Isabella's POV:

What did I just let happen? My body was still trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm as his soft kisses trailed along my jaw, leaving my doubts in a hazy blur. He had engulfed me, enchanted me, and pulled me under. All my common sense—like the unspoken rule about not sleeping with the boss—was thrown out the proverbial window, even though the real one remained shut.

How could I be so foolish? I knew he was a danger to me, that he probably saw me as nothing more than a fleeting indulgence. And yet, that didn't deter me. What truly shook me was that I didn't care. I wanted an adventure, and he was giving me one—a whirlwind escapade I'd only ever read about in novels.

But as I came down from the high of his touch, I felt something unexpected: liberation. For once, I was living for myself, making choices that were entirely my own, based solely on my desires. It was exhilarating. It was empowering. The way his breath fanned over my skin, grounding me in the present moment, made it hard to hold on to any lingering guilt.

Then reality began to crystallise. My dress hung undone, and his pants still strained against the bulge pressing into my thigh. Embarrassed, I buried my face in the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I crossed the line. I shouldn't have let this happen."

"I'm not sorry for what I've done," he whispered into my hair, his voice low and resolute. "And you shouldn't be either. I wanted this. It might surprise you, but you're an intriguing woman. Despite my aversion to surprises, you're the kind I'd gladly sign my life away for."

I swallowed hard, his words both soothing and unsettling. He made it sound so natural, as though this wasn't a first for him. Did he make countless women feel this way? The thought hit me like a slap. Was Beatrice one of them? Her hostility toward me suddenly seemed to make sense.

His hands moved with deliberate tenderness as he buttoned my dress and smoothed my hair with his fingertips. Then he reached for his own shirt. "Can you help me?" he asked, his voice steady.

I obliged, fastening his buttons while trying to ignore the way his breath hitched with each touch. By the time I reached the last button, I could feel the tension between us simmering again. He probably expected me to kneel before him, but I was drained—emotionally and physically.

I patted the front of his pants, forcing a playful tone. "Need help with this too?" I asked cautiously, torn between hoping he'd say no and wanting him to demand more of me. Despite my exhaustion, I wanted to be the one to make him lose control.

But he surprised me. Taking my hand, he replied softly, "Not today, Bellissima. I can see you're tired, and right now, you're the one doubting us."

He was right. Doubt gnawed at me. Around him, I questioned everything—myself, most of all. I would've given up my self-respect if he asked, and that terrified me.

"No doubts," he murmured, guiding my hand over the hard length beneath his zipper, "and then I'm all yours."

I pulled away, busying myself with tidying the first aid kit we'd disturbed earlier. His hands lingered on my hips as I bent to discard the used bandages, his touch a constant reminder of the intimacy we'd just shared. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sterility of the bandages, grounding me in the reality of the moment.

When I finally turned back to him, his smile was maddeningly enticing. "Please don't look at me like that," I pleaded.

"Like what?" His lips curled higher, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

I gasped as his hand rested on my backside. "Like you want to devour me."

"I already did," he teased, "but once isn't enough." His whiskey-coloured eyes dared me to deny him, to deny myself.

"Nico," I sighed, his name a breathless surrender.

"Keep making those sounds," he murmured, "and I'll turn those sighs into moans."

I knew he would keep that promise. My body didn't have a shield against his touch. My body betrayed me, heat pooling low in my belly as my resolve crumbled.

"You know this is wrong on so many levels," I said, though I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince. Him or myself.

"Isabella," he replied, his tone unapologetic, "I don't care if it's wrong. It feels damn right to me, and that's all that matters."

His certainty was intoxicating, but it also scared me. I knew I was too far gone to pull myself out of whatever this was. The question was, would I even try?

"We have an agreement," I reminded him. "I work for you. That's it. I get my adventure."

"What better adventure could I offer than a romance?" he countered. "Fall in love with me, and I'll show you what life can be like on the other side."

"But you'll break my heart," I confessed, the words a weight I'd been carrying for too long.

"I won't," he said, almost angry. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you're not a one-woman man," I replied, my voice trembling. Men like him didn't commit. They took what they wanted and left destruction in their wake. I didn't want to be left destroyed, even though my defences were falling apart under his touch.

"You don't get to assume," he snapped. "You get to ask, and I'll tell you the truth."

"Fine," I said, emboldened by his openness. "How can I be sure I'll be the only woman in your life? I've seen the way Beatrice looks at you, you've probably fucked her on this very desk. And what about that woman outside the gelateria?"

He chuckled, infuriatingly amused. "Jealous much?"

His amusement tripled my anger. I took my palms back from his chest and leaned against his desk for support. "Don't dismiss this, Niccolò," I said, my voice firm. "I'm not stupid."

"Fine," he conceded, his tone sharp. "I've been with other women, but if I'm with you, I'm only with you. I don't share, especially not when it comes to you."

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his mask slipping to reveal desperation. His hands dropped from my hips, leaving me feeling unmoored.

Before I could answer, a knock at the door interrupted us. "Come in," he said, his gaze never leaving mine.

Beatrice entered, her eyes narrowing slightly as they darted between us. "The meeting that was cancelled last week is rescheduled for tomorrow. Everyone has confirmed. Do you need a list of attendees?"

"Thank you, Beatrice. I'll check it shortly. That'll be all," he replied in his professional tone.

As she left, I turned back to him. "See? This is what I mean. Now everyone will think I'm just your fucktoy."

"How can you be my fuck toy when I haven't even fucked you properly?" he said, his laugh infuriatingly casual.

"You're unbelievable," I snapped, throwing my hands up. "When you're ready to have a real conversation about us, come find me. After all, I'm under your roof."

With that, I walked out, proud of myself for standing firm even when I felt like crumbling. The cool air in the hallway offered a stark contrast to the heat we'd just shared, and it gave me hope—for my heart and maybe even for his.