Page 35 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

Zoe followed her to the kitchen. “We can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. In fact, I’m insisting.”

“I told you,” Dante said, bringing up the rear and putting the mugs in the sink. “She’s stubborn.”

“Are you sure you can manage it?” Zoe downed the last of her cappuccino and added her cup to the pile. “He’s a bit of a handful.”

Carmella lifted a designer-clad shoulder then let it fall. “How hard can it be? I raised you. And trust me, you were more than a handful.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” Dante stuck his lips out into an unconsciously sexy pout, lips that only days ago had turned Zoe into a panting, pleading puddle of lust.

She closed her eyes and gripped the counter for support. This was a nightmare. How was she supposed to spend an entire day in one of the most romantic spots in the world with Italy’s most eligible bachelor and not want to jump his oh-so-fine bones? Her mind struggled for a way out, any excuse, no matter how pathetic, that Carmella might buy, but she came up empty.

“You were worse.” Carmella gave her grandson an affectionate squeeze and prodded them toward the foyer. “Go. Have fun. I don’t want to see you again until the sun has set and the stars are out.”

Chapter Eight

Dante stood at the rail of the high-speed ferry, torn between watching the breathtaking scenery unfold as they sped across the Gulf of Salerno and watching the breathtaking woman next to him, her gaze on the horizon and a small, secret smile on her face as the salt breeze sprayed her lightly, fanning her hair out behind her in soft, silky waves.

Damn Nonna for putting him in this impossible position. It was going to take a feat of superhuman willpower for him to make it through this day without giving in to the urge to kiss Zoe again.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She sighed, and he marveled at how a simple puff of air could make his dick press uncomfortably against the zipper of his shorts. “The water’s so much bluer than it is in San Francisco.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes not leaving her. “It is.”

She turned to face him, and he abruptly looked away, shifting his weight to avoid the pressure below his belt.

“Have you been there?” she asked.

“No,” he answered quickly, not wanting her to suspect he’d had a completely different meaning. “Most of my business in the States has been in New York. But I’ve seen pictures.”

“You should go sometime. There’s so much to see and do there. Fisherman’s Wharf. Alcatraz. The Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Are you offering to return the favor and play tour guide for me?” The prospect both thrilled and terrified him. Their relationship was temporary. Hell, with the exception of Luca and his grandmother—and maybe the Mediterranean Musketeers—every relationship in his life was temporary. That was all he could handle right now. He wasn’t supposed to be angling for an invitation to visit Zoe when their time together in Italy came to an end.

“No.” An adorable blush spread across her face, and her gaze returned to the horizon. “I’m sorry you got roped into this. You don’t have to stay with me once we get to Capri. We can go our separate ways and meet up to catch a ferry back to Positano at the end of the day. Your grandmother will never know.”

“Oh yes, she will.” He rested his forearms on the railing and stared out over the white caps of the waves. “You don’t know Nonna.”

“I’m beginning to,” Zoe said, laughing into the salty spray. Christ, she was beautiful. Especially this way, windswept, relaxed, and free. “She’s a real force of nature, isn’t she?”

He chuckled, his laughter joining hers and floating away on the morning breeze. “My brother says the same thing. I suggest we make the best of the situation. Tour the island together. We did agree to a truce, remember?”

“Yes, but I thought that meant we’d stop trying to drive each other crazy, not that we’d become besties and go sightseeing together.”

“We’re both adults. We can spend a few hours together without killing each other.”

Or screwing each other, if he could keep his hands to himself and his dick in his pants.

“I can if you can.” She slipped her backpack off her shoulder and pulled out a dog-eared guidebook, leafing through it as she spoke. “So, what should we do first? Stroll through the Piazetta? Climb Monte Solato? Swim in the Blue Grotto?”

“Put that away.” He took the book from her and snapped it shut.

“Hey, I was reading that.”

She reached for the book, but he pulled it away.

“Do you trust me?”