Barbara McMahon - Bella Rosa Proposals - Star-Crossed Sweethearts

“There are other, more stimulating ways to increase your heart rate, you know.”

“Yes. A simple conversation with you is one of them.” She waited for his comeback, something cocky and off-color, but the phone line remained silent. “Angelo?”

“You shouldn’t tell a guy something like that,” he said at last, sounding much too serious.

“Why?”

“It might give him ideas.”

“From what I can tell, you have plenty of ideas already.” Feeling emboldened, she took the initiative to flirt. “What are you wearing?”

“You want to know what I’m wearing?” It was apparent in his tone that her boldness took him aback.

She laughed. “I’m wearing a cotton sheet and a smile. So, what about you?”

“Apparently one article of clothing too many. But that’s easy enough to remedy,” he assured her. “Hang on a minute, okay?”

“Angelo?” She got no response. Had he put down the receiver? She heard a creaking noise. Were those…bedsprings? Surely not. Even so, her grip tightened on the lapels of her pajama top and she had to pull it out from her chest a few times to cool her suddenly heated skin.

Angelo came back on the line then. “Do you want to know what I’m wearing now, Atlanta?”

His words held a dare. She nearly backed down. Basta . She’d had enough of meekness.

“I think I can guess,” she told him. “Hmm. Let’s see. A smile?”

“That’s a given. What else?”

The seductive voice that replied was one she barely recognized as her own. Even while filming a love scene on the set, she’d never sounded like this, nor had she ever felt this way around a man. Confident. Powerful. Sexy and in control.

You’re worthless, Jane. Worthless. You can’t do anything right. Just like your mother .

Body of a centerfold and no clue how to use it. Good thing your fans can’t see into our bedroom .

She banished the ugly memories and embraced the moment instead. “You do know that that sheet is optional, right?”

“Same goes.”

“I have a confession to make.”

“You’re not wearing a sheet.”

“I’m not.” She fingered the fabric-covered button between her breasts. Before she could fathom what she was doing, she’d fished it one-handed through its hole. A second one followed before she asked, “Does this constitute phone sex?”

“No. It’s more like phone foreplay. For the record, I prefer to do both in person. I can be at your villa in fifteen minutes if I don’t bother with stop signs and get lucky on those hairpin turns.”

“A tempting offer.” She meant it. Should she say yes? She wanted to. But the power she’d felt just a moment earlier proved fleeting. Her hand stilled on the third button. “You can take your time getting here, though. The ruins aren’t going anywhere.”

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