Ache For You

34

He ignores me, naturally, and continues his little Socratic speech. “They’re two sides of the same coin, really. Passion, obsession, sweaty palms, and a racing heart. Lost sleep.” He slides his gaze over to the cheese and salami on the dresser. “A poor appetite.”

“You want a poor appetite? I’ll give you a poor appetite. I’ll take that salami and wedge it so far down your throat you won’t be able to eat ever again.”

Amused by my fury, he smiles. “Passion,” he reminds me, smug as s**t.

I look around for something to throw at him.

“Let’s call a truce.” He strolls forward, hands in his pockets.

As if I’ll feel safer that way.

“No truce. No way. And you’re the one who started this war, remember?”

He makes a face, like he’s doubtful.

“Yes, you. Wait, why am I even talking to you? You fake kissed me!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! You admitted you did!”

“Hmm. I don’t recall that.”

“So we’ll add dementia to your long list of problems.”

By now he’s trapped me at the edge of the bed, advancing so stealthily I hardly noticed it, which was probably his dastardly plan all along.

I stand my ground and flatten my hand in the center of his chest, bracing my arm so he can’t move forward. “I’m not a joke,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m not a plaything.”

“I never said you were.”

Under my palm, his heart is a jackhammer. We do the hate breathing at each other again, which apparently is becoming our thing. Then we do the hate eye f*****g again, which is definitely becoming our thing.

He says softly, “You’re giving me grief about how I look at you? You should see your eyes right now.” His voice drops an octave. “So dirty, bella. So very, very dirty.”

“I’m not selling the company, no matter how much you try to s*x it out of me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “s*x it out of you?” As I watch with ragged breath, he sinks his teeth into his full lower lip. “Now that sounds interesting. Let’s discuss.”

“You’re a pig.”

“And yet you want me.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Yes, women have told me that before. Usually right after they come.”

I can’t even with this guy!

Then it’s like he remembers something. He looks around, frowning. “What are you doing in here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to get rid of you!”

He looks at the wad of sheets in the corner. He looks at the freshly made bed. Then he looks back at me. The smile that breaks over his face is breathtaking.

“My darling ex-stepsister. Are you moving in?”

Very deliberately, I slide my hand up his chest until I reach his neck. Then I grasp his throat—lightly, but enough to let him know I mean it.

His skin is hot to the touch, and his throat is strong. Thick. It makes me think of other hot, thick body parts.

I officially hate myself.

He lifts his brows, obviously amused. “You have the most interesting internal conversations. Are you going to choke me?”

I growl. It sounds silly, like a kitten trying to be scary.

Matteo leans forward. My arm is still locked at the elbow, so it puts more pressure around his throat. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Go ahead. I know you want to.”

Boy, do I. I curl my other hand around his neck so now I’ve got him good and surrounded. I feel his pulse, beating hard against my palms. It’s weirdly arousing.

Intently watching my face, he whispers, “Those eyes.”

Then from the doorway comes a sharp voice.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing to worry about, only Kimber trying to strangle me.” Matteo turns around and smiles at his mother as I whip my hands guiltily around my back.

The marchesa’s frosty gaze cuts to me, then back to Matteo. In her arms, Beans is dressed in a white nightgown that matches her mistress’s. She’s baring her teeth.

“Ah. I see you’re working your usual charm.” The marchesa glances back at me. “If you really want to annoy him, make fun of his hair. He’s obsessed he might lose it.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, her nightgown billowing like a sail behind her.

I gape after her, breath leaking from my lungs like a tire leaking air. “Did your mother just diss you?”

Matteo regards me with a sour twist to his lips. “No.”

“She totally did! Oh my God, I need to buy a lottery ticket. Do they have the lottery in this country? ’Cause this has got to be some kind of sign from the universe that my luck is changing.”

The rest of Matteo’s face turns sour, and now I’m gloating. “Aw, whassa matter, Mattie? Did Mommy hurt widdle Mattie’s feewings?”

The stare he sends me smolders with annoyance.

It’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen.

I smile at him and bat my lashes. This game of tit for tat wasn’t fun, up until now. “Do I detect a c***k in your glossy shining armor, stepbrother dearest? Have I finally found your Achilles’ heel? Mumsy-Wumsy despises you as much as I do, is that it?”

He says darkly, “Careful.”

For some reason, that particular word, spoken in that particular tone, gives me pause. “Oh. You actually think she does?”

Matteo says nothing. He simply stares at me with his hands clenched, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

I’m tempted to tell him how her eyes lit up when Lorenzo announced his arrival, but keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t deserve peace of mind. He fake kissed me.

“Well, this has been real. But it’s late, and I need to get to bed.”