The next evening, after another long day of pretending to work while replaying our balcony kiss on loop, my doorbell rang again.
I opened it to find Charles holding a bottle of wine and wearing that dangerous smirk I was starting to crave.
“I come in peace,” he said, holding up the bottle. “And excellent wine. Can I tempt you?”
I leaned against the doorframe, trying to look unimpressed even though my heart was racing. “Depends. Are you going to behave?”
“Probably not.”
I laughed and let him in.
We didn’t even make it to the couch.
The moment the door closed, he set the wine down and pulled me into his arms.
This kiss was different from the balcony — hungrier, more desperate. His hands roamed down my back and gripped my ass, pulling me flush against him.
“f**k, Amy,” he groaned aga
