Page 72 of For Your Eyes Only
We’re moaning and fucking in time. He groans so loud as he breaks, pulsing and filling me, holding me steady as he stumbles forward, bracing his hand on the wall in front of me. His body is pressed against my back, and my face is turned. Our mouths unite, and we kiss ravenously, tongues licking and sliding together.
Our breathing calms, our fingers thread, and he slides out, turning my back to the wall so he can pull me fully against his chest as he kisses the line of my brow, to my temple, and down to my lips again for another, consuming kiss.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along the top of my cheek. “So utterly, fucking perfect.”
Happiness burns in my stomach. Our gazes mingle, and for the first time, I realize I’m in love with this man. It’s terrifying and amazing, and his brow furrows just before his eyes close, just before he puts a hand on the back of my head and draws me into his chest again.
“Gia,” he whispers. “Sweet Gia.”
I don’t know whether to be thrilled or afraid. I only know I love him, and I never want to leave his side.
* * *
A large platterof assorted meats, cheeses, fruits, and vegetables is arranged artfully on the bar with crackers and crusty bread in bowls. I’m sitting beside it on the bar wrapped in his scotch-plaid flannel robe with my bare feet in a barstool. A glass of sparkling wine is in my hand, and Trip walks through the apartment collecting my trail of clothing.
Lifting his hand, he holds up one of my pink Valentino Mary Janes by a finger. “You bought another pair?”
Shaking my head, I nibble a slice of pear. “It appeared at the house today with a note from my number one fan. He got it for me somehow.”
Trip’s brow furrows. “Who is your number one fan?”
Shrugging, I dip my nose in the collar of his robe so I can take a deep breath of his clean, citrus cologne. I think I might steal this garment so I can wear it all the time.
“I’ve never met him, but he’s one of my biggest tippers on Private Eyes. He wanted me to prove he was chatting with the actual Glitter Girl and not some teenage boy in India. So I told him about the stolen shoe, and he sent me a new one.”
“He sent you a new pair?”
“No, just the one.” I laugh as I pick up a piece of goat cheese and put it in my mouth. “I think it was sweet.”
Trip’s expression says he doesn’t agree. “How does he know where you live?”
Taking another sip of my wine, I think. “I don’t know. I just assumed he sent it to the main address and Franco or one of the guys brought it over.”
He places the pink platforms on the table then stacks my sparkling costume on top, still not smiling. Kicking out my feet, I hop off the bar and close the space between us, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to his bare back.
“I’ll ask Franco about it tomorrow. Let’s don’t worry about it tonight.”
Large hands cover mine on his waist, and he slides his hands up and down my forearms. “I don’t want you going back to that condo. I want you to stay here with me.”
My heart beats a little faster, and I tilt my head to the side, resting my chin on him. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“I’m not asking.” His hand closes on my forearm, and he pulls me around to stand in front of him, putting his other hand under my chin and forcing my eyes to meet his stormy green ones. “You’re staying with me until I’m sure you’re safe. I’ll send for your clothes. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
My lips twist, and I kind of like this overprotective vibe he’s giving. “I think I’m safe in the condo. We have on-site security.”
“Yes, but there’s eight of you and one guard. When you’re here, it’s one to one.”
Rising onto my toes, I kiss his lips lightly. “I like the one-on-one attention I get here.” I grin, sliding my nose along his jaw, but he’s still wound so tight. “Are you angry?”
His eyes blink to mine again, and finally his brow relaxes. His shoulders loosen with an exhale, and he pulls me into another hug.
“Never with you.” He traces his fingers in my hair before kissing my brow. We stay that way a few seconds, and his voice turns wistful. “We know so little about each other… so many things you should know about me and can’t.”
Dread pinches my stomach. I don’t like his tone or the distance his words create. Stepping back, I thread our fingers and lead him to the bar laden with food and drink.
“Here.” I pour him a glass of sparkling wine. “Have a drink, and we can talk. Maybe you can tell me something I shouldn’t know.”
He takes the wine with a brief smile, sitting on a barstool. “What should I not tell you?”