Page 9 of The Temptation

When I let go of her chin, she nods and pushes back her chair. “I’m going to head to bed then.”

I don’t miss the shimmer in her eyes as she stands, or the way she keeps her face turned just enough to try and hide it. This softer, vulnerable side of Lucia Rossi is a total contrast to the spitfire I know her to be.

It’s a sight that tugs at my hardened heart, and for a split second, I’m tempted to reach out, pull her down onto my lap and hug the shit out of her.

But I don’t.

Instead, I sit there with my fists clenched, because if I touch her now—if I let myself cross that line—I’m not sure I’ll ever let go.

The moment I step into the kitchen the next morning and find Lucia cooking up a storm as she softly hums a song I don’t recognise, my eyes betray me.

They move slowly, drifting south along the curve of her spine towards that luscious, tight arse.

This woman is not just short; her whole frame is petite, almost delicate. Her sister is all curves, but Lucia’s slim body and height only seem to make her appear younger than her actual age of nineteen.

From behind, she could almost be mistaken for a fucking kid, which has all these unwanted thoughts I’m having of her make me feel sick and depraved … like a damn paedophile.

It’s another reason why I need to get this shit in check and stay the hell away. The things she makes me feel are maddening, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

She’s dressed casually today in dark, form-fitting jeans and a red top that clings in all the right places. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her feet are bare.

My gaze only lingers for a moment before I force my eyes away.

For one reckless second, I let myself believe this could be mine. Waking up to this woman, to mornings like this, as if it’s something real, something I could hold on to.

But I can’t.

Not with her.

Not in the world we live in.

I clear my throat as I lightly shake my head, trying to clear those misguided thoughts from my head.

“Morning,” I murmur, heading towards the table and dropping into a chair.

“Morning,” she replies, giving me a quick glance over her shoulder before turning back to the stove.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask because I didn’t.

After having a dream about my mum, or rather a nightmare, I tossed and turned for the rest of the night. This is why I hate reliving anything from my past; it brings up memories I buried a long time ago.

“Not too bad,” she replies. “You?”

“Okay,” I lie. “Do you need some help? Do you want me to set the table or something?”

She glances at me again, and there it is … that soft, sweet smile she once only seemed to reserve for me. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, and it does something to my chest, something I don’t want to name.

“Umm … sure,” she breathes, and I swear the sound of her sultry voice has my cock swelling in my pants.

I clear my throat, feeling instantly annoyed at myself and her. That fucking sweet side of this little temptress is my weakness.

After giving myself a moment—or rather, my dick—I stand abruptly and move about the kitchen searching for what I need. I slam cupboards and drawers as I go, trying to work this frustration out of my system, but it doesn’t work.

“You okay?” Lucia asks, obviously noticing the shift in my mood.

“I’m fine,” I grumble.

It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and I’ve already run through every damn emotion known to man. If thiskeeps up, I’m going to lose my mind by the end of this fucking job.