Page 67 of Valentino

He's falling over me. The weight of him presses me into the mattress, his thigh pushing between mine, and I let out a soft, helpless sound.

His hand finds the bare skin at my hip where the hoodie has ridden up. He's shaking. The tremor in his hand undoes me more than the kiss.

I grip the front of his shirt tightly, not daring to let go.

I've spent my whole life letting go of things before they could leave first.

I'm tired of it.

He breaks away long enough to breathe. His mouth drags across my cheek, my temple. "This doesn't fix anything," he says.

"I know."

"Tomorrow is still a mess."

"I know."

"Tomorrow there's still a man in Sicily who wants both of us dead."

I smile against his jaw.

"I know."

His thumb traces my pulse. "Then tell me the rest."

I pull back enough to look at him. "The rest of what?"

"What you said."

I know exactly which part he means. "I'd do it again, Valentino."

His thumb stops moving. "Even if it got you killed."

"Even then."

His jaw tightens. "You don't get to die, Amanda. Do you understand me? You don't get to die. Not for this. Not for me."

I nod.

His hand cups the side of my face.

"Good."

His mouth finds mine again.

Later, when he lifts his head, his hand is still at the back of my neck.

He looks at me again.

His weight is on one forearm, right next to my shoulder. His other hand has come back to my jaw. His thumb rests on my lower lip.

"This is not happening today."

I blink, shock and a hint of rejection filling me. "What?"

"Not like this. Not with a drug still in your blood."

"Valentino—"