So I pushed every one of his red do-not-touch buttons.
“Get the fuck back in the dressing room and change,” Rome said in a low voice.
“What crawled up your ass?” I put a hand on my hip and waited for an answer.
“You’re purposely trying to rub me the wrong way today, Katie.”
“Maybe I’m rubbing you just the right way.” I winked at him.
One of his massive hands went to the back of his neck, and he pulled on it hard as he sighed up to the ceiling. Then he said, “Yep, I’m doing it,” to no one in particular and dragged me into the dressing room by my elbow.
I fought him. He fucking deserved it. “Don’t manhandle me, you big asshole.”
Mario shook his head as he walked away to confer with the saleswoman again. I swear, the boutique must have been used to our type because none of them batted an eye. I tried to stomp one of my heels into Rome’s shoe, but he sidestepped and threw me over his shoulder.
“No help?” I yelled over his back. “Bastian? After everything we’ve been through?”
He looked a bit wounded, but Rome said over his shoulder, “You come near us right now, I’ll step aside the next time a bullet comes your way.”
Bastian’s jaw ticked; I saw it. But he didn’t step forward.
Rome dropped me down in the dressing room, and I stumbled back into the wall. “A little overly dramatic?” I raised an eyebrow as I readjusted my sweetheart bodice.
“You’re out of control, woman.” His eyes were wild, wide with fury when normally all I saw was emptiness.
Good.
I was finally getting a reaction.
I crossed my arms over my chest, and his gaze flickered down for a moment. “Oh my God. It’s a dress, Rome. Can we get past it?”
“It’s a hook, line, and sinker dress. It’s a here-I-am-on-a-platter dress for a fucking event where you could die because of it. Pick something less in-your-face.”
“I like in-your-face.”
“Too bad!” I yelled. “I like you. They like you. The whole city likes you. Too damn much! We can’t keep you safe when you’re tempting everyone’s rage, everyone’s pride.”
“I can keep myself safe, Rome.” I smiled with extra smarminess. “But thanks.”
He crowded me into the corner of the fitting room, and his hand went to my favorite place—wrapped around my neck—so he could lift my chin and glare into my eyes. “You know every time you say that, I think of how easy it would be for me to snap your neck.”
“It’d be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, Rome, because you wouldn’t be able to live with it like you do all the others. You’d have to find a way to get over the fact that you actually care about me. You may act like you don’t, you may act like I’m just a nuisance, but you wouldn’t be in this fitting room if that were the case.”
“I have a job to do, and that’s protecting this family. You’re a part of it. I take my job seriously, even if it means dealing with your shit.”
“That’s what you're going with? I’m your job?”
A line formed between his eyebrows, like I was confusing him, like he was working through what I said but wasn’t catching up quickly enough. I knew the struggle. I knew his fight not to care for me. I was fighting to shove him aside and move on to Bastian too.
In that fitting room, under the fluorescent lights that amplified all our imperfections, I found my most glaring one.
His calloused hand on my neck sent shivers across my body; goose bumps rose along with my nipples as if they would only ever peak for him. My hands had a mind of their own as they inched the mesh of my skirt up and then gripped his shirt while I wrapped one leg around him.
His hand gripped me tighter, and my mouth dropped as I sucked in air and felt his length against me. His other hand gripped my upper thigh, and I bit my lip as it slid higher.
He swore over and over again, strings of whispered obscenities mixed with insults about how reckless I was as I let his hand creep farther and farther.
Abruptly, his hand raked hard up the rest of my thigh. He pulled his hips away just enough for him to move my panties aside and plunge two fingers into me.