Abby’s POV
I was the one who moved first.
I took a deep, shaky breath, telling myself, Practice makes perfect.
I closed the distance between us, shut my eyes, and initiated the kiss.
It was soft, a gentle, tender, highly-rehearsed touch of my lips against his.
I immediately pulled away, my eyes snapping open.
He looked utterly surprised, but there was a strange, dark amusement in his gaze.
“I didn’t ask for the lips,” he whispered, a hint of confusion mixing with his smile.
“It was for the cheek.”
My cheeks burned with instant, profound shame.
What the hell did I just do?
I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape my embarrassment.
But his hand shot out like lightning, grabbing my arm.
He pulled me close, dragging me back across the center console until I was crushed against his chest.
“Not so fast,” he murmured, his voice low and demanding.
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Let’s do it again.”
He didn’t wait for permission.
His hand moved to the back of my head, his fingers tangling possessively in my hair, and his mouth captured mine.
This was not the soft touch of moments ago.
His lips were insisting, his tongue immediately breaching my guard—hot, confident, and consuming.
I stopped fighting him.
I kissed him back, hard.
His hand went to the back of my head, pulling my face close until there was no space left.
His mouth covered mine with a demanding hunger.
His lips were hot and rough, and his tongue went into my mouth right away—it was demanding.
I felt a shock of electricity go through my body.
I wanted to stop, but I also wanted him closer.
“Ugh… we should stop this,” I managed to whisper, but my hands pulled his jacket tighter against me.
He groaned, a deep sound in his chest, and kept kissing me.
Our blood was rushing.
We were breathing fast, touching, almost forgetting we were in the car.
We were seconds away from taking off our clothes right there in front of the office building!
Luckily, he was the one who finally pulled away.
He took a huge, fast breath and rested his forehead on mine.
His chest was moving quickly, and his eyes were dark with intense feeling.
“Abby…” he rasped, his voice deep with desire.
“I gotta go,” I whispered back, my own voice shaky.
I fumbled for the door handle and scrambled out of the Maybach without glancing back.
Shame, adrenaline, and fucking heat flooded me.
Oh, god.
We just did that.
I could still feel his lips, his tongue, the crush of his body against mine.
I was burning up!
I stumbled toward the massive glass doors of the tower, hitting the elevator button for my designated executive floor.
Focus.
Grandpa needs me to focus. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
But how could I?
Matteo was all in my mind, a devastating, distracting force.
The elevator doors opened.
I found Mr. Patrick Maximus, Senior Director of Strategy, waiting for me in the office.
He was already talking about quarterly reports when I sat down, trying desperately to smooth my hair and look professional.
He paused mid-sentence, his sharp, professional gaze landing on my flushed face and slightly disheveled clothes.
“Miss Sinclair,” he asked, his voice sharp with confusion.
“Are you with me?”
I snapped my head up, trying to force my mind back into the present, and stood abruptly.
“I think I’m not feeling well today, Mr. Maximus,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
“Can we reschedule?”
“Alright, but be sure you don’t tell your grandfather about this,” he warned immediately.
“He’s going to be so mad that you’re not attending our meeting.”
Right, I remembered.
Before my rebirth, I never attended these meetings; this was the first time I’d shown up.
I grabbed the thick stack of reports on his desk.
“I’ll study all of this and report back to you next week.”
“That would be perfect, Miss Sinclair.”
I practically ran out of the office, hoping the cool air of the elevator lobby would clear my head.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw the sleek, black Maybach still parked at the curb outside the tower’s revolving doors.
I almost turned back inside, but it was too late.
Matteo was already out of the car, walking toward me with a decisive stride.
I stopped right where I was, hyper-aware of the executives streaming past, the doorman, and the high windows—everyone was staring at the man who was causing this scene.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice low.
He didn’t slow down.
He reached me just as he spoke, completely overriding the noise of the street.
“We need to talk,” he said, his eyes intense.
“I need a word with my wife.”