The kissing game might be over, but the kissing-naked-in-bed game is about to begin.
Only it’s not, because a loud throat clearing from somewhere behind me slices through my lovely little lust bubble like a knife. I turn, woozy, and find Clara in the doorway to the back of the shop, gazing at me over the rims of her glasses.
“We’ve finished look six,” she says, emanating scorn. If she were one of those scented room sprays, she’d be called Breeze of Utter Disappointment.
“Okay. Be right in.” My voice strangled, I attempt a reassuring smile, but judging by the heavy sigh I get in response, Clara isn’t reassured. She returns to the workroom, shaking her head.
“She doesn’t like me,” says Matteo, sounding unconcerned.
“She doesn’t like people with p*****s. Kiss me again.”
He obliges, and
