Page 97 of Beauty and the Daddy
"Right."
He takes another step, and the foyer shrinks. My back finds the cool paneling and my heartbeat goes stunt-driver against my ribs. His presence is a gravity field; everything I am tilts toward him like I don't have bones, just poor decisions.
"Belle."
"Luca." I try for breezy; it comes out breathy. My body's a traitor—heat crawling up my neck, breasts tightening under a shirt that was innocent five minutes ago. Goosebumps race down my arms even though he hasn't touched me. Yet.
His gaze flicks to the bag on my shoulder, then back to my face. "One more try."
I swallow. Be normal, Belle. Easy. Casual. "It's not a big deal. I just need… closure. We've been talking, but always skirting around the truth and that feels fake, you know?"
His jaw works, that flash of hurt under the anger like a bruise someone touched. "I haven't seen you all that bothered by what he did. Earlier, sure. But still?"
Gulp. I told him so, myself, that I understood where my father was coming from.
His palm slams against the wall beside my head while his other hand finds my hip, pinning me against the paneling. The heat of him brands me through my clothes, and my treacherous body responds, knees going weak, thighs clenching, breath hitching like I'm the guilty party in an interrogation I can't win.
"Since when do you keep things from me?" he asks, quiet, lethal. "Don't lie to me. Not you."
That's the cut. Notyou.
Guilt punches low. "I'm not—" I try again. "I don't want to lie to you. This has nothing to do with you. I just need… space."
His fingers flex against my hips.
"Belle." He hovers near my mouth. "If you need help?—"
"I'll ask." I hear how small it sounds and want to kick myself. "I just… not today."
"Look at me," he commands.
When I do, his dark eyes strip me bare—not just clothes, but lies, defenses, every secret I'm trying to hide. My lips part involuntarily; my tongue darts out to wet them, and his gaze tracks the movement like a predator watching prey.
Heat floods my core even as panic floods my mind. I hate how my body betrays me, how I want him to take control even when I'm terrified of being caught.
He leans in, close enough that his breath fans my lips, close enough to kiss me senseless—and stops.
The space between us crackles with unfinished business.
22
BELLE
Okay, screw it, Belle. You aren't here to negotiate.
If he doesn't kiss me, I'm going to kiss him.
My body's always been a traitor around Luca Moretti, and the man is dead-set on torturing me. It's evil how he stands close enough to count his eyelashes but keeps me hanging high and dry.
Unacceptable.
His breath fans across my lips like a tease, and I snap like a rubber band stretched too far.
Fuck waiting. Fuck pride.
I'm done being good.
I launch first.
