Page 39 of Royally Roma
He resumed slicing the baguette while she struggled to come to terms with the implications of what he’d just said.
She slammed her flea-market wineglass down in a fury. Chianti sloshed over the rim. “Morning? You meantomorrowmorning? As in... you’re planning onspending the nighthere?”
No wonder he’d taken the knife from her before dropping this bombshell.
“No, actually.”Slice.The last piece of baguette fell in surrender. “I’d planned on spending the night in a hotel room in Helsinki. Bringing me here was your idea, darling.”
She pretended the endearment had no effect on her whatsoever, even though her thighs had begun to tingle. It was an unfamiliar, excruciating sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain. “We both know why you’re here.”
He popped an olive into his mouth then reached for his wine, swirling it around in his glass like they were in a five-star restaurant instead of her apartment. “Dowe?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him.
“Cat got your tongue, Miss Costa?” He arched a brow and sipped his wine.
She lifted her chin, determined to ignore the innuendo and even more determined not to let him see how very much she wanted him. Still. Because that was just pathetic. “Helsinki? That’s where you’re headed? Interesting.”
He said nothing, merely clenched his jaw as if trying to force it shut.
He’d said too much. She could tell. She wasn’t sure why, but this unexpected revelation was not something she should be privy to.
“At the precise moment, I’m not headed anywhere. I’m standing right here, byyourchoosing.” He pointed a finger at her and lazily brought his wineglass to his lips again.
“So you say. For all I know, you’ve got your pockets stuffed with euro notes and you lied so I’d take you home like a stray puppy.” If that were true, she would wring his handsome neck.
She didn’t think there was an ounce of validity to this theory. She just didn’t like the way he was twisting things around and making it sound like she wanted him here. Because she didn’t. At all.
Did she?
“A stray puppy?” He slammed the wineglass on the kitchen counter, and the olives jumped in place. “You’re comparing me to adog?Really?”
“No. Dogs are trustworthy.” She took a large gulp of Chianti. Liquid courage. He looked angry, and as much as she wanted to believe she could stand toe to toe with him, she was beginning to doubt herself.
He was so... so...much.
It was unsettling to say the least.
“Be careful, Julia,” he warned, dark eyes flashing.
But all of a sudden she didn’t want to be careful. She was sick and tired of towing the line and doing the right thing when all around her, people seemed to do as they pleased with no regard for her whatsoever.
“As I recall, you’re the one who kissed me. Not the other way around.” She fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a smile sweet enough to rot every tooth in her head.
It had the desired effect. A furious vein began to throb in his temple. “You didn’t wish to be kissed?”
“No, absolutely not.”Liar, liar, pants on fire.
He narrowed his eyes and swept her up and down with his hot gaze. Slowly. Excruciatingly so. Until he’d taken in every trembling inch of her. “And you don’t wish to be kissed now either?”
She wasn’t sure she could even remember the word no, much less utter it aloud. “What makes you think I want you to kiss me?”
He took a step toward her. Then another, until her back was pinned against the kitchen counter. He was so close. Too close, and it was all suddenly too much. She could no longer tell who was tempting whom, which one of them was the cat and which was the mouse.
He studied her, his head tilted in that regal way he had. Reality hit her hard and fast. She was the mouse. Without a doubt. She was to be his plaything, his prey.
This awareness should have frightened her—or shamed her—but instead it made her feel deliciously alive. Aroused in a way she’d never known before.
“How do I know you want to be kissed? Maybe because I can see the way you tremble when I look at you. I see the flush in your cheeks.” He brushed her face with the back of his hand in a tender gesture wholly at odds with the insinuating tone of his voice. Julia gripped the countertop, steadying herself, lest she dissolve into a liquid puddle of need. Nico’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “I feel you arch toward me when I touch you.”
