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Chapter 11

Amanda

Holy shit.

Alessio is here. Now. In my room.

And he’s kissing the hell out of me.

In about six seconds, I’m either going to jump him—or I’m going to beg him to jump me.

Honestly, it could go either way.

Look, it’s been a ridiculously long dry spell.

After Alessio left, I tried. I really did.

I went on a couple dates.

Nice men. Respectful men.

One even leaned in to kiss me goodnight.

And I panicked.

Not outwardly, not dramatically. But inside, something in me shut down.

Because the truth is, I couldn’t let anyone touch me like that after him.

Call me stupid.

Call me old-fashioned.

Call me emotionally damaged.

Whatever.

But intimacy has never been casual for me.

I can’t share my body with someone if my heart isn’t there too.

And after Alessio ripped that heart right out of my chest three years ago, letting anyone get close again felt—and still feels—impossible.

Until now.

Because when he kisses me like this—God.

Every nerve in my body wakes up.

His mouth is warm and demanding, his hands firm on my waist as he pulls me closer. My fingers curl into the lapels of his suit jacket, dragging him nearer like I’m afraid he might disappear again.

And when he starts shrugging out of the jacket—I help him.

The heavy fabric slides to the floor.

Then his tie.

Then the buttons of his shirt.