Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I watch as he steps out of the car and comes around to open my door, offering me his hand.
“Come on, bella. Let me show you around.”
I take his hand, letting him pull me out of the car, and as we step towards the grand front doors, I can’t help but think how I’m already in love with this place.
Matteo pushes open the heavy wooden doors, and I very much try to school my expression. I thought that his home was stunning from the outside, but inside…
High ceilings stretch above us, with exposed wooden beams and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a beautiful view out towards the city below us.
“Wow,” I breathe, turning in slow circles as I take it all in.
Matteo smirks, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans.
“You like it?”
I shoot him a flat look.
“Matteo, this house is ridiculous.”
His smile widens into a full-blown grin.
“Ridiculously nice, you mean.”
I grin as I step further inside, trailing my fingers along the sleek marble countertop of his open-plan kitchen. The entire space is seamless, with a grand staircase that winds up to the second floor.
“It’s… huge.” I turn back to him. “How do you even use all this space?”
Matteo shrugs.
“I don’t, really.”
“Do you live alone?”
He nods.
“No staff?”
A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he steps towards me.
“I have a housekeeper who comes during the week. But no, I don’t have some big team of people running my life. Not at home, anyway.”
I let that settle in as I walk towards the living area, my fingers brushing over the arm of a rich, dark leather couch. There’s a fireplace built into the wall, sleek and modern, and beside it, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with -
I pause, squinting.
“Are these actually your books?” I tease, stepping closer.
Matteo snorts.
“Despite your assumptions, I can read.”
I scan the spines, noting a mix of sports biographies, classic Italian literature, and -
“Matteo.” I turn, holding up an Italian copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Explain.”
His grin turns lazy.
“What? I like Mr. Darcy.”
I stare at him.
“You’ve read Pride and Prejudice?”
He shrugs as though it’s obvious, and I laugh as I shake my head.
“Unbelievable.”
“Are you impressed?” he asks as he steps closer, his voice dipping lower, his hands coming to rest on my waist.
I tilt my chin up, feigning contemplation as I place the book back down.
“Mildly.”
His fingers tighten, pulling me in.
“I’ll take it.”
His lips brush mine, and I let myself sink into him.
Standing here, in his impossibly perfect house with the warmth of his body against mine and the soft hum of the night outside, it’s dangerously easy to forget that I don’t belong here.
That I’ll be leaving before I know it.
But Matteo doesn’t kiss me like he cares about any of that.
And honestly, right now, neither do I.
His kiss deepens, and I find myself pressing closer, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his oversized white tee.
The tension that's been building between us dissolves into something else entirely - something molten and magnetic.
He breaks away, but only to trail kisses down my neck.
"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmurs against my skin, his accent thicker than usual. “That dress - fuck. Looking so sweet, so innocent - when I know that you’re anything but.”
I should come up with some witty retort. After all, that’s what we do, it’s how we work.
But his hands are sliding down my waist, and the way he's looking at me makes it hard to remember my own name, never mind remember why I ever found him arrogant in the first place.
With a grace that no doubt comes from years of athletic training, he guides us backwards, towards the couch. He sits first, pulling me with him until I'm perched on his knee, my dress riding up slightly.
"Better?" he asks, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips - the same one that used to make me want to throw my notepad at him during press conferences, but that now just makes me want to kiss him senseless.
So I do.
His hands tangle in my hair as I lean into him, and I can feel his smile against my mouth as our tongues brush together.
"You’re eager tonight," he teases.
"You're one to talk. You nearly crashed the car when I adjusted my legs a little earlier.”
"You did that on purpose,” he says. “And I wouldn’t say that spreading them open when my hand is on your thigh is you adjusting your legs,” he continues, tutting playfully. “You're dangerous, Daphne. The world thinks I'm the troublemaker, but they've got it all wrong."
I shift slightly on his knee, delighting in the way his breath catches as I straddle his waist and centre myself right over where I know his cock is already half-alert.
Two can play at this game.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a perfectly professional woman. I wouldn’t ever do such a thing,” I say, feigning an air of innocence.