Page 90 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“I know. You can keep it.”
“Don’t you want to put it on?”
“Not yet.”
I give him an arch look. “You’d prefer to get my sweater sticky?”
“Yes, Lucia. You caught me in the act.”
I’m smiling despite myself, and he’s smiling too. My sweater is the only thing that separates us from being skin to skin as he keeps swaying me to the music, and every part of me is awake and full of need.
I’ve never felt like this with a man before.
Why does it have to behim?
“Have you finished with Hidden Italy on your app?” he asks. “I’d be curious to see what you said.”
I take a beat before answering, giving myself time to adjust to the sudden change in topic. “I did. My project’s due at the end of next week. I kept it purely factual.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “If I’d hoped for more, that’s between me and the Wishing Bridge.”
I gape at him. Because it’s almost like he knows I went there that night…
“Did you follow me there?” I ask in an undertone.
His surprise soothes my nerves. “No. You went back?”
I swallow down a surge of emotion, thinking of the snow falling down around me. Of meeting Amanda. Of feeling my mother’s presence.
“I did.”
“And did it give you what you wanted?”
I take him in—his glorious lack of a shirt, his thick arms, his hair slightly mussed when it’s usually immaculately styled.
It feels like I got what I wanted that first night but didn’t dare ask for. A beautiful man who wants me.
I’d figured it would be better to ask for less than I wanted than to ask for too much and end up disappointed.
The second night…the only thing I asked for was a sign from my mother, and it feels like I got that too.
“I don’t know,” I answer after a moment. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Mischief flashes in his eyes, and he says, “You had some fun with the phone, huh?”
It’s easy to be annoyed by that, at least.
“You could have warned me about the scarf. Giovanni just explained its significance to me. You said you didn’t want people in town to gossip about you. Isn’t that exactly what they’re going to do now?”
He shrugs, his eyes bright. “Probably, but it was worth it. I wish I’d been there to see the look on your face when you got my text messages.”
I glower at him as he dips me, but it’s hard to maintain it. “You’re maddening.”
“So are you,” he says, dipping his head close to my ear. “I can hardly think of anything else. I’m gratified by how eager you were to get my shirt off.”
“I wanted to preserve the innocence of children.”
“Is that what we’re doing here?” he asks, and truthfully, he has a point. Even though men walk around shirtless all the time, there’s nothing innocent about Enzo without a shirt.
