I only agreed to fake marry him. And yeah, perhaps sneak in a few—okay, many orgasms, if I give in to this attraction between us again. And I admit, I'm tempted to ignore all of the reasons why I shouldn’t ask him to fuck me. But if I do, I might want this arrangement of ours to turn into something permanent, and I don’t think that’s something he’d entertain. So, I really need to find a way to pull back from whatever the hell this thing is I'm beginning to feel for him.
And he already told me that one of his brothers died, also killed by his father. With so much violence in his past, it’s a wonder he still seems so normal.
"I didn’t say that to elicit sympathy." He picks up his wine glass and tosses back the rest of the contents. At once, the waitress appears at his elbow and picks up the bottle of wine.
"May I?" she murmurs.
He tilts his head. She leans over, making sure that her blouse dips a little as she tops up his glass. She straightens and flashes him a smoldering look. I expect her to offer the wine to me, but she places the bottle back on the table, then turns and walks away.
"What the—" I stare after her, then turn to him. "Did you see that? She didn’t offer to pour the wine for me."
"That’s because I own this restaurant; also—" He leans forward. "I left strict instructions that the only person taking care of you this evening is me."
27
Luca
Nice one. Did you actually say those pathetically possessive words to her? Can you get any sappier? You’re beginning to sound like an eighties love song. Only it seems to have an effect on her, for her gaze widens. That tell-tale dilation of her pupils kicks in, and even across the table, I can make out the way her dark pupils take over the expanse of those large amber eyes of hers. As tawny as a lioness’ gaze, as sparkling as dappled sunlight, as deep as the heart of a topaz.
This woman vexes me. What is it about her that I find so fascinating? What is it about her that tempts me, and awakens the chords inside of me that I thought were silenced so long ago?
I can’t take my gaze off of her delicate features—that heart-shaped face, the thick eyelashes that flutter over her exquisite cheekbones, the beautiful bow of her upper lip, that upturned chin, the slim shoulders and dainty fingers she has wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. Her almost empty wine glass.
I snatch the bottle of wine, then lean over and fill it up.
"Thank you." She stares into the depths of her glass. "You don’t have to put up a pretense when we’re alone," she says in a low voice.
"It’s not a pretense."
She raises her gaze to mine. "You confuse me. You’re the one who proposed this arrangement, then you say that we should sleep together so it feels genuine. Only you retract that later by claiming you are happy for things to take their natural course, and now, you come across as all possessive. It makes my head spin. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that—"
"That?"
"You’re developing feelings for me."
Ridiculous.I kick out my legs and lean back in my seat. "You’re mistaken. I do intend to sleep with you, and only so the relationship comes across as genuine to my brothers. It’s the same reason I specified no one else fill your glass but me. I am Mafioso. It’s expected that I’d be possessive about my intended. And I wanted things to take their natural course because I have no intention of forcing myself on you. Unless—" I lean forward. "Perhaps, you’d prefer that I did so."
Her breath catches.
"Is that what this is about? Do you prefer I take you without giving you a choice? Would you prefer I show you how it could be between us without asking for your consent?"
Her chest rises and falls. The pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat speeds up.
"Is that what you want, Angel?"
Color flushes her cheeks. She gulps, then shakes her head. "Of course not."
"Are you sure? It’s okay to tell me if that’s what turns you on."
Her amber eyes turn to flint. She firms her lips. She jumps up and turns to leave, but I’m faster. I swoop over and grab her wrist.
"Sit down."
Her shoulders rise. Her entire being is so wound up, I worry her pulse rate is through the roof.
"Angel," I say softly, "you know I mean you no harm."
She watches me warily.