Page 18

“Don’t play with me, Enzo,” I said.
“Why not?” he said. His voice was low, teasing—but underneath, I heard the truth of it.
He was just as on edge as I was.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, Enzo,” I said.
He grazed my cheek with soft fingers. “Do I?” he asked, trying to sound detached.
I hated him.
I wanted him.
I set my coffee down, hard.
“Enzo.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, waiting.
“Why are you really here?”
The playfulness in his eyes was gone in an instant.
What was left was sternness, the faintest hint of concern.
“Because someone tried to break into your home, and because I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe.”
I swallowed.
“That’s it?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No. That’s not it.”
He stepped closer again, until I smelled the cologne on his skin.
“You want the whole truth, doll? I’m here because when I’m not, I think about you too much. Because I’d rather be in your tiny apartment fixing your door than anywhere else in the world.”
He leaned in but stopped just short of my mouth.
“And because every time I look at you, I want to kiss you.”
My lips parted.
He didn’t move.
The tension stretched, wire-tight.
I reached up and touched his cheek.
Just once.
That was enough.
And then I walked away.
Because I needed a minute.