Page 225 of Mario
I lift my eyes to his. “I’m starting to get that.”
His smile deepens, absolutely devastating me. “Good. It will save us both time.”
I should keep arguing.
I’m a lawyer, for Christ’s sake.
Instead, I clutch the handles and let the bag hang from my hand.
Reluctantly.
Weakly.
With absolutely no dignity.
His mouth curves.
“I am documenting my objection.”
“Noted.”
My entire body remembers the look in his eye when I stepped out of the bathroom wearing green lace last night.
I clear my throat and look away.
Mario’s eyes catch the movement.
He knows exactly what I am thinking.
The bastard.
He reaches for my coat and settles it over my shoulders, his fingers brushing the back of my neck.
“Let’s get you home,” he says, voice low. “Rest.”
The words are almost normal.
The way he says them is not.
My lips part.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
For one second, neither of us moves.
Then he kisses me.
Slowly.
Deeply.
Like he has all the time in the world and knows I will give it to him if he asks.
When he pulls back, I am clutching the bag of obscene lingerie in one hand and the front of his shirt in the other.
So much for dignity.
Then I walk out of his house in the same clothes I wore yesterday, except my underwear, my composure completely ruined, and a bag full of lingerie that I can’t even think about the cost of without a small panic attack.
