Page 52 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

Dante bristled, standing and brushing his hands off on his pants. “He does not.”

“Does, too,” she shot back. “He follows you everywhere. And you like him, too. Don’t even try to deny it. I saw you with him in the garden yesterday. You were cradling him in your arms like you were afraid he was going to break.”

“He was trampling Nonna’s lilies. I had to stop him.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Dante’s gaze landed on the bowl of popcorn, and he nudged it with his foot toward Houdini. “Here you go, pig. Knock yourself out.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Sucker. You’re just proving my point. And he’ll never learn anything if you indulge him like that.”

“I’m not worried about that right now.” He hauled her to her feet, running one hand down her back and undoing her ponytail with the other. Free from its elastic prison, her hair cascaded over her shoulders. “I have another, more pressing concern.”

She was pretty sure she could feel it, pressing against her thigh.

“What’s that?” Why did she sound so out of breath, like she’d run a marathon instead of spent the morning trying to train a pig?

“Keeping him occupied so I can kiss you.”

There went her pulse into orbit again.

“What if I said I don’t want to be kissed?” she teased.

His eyes skated south, stopping on the hard points of her aroused nipples, clearly visible through the thin cotton of her tank top, before returning to her face. “You’d be lying.”

His mouth came crashing down on hers. He kissed her with the fervor of a man who’d gone days or weeks without seeing her, and not the mere hours since they’d lain together in his enormous, four-poster bed. She kissed him back just as hungrily, her hands slipping under his shirt, her nails digging into his back as their lips locked and their tongues tangled.

He broke the connection far too soon, staring down at her through long-lashed, lust-drunk eyes, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I came looking for you. But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

“What did you have in mind?” She stretched up to kiss his strong, stubbled jaw. “Not that I’m complaining about having your hands on me.”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Her heart did a little somersault. Depending on the question, that could be very, very good. Or very, very bad.

And there was only one way to find out.

“It must be important if you were willing to tear yourself away from your work. I thought you said you had a lot of restaurant business to catch up on.”

Not surprising. They’d been joined at the hip since Capri, and all that play hadn’t left much—if any—time for work. Spending their days swimming, sunning, or touring up and down the Amalfi Coast. Snorkeling in Sorrento. Viewing the erotic frescoes at Pompeii’s Lupanar—an ancient brothel. Relaxing in the thermal pools on Ischia.

And their nights sharing the aforementioned four-poster bed.

They’d learned a lot about each other. Not just their bodies. Their lives. Their likes. Their dislikes. Despite the whole opera/rock debate, they had more in common than not. Both from unconventional families. Both preferred the beach to the mountains. And sand to snow. And they both detested deviled eggs and store-bought pasta sauce.

No topic was off-limits. Well, almost none. The one thing they hadn’t talked about was their exes. And while part—a huge part—of Zoe wanted to ask about the woman in the photo in Dante’s study, she was happy not to discuss her own checkered romantic past. What was the point? Next week, they’d be on different continents.

Cue another sharp stab of angst. She brushed it aside, leaving it in the proverbial dust with the last one, and pretended like her insides weren’t twisting in the wind at the thought of being thousands of miles away from him.

“I do have business to catch up on,” he said. “And this is important.”

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “I have to go to Rome for a few days.”

“Oh.”

The happy bubble she’d been floating in burst. A few days? That was almost all the time all they had left. She was hoping they’d spend it together, but he obviously had other ideas.

“I want you to come with me.”