Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Now my breathing quickened. The faint scent of his cologne filled the small space, expensive but subtle. I became acutely aware of my disheveled appearance compared to his immaculate one. My worn uniform beside his tailored perfection, my high ponytail against his perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair.
I risked another glance at him. His eyes had darkened, pupils dilated in a way that couldn't be explained by the elevator's subdued lighting. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, and the naked hunger there made my breath catch in my throat.
"Mr. Luca, I—"
The elevator chimed softly, announcing our arrival, and the doors slid open. The moment shattered, but the tension remained, coiled between us like a living thing. Dario gestured for me to exit first and I stepped out of the elevator on unsteady legs. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I entered his private domain. Whatever waited beyond those elevator doors, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing between us would be the same after tonight.
I stepped into a world that seemed to exist in a different universe from the dark, pulsing club below. Dario's penthouse stretched before me in a stunning expanse of gleaming marble, rich leather, and warm woods. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city sprawled below, a carpet of twinkling lights against the night sky. The space was masculine, every element carefully selected for both beauty and comfort. I stood frozen just inside the entrance, suddenly acutely aware of the chasm of wealth and power that separated us.
"Make yourself comfortable," Dario said, moving past me toward a bar that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. Crystal decanters caught the light, amber and gold liquids gleaming inside them. I remained near the door, arms wrapped around myself like a shield. "You wanted to talk about Vincent Rossi?"
Dario's hands stilled on the crystal stopper he was removing. "Yes. But first, a drink." He glanced over his shoulder. "Whiskey? Or would you prefer something else?"
"Whatever you're having is fine." My voice sounded small in the vast space. He nodded and poured two fingers of amber liquid into matching crystal tumblers. When he turned and walked toward me, two glasses in hand, I couldn't look away from his face. His intense gaze and the slight tension in his jaw told me he was serious about whatever he was about to say. Or do.
"Here," he said, extending one glass toward me. I reached for it, and our fingers brushed in the hand off. A jolt of electricity shot up my arm, and my breath caught audibly. Dario froze, his fingers still touching mine around the glass, his eyes locked on my face. Something shifted in his expression, a crack in his careful control. "Belle," he said, my name rough in his throat.
The glass slipped from between us, tumbling to the floor. In the same instant, Dario's hand moved from the falling tumbler to my wrist, pulling me toward him with surprising gentleness. The crystal shattered on the marble, whiskey splashing across the floor, but neither of us looked down.
His lips found mine with devastating results. There was nothing tentative about this kiss. Not like the one we’d shared in the tasting room. Had that been two weeks before? This was possession, hunger, the release of something that had been building between us since the moment we'd met. I clutched at his shoulder with my free hand, the solid warmth of him anchoring me as the world tilted beneath my feet.
I should have pulled away. Should have remembered all the warnings from Valentina, and Ricky, and my own common sense. But his mouth moved against mine with such dominance, promise of more pleasure than I’d even thought possible, resistance felt impossible.
Dario backed me against the wall, his body pressing against mine, solid and warm. He framed my face with his hands, surprisingly gentle despite the urgency of his kiss. When he finally broke away, we were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine.
"I've been thinking about kissing you again since the fucking tasting room." His voice was rough and I was certain he hadn’t wanted to voice his confession. "I’m supposed to be staying away from you."
"Seems like you’re falling off the wagon epically right now." I managed to breathe, earning a surprised chuckle from him.
"No." He kissed me again, slower this time, deliberate in a way that made my knees weak. "Definitely falling off the fucking wagon." He found the hem of my top and pulled it from the waist of my skirt, fingers skimming beneath to touch bare skin. I gasped against his mouth, and he pulled back just enough to study my face. "Tell me to stop, and I will," he said, his voice rough with restraint.
The sane part of me, the part that knew this was a complication I couldn't afford and had no hope of coming out of the same person I went in, urged me to take the escape he offered. Instead, I reached for the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. "I don't want to stop."