Page 45 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
The sleeves of my hoodie are rolled up to her elbows, the hem hits her mid-thigh, and every time she moves it shifts and gives me tantalizing glimpses of bare skin at her lower back, the curve of her spine.
She does a little spin move, completely absorbed in her sandwich-making concert, and I have to bite back a laugh because this might be the most adorable thing I have ever seen.
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms, taking a moment to just appreciate the view. Her ass looks incredible in those shorts, and the way she moves—completely unguarded,completely herself—does something uncomfortable to my chest that I am not ready to examine.
"Lina," I say finally, pitching my voice low and amused.
She jumps, coffee sloshing over the side of her mug, and whips around to glare at me. "Jesus, Luca. Announce yourself."
"I just did." I push off the doorframe and move into the kitchen, watching the way her eyes track my movement, the way her grip tightens on her mug. "Nice hoodie."
She glances down at herself, then back up at me, chin lifting in that defiant way she has. "Thanks."
"Where did you get it?"
"Found it."
"Found it," I repeat, moving closer. "Just found it. Lying around."
"Yes."
I stop right in front of her, close enough to see the faint flush creeping up her neck, close enough to smell my laundry detergent on my hoodie mixed with whatever soap she uses that makes me want to bury my face in her throat. "That's my hoodie, Lina."
"Is it?" She takes a sip of her coffee, all fake innocence. "I couldn't tell."
"Liar." I reach out and tug on one of the too-long sleeves. "This is my favorite hoodie. I've been looking for it all week."
"Well now you found it." She smirks over the rim of her mug. "On me."
God, I love it when she gets bratty. Love the challenge in her eyes, the way she refuses to back down even when she is clearly in the wrong, the way she seems to enjoy pushing my buttons just to see what will happen. Everyone else has had time to play with her but me, and I plan on remedying this today.
"Why are you wearing my hoodie?" I ask, even though I already know I am going to let her keep it. She looks too good in it, and the possessive part of my brain that I usually keep under tight control is purring at the sight of her wrapped in something that belongs to me.
She shrugs, the movement making the hoodie slip off one shoulder, exposing smooth pale skin and the strap of whatever she is wearing underneath—or not wearing, because I am not entirely sure there is anything under there. "They didn't send most of my clothes from the Irish compound. Something about needing to inventory everything first to make sure I wasn't smuggling weapons or contraband or whatever."
"So you stole mine."
"Borrowed," she corrects. "Without asking. Temporarily."
"That's called stealing, Fiorella."
"Then arrest me." She sets her coffee down and spreads her arms wide, the movement making my hoodie ride up and expose a strip of her stomach that makes my mouth water. "Go ahead. I'm sure you have handcuffs somewhere."
The image that puts in my head—Rosalina spread out on my bed, wrists cuffed to the headboard, wearing nothing but my hoodie while I take my time exploring every inch of her—is so vivid I actually have to take a breath.
"Careful what you offer," I murmur, letting my gaze travel deliberately down her body and back up. "I might take you up on that."
She rolls her eyes, but I see the way her breathing picks up, the way her thighs press together. "You're insufferable."
"And you're wearing my clothes without permission." I step closer, crowding into her space until she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "If you needed clothes, Lina, all you had to do was ask."
“Well,” she sings. “I didn’t need clothes. I like wearing this.”
And I like seeing you in it.
“You still need your own clothes.” I lean forward, stealing a bite of her sandwich, and humming appreciatively. "Good sandwich."
She whirls around so fast she nearly elbows me in the ribs, eyes flashing with indignation. "That's my sandwich!"
