“Do you like my bedroom and bathroom, even though I didn’t go out and buy all the things for it myself?” His voice is low and seductive now.

“I do like it,” I say. “It could maybe do with some personal touches, or a few feminine touches, but it’s very nice. Your bathroom is awesome. I bet that shower is incredible.”

“You want to try it and see?” His eyes glitter dangerously under the bathroom lights.

I swallow hard. I do want to try it out, because the idea of getting under that shower all naked with Matteo is a delicious one. I need to remember, however, that this is part of my plan, and not get carried away with letting him take the lead.

“Are you trying to say you think I’m dirty, Mr Mancini,” I say jokingly.

“How about we find out?” he says.

His hands reach for my jeans and expertly undo the belt before popping the zipper open and sliding his hand down inside.

I gasp in shock.

This is not how I expected this to go. I thought he’d seduce me slowly. Kisses, caresses, and nibbles against my neck before he slowly undressed me.

Holy hell, his fingers are in my panties, and he slides them over my clit. I gasp again, and my head falls back against the marble behind me.

“Yeah, you don’t need a shower,” he murmurs against my throat. “You’re already soaked.”

His fingers stroke over me as he watches me. It’s almost disconcerting the way his gaze focuses on my face. As if he’s more interested in every subtle, fleeting expression on my features than he is in seeing me naked or anything else. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, so I put my hand on his wrist and halt the movements of his fingers.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

And he does.

If I thought that would help me in any way, I was wrong.

Oh, his kiss. It’s not soft or tentative; his kiss is a storming of my walls. It’s breaking down my barriers. His kiss is everything.

His mouth claims mine and owns it. He bites at my bottom lip and when I groan, he pushes his tongue inside and tastes me. He tastes of wine, and he smells amazing. I don’t know what aftershave he wears, but it makes me want to do sinful things as his scent and taste fill me.

He’s cupping my head and angling it the way he wants, but that other hand is still in my panties, not moving, but pressing. He has his palm right against my core, and the sensation of pressure without any movement is an exquisite torture.

When I’m panting into his mouth, our breath mingling until I don’t know where I end and he begins, he breaks off the kiss. He stares down at me, his gaze full of desire and something else. He almost looks angry.

His fingers finally leave my panties, but only to pull my silk shirt out of my jeans.

“Hey, this shirt cost a fortune; take it easy.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he growls as he pulls the buttons undone roughly.

Holy hell, Matteo as a man in his thirties is nothing like Matteo as a boy of seventeen.

He’s dangerous, I realize with a scared jolt.

Not physically, or at least not to me, but emotionally? This man is a grenade, and I just pulled the pin.