of being forced to confront yet more evidence of how utterly impossible relationships were.
I was mourning the fairy tale, which was ridiculous when I thought about it because I’d never believed in the fairy tale.
‘Hayley? Cristo, answer the question.’ His voice was raw and thickened by an emotion I didn’t recognize. I assumed it was anger, since that was the only emotion he ever seemed to feel around me. ‘Are you broken-hearted?’
The question hung between us in an atmosphere that was heavy and sweaty. A moment ago I’d been freezing. Someone needed to open a window. It was stifling in here.
‘Unless you’re a cardiologist, the condition of my heart is none of your business.’ I might have been hiding my feelings but I wasn’t hiding anything else. I lifted my hands to close my jacket but he was there before me. Strong male fingers tangled with mine and the backs of his fingers brushed against my breasts. His hands were warm and chemistry shot through me. It was like falling on an electric fence.
Both of us froze.
The only sound in the room was his breathing. Or maybe it was my breathing.
He was standing really close to me, so close I had a magnified view of hot masculinity. My eyes were level with that darkened jaw, that unsmiling mouth and those incredible bed me if you’re lucky eyes.
Right at the moment I so, so wanted to get that lucky.
I knew he wouldn’t be good for me. He’d probably be a bit like junk food—something you could crave even while knowing it had no nutritional value and might make you feel sick later.
I didn’t care about the wedding. I didn’t care that I’d be gossiped about for the next two decades. All I wanted was to feel that mouth on mine and find out whether kissing him would be as good as I thought it would.
Oh, God, why not?
Today had been such a total disaster I might as well try and extract one decent memory to comfort me in the hours of cringing flashbacks that were bound to follow.
Telling myself I was doing us both a favor, I grabbed the front of his shirt and was about to pull him towards me when he muttered something in Italian and dragged me towards him by the lapels of his jacket.
We collided, locked together like wild animals in the mating season.
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