Kneel, the word echoed in Nate’s mind.
Nate moistened his dry lips with his tongue, his heart beating fast against his ribs and his cock so hard he wanted to scream. “I know. But Luke has gotten it into his head that we’re...”
“That we’re what?” Ferrara said, his gaze dropping to Nate’s mouth for a moment before looking back into Nate’s eyes.
Nate felt his face become warm. “That it’s a love match,” he forced out, feeling painfully awkward.
“A love match,” Ferrara repeated, as if the words were in an alien language.
Scoffing, Nate rolled his eyes. “Yes, sometimes people fuck because they love each other. A bizarre concept for you, I know.”
“And whatever gave him that idea?”
Nate shot him an incredulous look. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that you spent all afternoon yesterday keeping me in your lap and kissing me?”
“Need I remind you that it was your idea?”
“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was—that’s the impression kissing me for hours gave.”
Ferrara’s eyes dropped to Nate’s lips again.
Nate swallowed, actually feeling his pulse beat rapidly in his neck. Fuck, he hoped he wouldn’t have to endure more of those horrible kisses. But they were alone. Ferrara wouldn’t kiss him here. He was safe. Totally safe. Nothing was going to happen here. He wouldn’t have to endure Ferrara’s kisses.
Nate cleared his throat. “So you’d better tell me,” he said. “Why did Luke say your kidnapping was staged?”
Sighing, Ferrara looked away and let go of Nate’s chin.
Nate hated that he hated the loss of contact.
Ferrara walked to the window and stared out of it, his hands in his pockets, his wide shoulders stiff. “Contrary to popular opinion, my father didn’t disown me. He was against me leaving for America and leaving the family business, but he couldn’t change my mind once I made the decision. So I left, and he spread the rumor that he kicked me out.”
“To protect you?” Nate said.
Ferrara gave a clipped nod. “And himself. He didn’t want anyone to use me to get to him. That’s why he had to give the impression that he didn’t give a shit about me.”
“And what, you staged your own kidnapping?”
Ferrara shrugged. “Pretty much. Luke’s father, Whitford, was something of an old friend of my father. He agreed to help stage my kidnapping without it being traced back to us.”
Nate frowned. “So your kidnapping was fake? It wasn’t actually true that you barely survived it?”
A wry smile curled Ferrara’s lips. “By the time I was saved by FBI agents, I really was barely alive. The low-ranking mobsters who were watching over me had no idea that the whole thing was staged, so they weren’t exactly gentle.”
Nate pursed his lips, wondering. “Was it worth it?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Ferrara said, without looking at him. “I don’t even need bodyguards these days. In Italy I couldn’t take a piss without my bodyguards securing the bathroom first.”
Nate thought about it for a moment. “Wait,” he said. “Is that why you accepted Demidov’s invitation? That’s why you were worried, right? Because you knew he was dating Luke Whitford and there was a chance he knew about your staged kidnapping?”
Ferrara gave a nod, stepping closer to him. “I had to find out what he knew—and what he wanted if he really knew that.”
That made sense. Except…
“But wasn’t it risky for Demidov to invite you to Italy if he suspected that you weren’t actually at odds with your family? He could have chosen literally any country but your home country.”
Ferrara shook his head. “He knew I wouldn’t have accepted the invitation if he invited me somewhere else. The other businessmen invited to the villa were additional assurance that I wasn’t walking into a trap. Demidov’s willingness to put himself at a disadvantage made it obvious that he wanted something badly enough to want my cooperation. That’s why I risked it.”
“Luke hinted that Demidov actually wants your help with your father.”
Ferrara cocked his head slightly, a twisted smile curling his lips. “And if I don’t cooperate, he’ll use me as a bargaining chip against my family now that he has me as his ‘guest.’”
Nate opened his mouth to tell him to stop being a cynical asshole, but then stopped, realizing that he didn’t actually know Roman Demidov and it was entirely possible. It was entirely possible that the invitation was a setup and they were actually hostages in a fancy cage.
“Shit,” he whispered, looking around, suddenly paranoid. “Are we in danger?”
“You? Not really.” Ferrara’s smile widened. “Unless Demidov gets the brilliant idea that we’re a ‘love match,’ too.”
Nate glowered at him, not amused at all. “It’s not funny. This could be dangerous! Aren’t you afraid at all?”
“Come on, love,” Ferrara said gently, his gaze as mock-affectionate as his tone. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Ugh, you’re such an ass!” Nate said, pushing at Ferrara’s chest in frustration.