And I hate how you make me feel because it reduces me to a lesser version of myself, and it makes me act irrational.
I push up, but Luca doesn’t move, and it only puts our faces a hair’s width from each other.
“Move,” I hiss. “I want to take a nap so I can get rid of this godforsaken hangover that you are making worse.”
“Mariya,” he warns with suppressed anger, his tone downright dangerous. “You. Will. Sleep. Next. To. Me.”
Jesus, the man is hot when he’s angry.
I crawl out from beneath him before I do something stupid, muttering, “God, you’re infuriating.”
I yank the covers out of the way and lie down with my back turned to him. “Don’t even breathe in my direction.” With a huff, I punch the pillow, but it only makes Luca’s scent explode into my face.
Everything smells like him. It’s the sweetest freaking torture ever.
The room grows dark as the electric curtains slide closed, then the bed dips beneath his weight.
My spine is stiff, every inch of me way too aware of the man lying beside me.
I shut my eyes, trying to think of everything possible except Luca and the damn marriage. I even try counting sheep, but it doesn’t work.
“I prefer sleeping on my left side,” I mutter.
“Then turn around.”
“No. Swap places with me.”
“No.”
I glance over my shoulder at Luca, who looks relaxed with his right arm tucked behind his head. He lets out a sigh. “I sleep between you and the door.”
“Why? You think I’ll try to make a run for it?”
He turns his head to look at me. “If we’re attacked, it will be easier to protect you.”
There’s a weird melting sensation in my chest, and not liking it one bit, I punch the pillow again and shut my eyes.
Damn, that was kind of sweet.
Unable to fall asleep, I replay everything that’s happened since I woke up this morning until I remember he said he heard I suck at cooking. “Who told you I can’t cook?”
“Get some sleep, mia moglie.”
It sounds like he’s taunting me when he calls me his wife, but I’m not taking the bait.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, I try counting sheep again, but my thoughts constantly return to Luca.
I can’t believe how much my life has changed in less than a day. It’s crazy. One minute I’m pining after the elusive and indifferent head of the Italian mafia, and the next, I’m his wife and sharing a bed.
Jesus, what a crazy day.
I focus on my breaths and slowly start to calm down, my thoughts not running wild any longer.
It’s just six months. You’ll survive it.
Chapter 12
Luca
Hair tickling my face wakes me up. I wipe a hand over my nose and mouth, brushing silky strands away, then open my eyes and glance down.
Mariya’s right leg is hooked over my thighs, and she’s snuggled into my side, her face buried against my ribs.
She gravitated to me in her sleep. A satisfied smile tug at my lips.
So fucking stubborn but the moment you let your guard down, your true feelings take over. With time you’ll get used to the idea of us, and I’ll finally get to show you just how much I love you.
Pulling my right arm from beneath my head, I’m careful not to wake her as I pinch a couple of strands between my fingers, savoring how soft her hair feels.
I get to enjoy having her pressed against me for close to ten minutes before she stirs. Sleepily, she stretches, her body rubbing hard against my side. Her arm wraps around my waist, and she lets out a sigh, which only makes the smile on my face grow.
Suddenly her head pops up, she glances around her with total confusion, then stares at me. It takes another couple of seconds before she yanks away and darts off the bed.
“Sleep well?” I taunt her, my eyes raking over her body. The tight-fitting shorts and top do nothing to hide her smackable ass and hard nipples.
Christ.
I grow instantly hard, the need for this woman burning through my body like a wildfire.
“Shut up,” she mutters, rushing to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her.
I chuckle while reaching down to adjust my hard-as-steel cock.
I get a feeling I’ll die of blue balls long before Mariya tries to kill me.
Just as I sit up, my phone starts to ring. Seeing Marco, my most trusted man’s name flashing on the screen, I quickly answer, “What’s up?”
“Just got word that the Albanians were spotted in San Diego.”
“Fuckers,” I mutter, getting out of bed. Walking to the closet, I ask, “How many?”
“Twenty strong.”
“Where the fuck do they come from? No matter how many we kill, the fuckers keep popping up in my territory.” I put the phone on speaker, so I can set it down and get dressed.