Which meant he was having an instant attraction to this woman that couldn’t have happened at a worse fucking time!
His talks with Leonardo Brunelli were going well, the older man liking the idea more and more of a London alliance between the Italian families and the Russians.
Matteo had his empire back.
Had now surrounded himself with people totally loyal to him and the Zalotti name.
With his future brother-in-law’s input, he was also forming an alliance with the Russians, something that had never been achieved before.
His engagement and marriage to Brunelli’s daughter, Natalia, meant Matteo would soon also have a strong family connection with the ruthless don of New York.
The Zalotti family would soon be more powerful than they had ever been.
Now was not the time for Matteo to take one look at a beautiful redhead and know he would put all that at risk for a single night spent with his cock buried inside this woman as he took her again and again, the two of them enjoying climax after climax together, until they were both too satiated and exhausted to move.
Chapter Three
“Sir?” Grace prompted, not sure where this man’s thoughts had wandered off to but he didn’t look particularly pleased whatever they were.
“Matteo.”
“Sorry?”
“My name is Matteo,” he bit out.
Which would make him Italian. Grace had already guessed from his slightly swarthy complexion that his heritage was from somewhere in the Mediterranean. It seemed he wasn’t a Greek god after all, but an Italian one. Grace would have preferred he was Greek.
“Have dinner with me tonight?”
“What?” Grace had been so distracted by her thoughts and her uncharacteristic physical arousal to this man that she now felt totally disarmed, both by the question and by the way this man gazed at her with those intense dark blue eyes.
He stepped closer, totally crowding her when he stood only inches in front of her and her back was pressed against one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “I said have dinner with me this evening.” It wasn’t a request this time, but a tersely issued order.
Request or order, Grace’s answer would still be the same. He was too intense for her, and besides, Matteo didn’t exactly look thrilled about having made the invitation in the first place. “No, thank you.”
Those blue eyes narrowed as if this man wasn’t used to hearing that word very often. If ever. “Why not?”
Grace’s frown was pained. “I don’t believe I need to give a reason.”
“I think you do.”
She glared at him. “No, I really don’t.”
“Are you married? Engaged? Living with someone?”
“No. No. And no. Are you?” she challenged.
“No,” he bit out harshly.
Was it Grace’s imagination or had there been a slight hesitation before he said that emphatic no?
“Have dinner with me,” he repeated.
She gave a shake of her head. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you.”
“Liar. Your nipples are hard,” he continued huskily as she would have protested. “Your cheeks are also flushed, your lips are moist, red, and slightly swollen. The ones between your thighs probably are too,” he added intimately.
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. “You can’t say things like that!”
He smiled slightly. “I believe I just did. If it’s any consolation, my cock is just as aroused.”
Color burned her cheeks. “That isn’t of any interest to me!” She stepped aside to take several books from one of the shelves. “Any of these books will list the things you need to know in order to give your sister away at her wedding. Carla will be pleased to process your purchase, if you should decide to buy one of them.” She turned to walk away.
“Grace!” He grabbed her arm.
She gasped, feeling as if an electric shock ran the length of her arm the moment Matteo reached out to stop her from leaving. That touch alone stilled her heart. The heat of his fingers seared the breath from her lungs.
The stunned expression on Matteo’s face—eyelids wide and pupils dilated, his lips slightly parted—seemed to imply he was just as shocked at his own response to a simple touch.
He held her gaze as he reached out to grasp her other hand before pulling her gently toward him.
Grace remained a captive of those deep blue eyes as Matteo placed her palms flat against his chest, her breath catching in her throat at the feel of not only his heat, but the steady beat of his heart.
Their surroundings faded to the background, only the two of them seeming to exist in that moment. Their gazes were locked, breathing becoming synchronized, hearts beating in the same rhythm.
“I apologize for my forwardness just now,” he murmured throatily. “But I know you can feel this awareness between us too.”
She could try denying it, could insist he was wrong, but her nipples were engorged and pressing against her fitted top, and between her thighs was slick and swollen. Dear Lord, their combined pheromones were enough to cause a fresh gush of those juices down her aching channel.
Which was even more reason for her to continue to refuse to have dinner with him.
“Please have dinner with me this evening,” he prompted again huskily.
Grace knew that, despite the added please, she should repeat her refusal. She could think of a dozen reasons why she should. This man was too much. It felt as if she couldn’t escape the intensity of his gaze. He was too outspoken. Damn it, he was too much of everything. Plus he was as Italian as her violent father had been, and Grace had avoided all volatile Italian men since she arrived in England five years ago.
Except…
She looked down at her hands totally engulfed by his much larger ones, his fingers long and sensual as one of them caressed her knuckles. “Yes,” she heard herself softly breathe her acquiescence.
He gave an obvious sigh of satisfaction as his expression became less forceful. “What time do you finish here this evening?”
Grace, still feeling dazed from hearing herself accept his invitation, didn’t seem able to backtrack on that acceptance. “It’s Friday night, so
