He pulls away and gazes down at me, his eyes hot and dark. “You’re thinking. Stop it.”
“I just realized you haven’t given me a sketch yet. For this morning, either. You owe me two.”
“When we’re done,” he says, and takes my mouth again.
I grab on to his shirt for balance. He winds his arms around my back and pulls me close. All my senses are overwhelmed by the scent of the night and of him, by the feel of his strong body against mine, by the dark edge of longing chipping away at my self-control. When I make a desperate noise in the back of my throat, Matteo kisses me deeper. One of his hands threads into my hair.
He must have other women. I can’t be the only one. He’s rich and famous and hot as sin, and who am I? A sad little nobody. The Jilted Dressmaker. The Cast-Away Couturier.
The
