Page 83 of Coach
His lips found mine, and his tongue decided it was also tired of playing things safely. I’d barely drawn a breath before our lips were locked, and his tongue was exploring the underside of my own, teasing and flicking and licking, gentle and powerful all at once, like his accent.
My chuckle ejected his tongue and fended off his lips.
“I kiss you, and you laugh?”
I grinned—and damn if it didn’t feel good. “Sorry, my brain just compared your kiss to your accent, and, well, it was kind of funny.”
He cocked one brow. “Oh, really now? You think my accent is like a kiss?”
I shrugged and blinked innocently.
“What would you do if I switched into Italian for real?”
“I . . . I might cream my jeans right here.”
Mateo spat a laugh, then stared with such intensity I had to look away. His fingers guided my chin until I once again met his gaze.
“Voglio fare cose sconce con te.”
I growled. Damn, he was hot. “What does that mean?”
He leaned forward, tilting my head so he could whisper in my ear. “It means, ‘I want to do naughty things to you,’ Mr. Shane.”
A shiver raced through me so hard that my body shook.
Mateo, taking in the impact of his words, sat back and beamed.
“I haven’t . . . I mean, I have . . . it’s been a while since . . . I mean . . . since there was another person . . . shit . . . other than my hand . . .”
“Dolce Gesù!” He ran a hand through his hair, letting an entire flock of curls fall across his forehead. “Can I get you naked or not?”
I swallowed back all my insecurities and doubts, met his eyes, and gave him the widest grin my cheeks would allow. “Only if I get to undress you first.”
Chapter 27
Mateo
Shane’s fingers moved slowly.
At first I thought he was adjusting something, fidgeting maybe, but then he touched the first button of my shirt—just brushed it with a thumb—and I felt it all the way down my spine.
My heart skipped, then pounded, then forgot how to function.
One button popped loose.
Then the next.
His eyes never left mine.
He wasn’t rushed. He wasn’t hungry, not yet. He was careful. This massive, muscular man who could’ve snapped me in two like a twig was being more gentle than I could’ve dreamed, like I was something worth unwrapping, not tearing into.
My breath hitched.
He reached the third button and paused, as ifasking permission without saying a word.
I nodded—barely.
God, I’d wanted this since the antique fair—since he rose from behind that sideboard and asked if I saw something I liked.
