearing it off.

“Very secretive,” she says, shutting the door behind her.

Maybe I’m doing my whole read-to-much-into-it thing again, but I am relievedshe’sthe one who closed the door. It’s like she’s choosing to lock herself in here with me—a Mafia beast, a killer. Yet, when she looks at me, there’s no judgment—confusion, tension, and lust, but no hate.

“Where’s the snack, then?” she says.

“Are you trying to set me up?” I move closer to her.

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