Greater Than Temptation

chapter nineteen

THIRD PERSON

Amira stumbled into the hotel suite, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she giggled to herself.

Alessandro was waiting.

Seated in one of the sleek, leather armchairs near the window, he watched her struggle to unhook her clutch from her wrist like it had personally offended her. She was awfully loud but made a great attempt at trying to stay quiet.

"You're drunk," he stated, voice flat.

Amira snorted. "Qué observador eres, detective."

His jaw ticked.

She ignored him, dropping onto the bed with a sigh, sprawling across the silk sheets like she owned the place. Her sundress had ridden up slightly, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs, but she didn't seem to care.

Alessandro, however?

He noticed.

He dragged a frustrated hand down his face. "Where the hell were you?"

Amira peeked up at him from her very comfortable position. "With Mario," she hummed, kicking off her heels one by one. "My old friend, remember?"

He remembered.

He also remembered the way she laughed too hard at whatever Mario said at the event. How she touched his arm in that easy, familiar way. How she didn't even notice when Alessandro was still there.

His fingers curled against the armrest.

"You smell like tequila," he muttered, standing.

Amira giggled. "Yup. And maybe a little mojito. Oh, y un poquito de sangría también. Mario kept ordering rounds."

Alessandro's eye twitched.

"Qué responsible," he said dryly.

Amira stretched, the movement making the neckline of her dress dip dangerously low. The swells of her breast rising to attention. "I'm responsible," she argued. "I'm responsible.." she slurred, then pointed her finger up as she remembered something. "See? I made it back in one piece."

Alessandro exhaled sharply. "Yeah, after I had to track your location."

Amira blinked. "You what?" She asked in disbelief

"You heard me." He was at the edge of the bed now, looking down at her with a mix of annoyance and something else she couldn't quite place.

Something heated.

But maybe that was just the tequila talking.

She propped herself up on her elbows. "You're not my dad, Alessandro."

His eyes darkened.

"No, ma è chiaro che sono l'unico ad avere buon senso."

Amira rolled her eyes, flopping back onto the bed. "Ugh, cálmate cabrón. Nothing happened. I had fun, I came back. End of story."

Silence.

Too much silence.

Amira cracked an eye open—only to find Alessandro still staring.

His fingers were tugging at his collar, his jaw tight, like he was barely keeping himself together.

She smirked. "What? Te molesta que me divertí?"

Alessandro's laugh was low. Dry. "I don't care what you do, Amira."

Liar.

"Mentiroso" She mumbled as she pushed herself up, voice dropping into something soft, teasing. "Then why do you look like you want to strangle something?"