Thirst (The Calvettis of New York 1)

I look up at Rocco. If we plan on talking business, I prefer not to be gazing at him over candlelight while I’m holding a glass of robust red wine in my hand.

I counter his offer with one of my own. It’s not ideal, but it works for me. “What about lunch tomorrow?”

His response is immediate. “I’ll have something brought into my office. I’ll text you the address. You text me the time.”

His office?

I stand too, feeling like he somehow won our battle of wits, even though it feels like I was the only one playing.

“Tomorrow it is.” I take a step back from the table. “I’ll see you then.”

“If not before,” he says with a lift of his brow.

The innuendo in his words isn’t hidden at all.

Unless fondue takes all night, Rocco is going to be standing at his window when I get home.

***

It turns out cheese fondue takes a lot longer than I expected.

A lot of that had to do with the fact that Sophia was getting the fondue ready while I read bedtime stories to her daughter, Winter.

I couldn’t stop at just one, so story time seeped into the nine o’clock hour and now I’m standing in my apartment after midnight wishing I hadn’t indulged in that much rich food so late.

My place is dark. I skipped past the overhead light switch and headed straight to the window as soon as my door was locked.

There’s a light on in Rocco’s apartment, but he’s not in sight.

Disappointment rushes over me, even though I kept telling myself on the subway ride home, that I didn’t want him to undress for me tonight.

Of course, I did. I do.

Who wouldn’t? The man has the body of a Greek God and a face that can stop traffic.

Glancing down at my watch, I blow out a heavy sigh.

I need to rest. I have a morning filled with meetings tomorrow, followed by lunch with my neighbor.

I steal one more look at his window before I slip out of my dress and into my bed.

The soulful sound of music coming from the apartment across the hall, lulls me to sleep with thoughts of Rocco on my mind.

Chapter 23

Rocco

I gaze down at my desk and the take-out containers.

Chinese food.

I know Dexie likes it. I watched her eat it after it was delivered to her apartment one night.

Jesus. If she knew that, she’d order Harold to install blinds on the windows of her apartment today.

“Do you need anything else?” Jared’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Privacy.”