Page 69 of All's Well that Friends Well
I let my hand drop back to my lap. “Everyone deserves water and sunshine. Everyone deserves love. You certainly do.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t know?—”
“I don’t have to know,” I cut him off. My voice is soft now, because we’re entering sensitive territory—things I can’t take lightly. Things I have to treat with respect. “I never need to know, if you don’t want to tell me,” I go on. “I see you work hard every day to be a good person, even to someone like me. A gnat.”
His expression shifts into one of confusion, momentarily distracted by my words.
“Someone who buzzes around your face and won’t leave you alone. A gnat,” I explain, even though it’s painful. I pause and then go on, “A nuisance.”
And for a faint moment, I think I see something like regret in his eyes.
“But I’m going to try to win you over anyway, unless you tell me not to,” I say, brightening. “And right now, I’m going to kiss you—unless you tell me not to do that, either.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “And if I say no?” he says.
I shrug and lean down, bringing my face closer to his. “Then I won’t.”
“And do you often kiss men you’ve worked with a mere several weeks?”
“Ah,” I say, holding up one finger. “But I’veknownyou for months. I’ve wanted to kiss you for months. So it’s different.”
His eyes fly open with surprise, widening slightly when he finds me only inches from him. “And if I tell you I’ll report you to HR?” he breathes.
But I can feel his breath against my lips as his head tilts up, angling closer to mine, and his knuckles are white where he grips the arm of his chair.
“Will you?” I’m close enough that I can see my reflection in his glasses. “Tell me now, because I need this job.”
“Then kissing your boss seems like a risk, doesn’t it?” he says evenly. His voice is hoarse, his eyes sharp.
“Just to be clear,” I say, letting my gaze dart over his face. “You’re not saying no.”
He blinks slowly but doesn’t answer—and that’s good enough for me.
“I think you might like it,” I say as I lean closer, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I would like it,” he admits, the words still hoarse. His gaze drifts slowly to my lips. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“I think you might likeme,” I go on.
He opens his mouth to respond, but I stop him with the press of my lips, little more than a brush. I hover there, waiting, letting him catch up—because if he’s going to push me away, it will be now.
But he doesn’t. He’s still, completely still, neither pulling back or leaning in.
I glance over at the blinds, just to make sure they’re closed enough that no one will see us. Then I look back to Luca. “I’m going to take off your glasses,” Imurmur, and his eyes shutter closed, but he doesn’t protest as I reach up and unhook the glasses from behind his ears and then set them gently on the desk next to me. “Has it been a long time since you’ve kissed anyone?”
His hands clench on the arms of his chair again, his head spasming into what I think is a little nod. I reach up slowly and smooth one finger down his tight jaw, over the muscle jumping in his cheek. His eyes fly open?—
And there’s a storm in his gaze, tumultuous and wild.
That’s not rain; it’s not snow. The storm raging there is a hurricane that wants to wreck everything in its sight; a tornado that wants to devour everything in its path.
Me.
His breath is harsh against my lips now, his body no longer still; when I trail my hand down his neck and to his shoulder, I feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the rise and fall as he breathes.
And I don’t want to wait any longer—I kiss him. For real this time, sliding my lips over his and lingering, ready to take my time. Ready to coax, if I need to. I can be patient.
So I’m startled, completely taken aback, when he responds.