Page 62 of Irreplaceable

She was climbing two flights of stairs every day? What about her groceries? And what about the fact that I’d gotten in without any type of security code?

I shook my head and pressed on. The sooner I bought a house, the better.

I knocked on the door to her apartment and waited. “Just a second,” she called, and relief filled my veins. Perfetto. She was home.

A moment later, the door swung open. Harper stood there in a pair of sweat pants and a tank top with thin straps. Her nipples pebbled against the white material, and it reminded me of the night we’d met. Then, as now, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone so sexy.

She glanced up at me and immediately frowned. “You’re not the delivery guy.”

“No, I’m not.” I smirked, taking in everything from the pink hue of her lips to the way a few tendrils of hair fell along her collarbone. “But I do want to take you to dinner.”

She frowned. “I already ordered some.”

“I’ll join you, then.” I kissed her cheek as I brushed past her and let myself inside.

Framed images hung on the walls, and I immediately recognized them as Harper’s work. There were some floating shelves topped with various knickknacks from her travels, vintage cameras, and photographs. When I stepped closer, I recognized some of her friends from the other night—a shot of Juliana on her wedding day and Harper with her.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, though I decided to ignore the sarcastic bite to her words.

She could continue to fight this—and me—all she wanted, but eventually, she’d cave. The fact that she’d kept the daffodils I’d sent her had to mean something. As did their placement in the middle of the table—a spot she’d have to see and walk by every day.

There was another knock at the door, and I answered it. The delivery guy blinked a few times when he saw me standing in the doorway, his mouth opening and closing. Lorenzo freaking Mancini, he mouthed. Or at least words along those lines. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me; I only hoped he’d keep his mouth shut.

“I believe you have an order for me,” I said.

“Oh right.” He shook his head and pulled something from his bag. “Here you are.”

I thanked him and gave him a generous tip before taking the food to the kitchen. I opened the cupboards and found a bowl before setting to work on the food. It was a pasta dish with a butter and garlic sauce that smelled pretty good. Not as good as my nonna’s, but promising.

All the while, Harper watched, arms crossed over her chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking care of you.”

“I’m not an invalid,” she practically growled, attempting to push me aside. “I’m a grown woman who’s pregnant.”

“Yes.” I continued what I was doing. Laying the meal out for her. Serving her. “But everyone likes to be taken care of sometimes. No?”

“No.” She yanked the container from my hand, but it ended up spilling all over her shirt and down her chest. I couldn’t help it; I started laughing. Again, I was reminded of Bali and our cooking class which ended with a food fight and sex in the outdoor shower.

“This isn’t funny, Lorenzo.” She plucked some noodles from her chest, and my attention was glued to her skin. Thick, creamy sauce coated her cleavage, and I had a vision of emptying myself on her tits.

Cazzo.

And then my brain rewound the past few seconds, and I frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

She yanked a towel from the oven handle and wet it beneath the faucet. She dabbed at her shirt, but it was only making it worse. It was only making it wetter and me harder.

“I told you to call me Enzo.” I shifted closer, even knowing it was a bad idea. My hard-on pressed against my jeans, and I couldn’t seem to stay away from her.

She glanced up at me, her mouth widening into an “o,” as if suddenly realizing how close I was.

I took the towel from her hand and wiped it down her chest. She let out a little gasp of surprise, but she didn’t try to stop me. So, I did it again, watching in fascination as her skin pebbled with goose bumps.

The washcloth was covered in sauce and getting cold, so I rinsed it with warm water. Our eyes were locked on each other, and I waited for her to tell me to stop. But she didn’t. Not even when I slowly lowered the strap of her tank top, revealing her breast to me. Her nipples were darker than I remembered, her breasts fuller.

I swiped the towel over her nipple, and she moaned. I smirked to myself and rinsed it again before continuing my ministrations. This time on the other nipple.