“You’ll need to stop looking at me like that, Wildflower.” He smirks. “Looking at you like what?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I’m looking at him like I’m hungry. Because I am. “Like you’ve seen me naked. Like you wish you could see it all again.” I bite my lip and glance away, willing myself to remember all the reasons I made him promise that we’d never cross that line again. “I didn’t know you could speak Italian.” What a stupid fucking thing to say. I nearly wince at myself. His laugh rakes along my skin. “Bella, ti parlerò in qualunque lingua tu mi dica se questo ti farà
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