Читать книгу Tuscan Heat - Deborah Fletcher Mello - Страница 3

He laughed heartily. “Gianna Martelli has a little bit of a jealous streak,” he teased.

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.” He reached for her hand, entwining her fingers between his own. His touch was electric, the current between them combustible. “And I kind of like it,” he said, his voice dropping to a loud whisper. “But if I’m honest,” he continued after another brief pause, “I’m really hoping that you and I are seeing each other. Or getting close to that point.”

The hint of a smile danced across her face. His touch was heated, fire coursed through her palm, up the length of her arm and exploded with a vengeance through her body. A tingle ran down her spine and back up, the sensations a shiver away from orgasmic.

She suddenly pulled her hand from his, color heating her cheeks. Turning her body around, she lay back against him, resting her head in his lap. She pulled a grape from the bunch in her hands and slid it into her mouth.