My hands fidget in my lap as I wait for him to get off the phone, picking the fuzz from my pants as I try to level my breathing to a normal pace.

“Pepperoni okay?”

I jerk my head up as Luca perches on the cushion next to me, shoving his phone in his pocket—his knee brushing mine.

“Yes.” I swallow. “Pepperoni is good.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the palate of a child?”

Twisting my head to scoff at him, I’m surprised to see his eyes are crinkled in the corners as he smiles at me. Like arealsmile. I didn’t think it was even possible for him to smile. His face softens so much when he does. His eyes lighten just a smidge, the dark brown warming into more of a mocha color as they study my features. My heart skips in my chest as I quickly try to recover.

“I do not.”

He tilts his head skeptically.

I giggle. “Because I don’t like jelly with peanut butter sandwiches or pineapples on pizza?”

“You also burnt pasta sauce,” he adds.

My lips smack in disbelief. “That has nothing to do with my palate and everything to do with my cooking skills. Have you ever considered that maybe it’syouwho has the weird palate? Pineapples onpizza?”

“Do you like sushi?” He brings his left knee up as he shifts on the couch to face me.

I shake my head feebly.

“Hot sauce?”

I grimace. “No.”

“Whatdoyou like to eat?”

“Lots of things.” I fight a smile. “Pasta, pizza, soup…MaybeI have areservedpalate, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m a simple girl.”

His thick eyebrows raises doubtfully as he leans against the couch cushion, and I swat at his knee. It’s a playful swat, and a nervous laugh even escapes as I do it, but it freezes in my throatas he grabs my wrist before I can pull away. All I can hear is my heartbeat echoing in my ears as the heat from his fingers sends electricity through my veins. He tugs slightly, and my eyes lift to meet his.

“Come here, Finley.”

I’ve been doing so good. I’ve been restraining myself, denying the feelings bubbling in my chest.

We shouldn’t—wecan’t.

But there’s a rasp to his voice that makes my stomach flutter as I look at him. His grip loosens faintly, his fingers caressing my skin in a way that makes me forget why we shouldn’t in the first place. It doesn’t feel wrong; it never does with him, and as his eyes flicker down to my lips, I’m quickly reminded why. His brow furrows gently, and his mouth parts as he drinks me in. That look alone is dangerous. It’s sin, one that could get us in a lot of trouble.

No amount of trouble sounds scary enough to deter me when he’s looking at me like this.

I lean over steadily, placing my other hand on the cushion for balance as I inch toward him. I’m so close to him, I can feel his exhale as it cascades across my collarbone. It’s unwavering, whereas mine practically comes out in quick pants as I try to calm my poor heart. There’s no way to avoid the palpitations, not when I’m nearly sitting in his lap, anddefinitelynot when he’s running his tongue along his bottom lip as he watches me.

“There are a lot of words I would use to describe you,” he murmurs, releasing my wrist as he brings his hand up to my cheek. His finger brushes my skin before tucking my hair behind my ear. “But simple is not one of them.”

My eyes flicker down to my hand that rests on his thigh to avoid his gaze.

“I’m complicated, then,” I assume.

It wouldn’t be the first time a guy has called me that. My mind is already starting to sabotage itself as I knit my eyebrows, but it screeches to a halt as he reaches out to trace his finger along the back of my hand. He doesn’t force me to look at him, doesn’t urge me to explain, but instead, he just continues to draw comforting circles against my skin.

Damn him.

“No,Princesa. The situation is complicated.”