I woke slowly, tangled in soft sheets that smelled faintly of leather and smoke. For a second, I didn't remember. Then the memories crashed into me—the alley, the stranger, the way his mouth had claimed mine, the way his hands had set my body on fire.
Panic fluttered in my chest as I turned my head and almost screamed. He was still there.
One strong arm was slung casually over my waist, pinning me to the mattress. His body was pressed against mine, bare skin against bare skin, heat seeping into every inch of me.
I froze.
God, he was beautiful. He doesn’t look real to me. His dark hair messy against the pillow. Sharp jaw dusted with stubble. Lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply, still lost in sleep. Butterflies exploded in my stomach.
What the hell had I done?
Carefully, I tried to slide out from under his arm.
Big mistake.
His grip tightened instantly, pulling me closer. I squeaked, my heart racing. His eyes blinked open, heavy-lidded and dangerously dark. He stared at me for a long moment, and my face burned under the weight of it. I wanted to say something, but all the words got stuck.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low and rough from sleep.
"I... uh, bathroom," I stammered. "And maybe a shower?" I sounded so stupid. His mouth curved into something that was almost a smirk.
Slowly, he sat up, completely unabashed—completely naked.
I yelped and squeezed my eyes shut, throwing my arm over my face. He laughed, low and wicked.
"Little late to be shy, princess," he drawled. "I was inside you last night." My entire body caught fire. He did not just remind me of what we did last night.
"You're mad," I hissed, refusing to look at him. I heard him move around, and when I finally dared to peek, he tossed a towel and a plain black hoodie at me.
"Here. Shower's down the hall." Muttering under my breath, I grabbed the towel and fled.
The hot water helped. Just a little though. I scrubbed away the remnants of last night, trying to piece myself back together. Trying not to think about the way he'd touched me. The way he'd made me feel alive for the first time in years.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in the oversized T-shirt that smelled like him, I felt a little more human. And then I smelled something else. Something warm and sweet drifting through the apartment.
Curious, I padded barefoot down the hall, following the scent.
The sight that greeted me nearly knocked me over.
He was standing in the kitchen, half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of black joggers slung low on his hips. His back was to me, muscles shifting under golden skin as he flipped something on the stove.
Was this real life?
Had I actually slept with a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine—and could cook?
"You’re going to burn me alive if you keep staring," he said without turning around. I jumped, cheeks flaming. I tried to play it cool, but I can’t think of something to bite back.
"I wasn’t—" I started, but he glanced over his shoulder, one dark eyebrow raised. I shut up real fast. He set a plate of chocolate pancakes on the counter and motioned for me to sit.
Still dazed, I obeyed. I picked up a fork and took a bite—and moaned involuntarily.
He smirked, looking at me curiously. "Good?"
"You’re… really full of surprises," I mumbled around a mouthful as I’m pointing at the pancakes with my fork. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with that same infuriating amusement.
"You’re famous, you know," he said casually. I froze with the fork halfway to my mouth.
"Excuse me?" I blinked at him a few times before he continues.
"Your family. Big name. Big reputation." I swallowed hard, setting the fork down carefully.
"And you?" I asked, heart pounding. "Don’t you think we should get to know each other’s name by now?" He shrugged.
"I like a little mystery."
"Well, I don’t," I said, forcing a shaky smile. "What’s your name?" He pushed another plate toward me, loaded with more pancakes. I took the bait, picking up a piece and stuffing it into my mouth.
He waited until I was mid-bite before he spoke.
"Leandro Moretti," he said smoothly. I choked, coughing violently as the name registered. He didn’t move to help. Just watched me with lazy amusement, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.
When I finally stopped hacking, I gaped at him.
I heard it wrong right? Leandro Morata, right? I need to go to the doctor after this, I have hearing problems. "Leandro... Moretti?" I wheezed, still not believing it.
"That's right," he said, walking closer, voice teasing. "You know, the name that’s supposed to make little D'Angelo girls like you cry at night." I stared at him, speechless.
He grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself.
"Good morning, Isabella D’Angelo," he added, voice dripping with wicked amusement and just like that, the world tilted again.
Fuck my life.