Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I was too stuffed for dessert, but also not ready for the night to end, so when Matteo insisted I try the tiramisu, I agreed.
The waiter set the gorgeous presentation between us and gave us two spoons.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Does this count as eating off your plate? Are you going to stop talking to me after this?”
Matteo smiled. “No, this is sharing.”
The entire night had been easy, and Matteo had made it that way. I liked how he took control—suggesting dishes and ordering wine—yet I never felt controlled. There was nothing worse than a man who deferred to a woman for decisions because he couldn’t formulate his own opinions with confidence. And I liked the way he looked at me when I talked, as if he was really interested in hearing what I had to say. And most of all, I liked the way he looked-looked at me. He had this uncanny ability to make me feel like we were the only two people in the room, even in a crowded restaurant.
When the bill came, Matteo immediately took it.
“I’d like to pay half,” I said.
He frowned. “No.”
I blinked. He wasn’t even going to debate it, just straight-up no. “But we agreed this wasn’t a date.”
“We agreed the evening could be whatever we want it to be.”
“Right, so it wasn’t a date.”
“For you.” He took out his wallet and produced some bills, inserting them into the padfolio. “I wanted it to be a date, so I’m paying.”
My mouth dropped open, but it only made Matteo smile. He stood, like the conversation was over, and walked around to pull out my chair. I must’ve needed my head examined because I kind of thought the way he’d handled it was hot. Again, he took control of the situation, but in a good way, not a bad one. The man could teach American men a thing or two about the difference between taking control and being controlling.
The host came over and spoke to Matteo for a few minutes, and by the time we walked out, I didn’t even care that he’d paid. “Thank you for dinner. I’ll have to pick up some knitting needles tomorrow to work on paying you back.”
He rolled his eyes, and the ride home was quiet. Just like the other night after the club, he pulled into my drive and put the truck into park. But unlike the other night, he didn’t linger. He opened his door and came around to my side to let me out. The night air smelled of my grandmother’s freesias. Matteo walked me to the door, and I turned to face him in front of it.
“Thank you again for dinner.”
He lifted one hand and placed it on the door above my head. It made me feel caged in, yet I could still move if I wanted to. But I didn’t.
“I had a really good time,” Matteo said.
I smiled. “Me too.”
“I always have a good time when I’m with you.”
It was a cool night, and I felt the heat emanating from his body in the space between us. The smell of freesias was overtaken by the woodsy, masculine scent of Matteo. I took a deep breath and savored it. There were a dozen reasons why getting involved was a bad idea, yet suddenly none of them seemed important enough to walk away.
Matteo leaned down. I held my breath as he moved in slowly, bracing for a kiss. When I felt his breaths tickling my lips, I closed my eyes. But the kiss never came. Not on my mouth anyway. Instead, he gently kissed my cheek, and his mouth went to my ear.
“You’re going to have to kiss me if you want things to go any further, Allegra.” He pulled back and smiled, rubbing my bottom lip with his thumb. “When you’re ready.”
All I had to do was say the words, or even close the small gap between us and press my lips to his. I wanted to. Lord, did I want to. Yet…I stood frozen with fear.
Eventually, Matteo stepped away. “Put the light on when you get upstairs. So I know you’re safe, yes?”
I nodded, already kicking myself in the ass as I opened the door. Before shutting it, I thought better and paused. Matteo’s back was to me as he walked to his truck.
“Matteo?”
He turned to look at me.
“I wanted it to be a date, too. I’m just…afraid.”
He smiled. “I know.”
Chapter 18
Matteo
“OH MY GOD.” Allegra leaned toward me from the passenger seat. “I could’ve never driven this.”
I’d just stopped the car on a hairpin turn, five hundred feet above the sea below, to let a motorcoach maneuver around us. He took up half our lane, and if I hadn’t done this dozens of times before, I probably would’ve thought he was going to wind up in our laps, too. Traffic on the Amalfi Coast was an adventure, to say the least.