Ripped (Miller Sisters 1)

His eyes were velvet dark and locked on mine. There was a faint gleam of humour there, and something else—something that made my stomach twist and spin and then drop like a stone from a high cliff.

‘My laptop?’

He leaned closer. His lips brushed my ear. ‘Did you manage to locate “The Niccolò”?’

Heat poured over me and warmth pooled in my pelvis. If he was waiting for me to respond, he was going to be waiting a long time. I couldn’t form a word let alone a sentence. I made an inarticulate sound that drew Rosie’s attention.

She frowned slightly, satisfied herself I didn’t need the Heimlich manoeuvre and drew everyone’s attention to herself by telling a funny joke that required sound effects and hand gestures.

Did I mention I loved my sister?

Nico didn’t seem to care what anybody else at the table thought. He was focused just on me and it was the sexiest, most intense experience of my life. Charlie had looked over my shoulder most of the time, as if conversing with me was an irritation he had to endure. The boyfriend I’d had before him used to just start talking about himself.

I’d never had a man look at me the way this man was looking at me.

As if everyone else in the room was inconsequential.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

His eyes were two shimmering pools of dark promise. ‘No? Because I happen to know where you can find what you were looking for.’

God, his voice was sexy. And the way his breath warmed my neck. I quivered and shivered. ‘You do?’

‘Yes.’ I could hear the smile in his voice and feel the sure, confident slide of his hand between my shaking thighs. ‘But you’ll have to come with me.’

‘You’re suggesting I leave my own Christmas party?’

‘You haven’t talked to anyone else since we sat down.’

A burst of raucous laughter brought me back to the present and I glanced at Rosie, who winked at me and raised her glass.

A different person might have scowled at the thought of being left with the washing up, but Rosie wasn’t like that.

She’d set this up for me.

This was my Christmas present.

I owed it to her to make the most of it.

Deciding that this was one gift I was going to unwrap in private, I pushed my plate away and turned to Nico. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter Six

His car was still the same low red Ferrari. A growling gas-guzzling trophy of Italian engineering perfection.

I wondered if I was supposed to play it cool and pretend I travelled in cars like this all the time. Then I remembered he’d seen me half-exposed in a torn dress and found my computer search. Cool had flown the nest. I sank into expensive leather and sighed.

‘Do you realize this has a 4.5 litre V8 engine? They reduced the piston compression height as they do in a racing engine. Oh, God, I love it. I want to crawl all over it and lick it.’ I restricted myself to stroking the dashboard. ‘I suppose being Italian, you have to have a car like this. You’re not compensating for deficiencies in your masculinity, are you?’

His response was a slow smile because of course I already knew the answer to that question. I’d eaten Christmas lunch with one hand on his masculinity.

It was the first time I’d seen him smile and it was worth waiting for. It pulled his mouth into a sexy curve that hinted at more hidden layers. I stared for a moment, fascinated. There was so much more to this man and I couldn’t wait to uncover those parts—all of them.

This promised to be the best Christmas day I’d had in a long time.

Glancing in the mirror, he pulled smoothly away from the curb and down the empty streets.

It was still snowing. The Ferrari should have been a nightmare to drive in these conditions, but he didn’t seem to have any problems.