SOFIA'S POV

“Don’t move.”

Luca’s voice stopped me in the middle of the open-plan kitchen the next morning, coffee mug halfway to my lips. He stood in the doorway of his room, bare-chested, dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair still damp from a shower. The scent of his soap reached me across the space—clean, expensive, and somehow filthy at the same time.

I lowered the mug slowly. “I was just—”

“I said don’t move.”

He walked toward me barefoot, silent on the hardwood. Every step made the air between us feel tighter. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes....