“Do you know if Caruso has any business connections in France?” I ask. “Or Rossi?”
She shakes her head, and the drop earrings with diamonds catch the light, sparkling as they glide to and fro along the slope of her neck. After Emilia sets down the computer, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and I mentally groan. Why does she do provocative shit all the time?
I narrow my gaze, shoving aside the beginnings of arousal. “If I find out you know something, you’ll regret it.”
“What do you think I’ll do with that information?” She wraps her arms around her legs and seems to shrink before my eyes, folding into herself. “I have no access to my father’s accounts and no money of my own, so why would I help him? He was horrible to my mother and me, and while you’ve put me through a lot, you’ll never be worse than him.”
I was suspicious that Caruso didn’t treat Emilia well, but hearing it doesn’t bring me an emotional reward. If anything, I’m dissatisfied. Perhaps even disconcerted.
“Sir, I would rather be tied to your bed than free to roam my father’s house, because I hate him.” She says this quietly; however, her voice is dense with fury and pain. A lot of it. This holds me captive, as does the fiery green of her eyes. “Believe the worst and do your worst, because you can’t take from me more than he already has. Life isn’t a competition, but I may want him dead more than you.”
We stare at one another until she ducks her head and rests her chin on her knees. Emilia looks so vulnerable and delicate sitting there, yet she just revealed how much she loathes her father, the very man I despise with my entire being. There are commonalities between her and me that are to be expected, seeing as we come from the same world. But I can’t wrap my mind around the idea she wants Caruso to die.
Emilia is still my enemy. However, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. That’s how the saying goes anyway. What does this mean for her and me?
I push away from the wall. “Come here.”
She flicks her gaze to me and then away. I wish she would stop doing that so I could read her expression more easily. Emilia isn’t exactly an open book, and I think whatever emotions I do catch on her face are only a small representation of the thoughts in her mind.
As she makes her way to me, I peruse her body, starting with the gentle but provocative sway of her hips, to the flush scattered across her breasts, and ending with the blue-black tendrils framing her face. Her beauty entices me, of that I have no doubt. But I’m finding out there’s more to this woman than I could have foreseen.
She stops an arm’s length from me and lifts her head enough for our gazes to meet. Acceptance is in hers. Usually there’s fear clouding the green hue of her eyes, and although there is some, it’s not as much as I expected. It’s lessened, but so has my anticipation at seeing her frightened.
Have I replaced the desire to torment her with something else?
Impossible.
Emilia
Maximus stares at me for so long I think he’s never going to speak. During this time, I mull over everything I said, and it has me pressing my lips together. It was so stupid of me to challenge him by saying he couldn’t hurt me more than my father already has. It’s the truth, but I didn’t need to tell him. Will Maximus make more of an effort to ensure I’m miserable?
Well, more than I am now anyway. And that’s not too bad, all things considered. Yes, my husband has used me, but I didn’t expect anything less. Actually, I expected things to be far worse, and surprisingly, he does treat me like a human being on occasion. If I could figure out how to ensure that happens more often, I’d be fortunate. In time, when he grows tired of using me for his personal gains, I could even be happy. Maybe. Rosetta is kind to me, and the household staff didn’t look at me with contempt, which means my only obstacle in having a decent life is Maximus.
From the way he pierces me with his gaze, I know I won’t have a peaceful existence anytime soon.
“Do you really hate Caruso that much?” he asks.
“I do.”
“Why?” The confusion in his tone is genuine. “He’s your family.”
“He’s a murderer.”
I can’t and I won’t say anything more about that, even if Maximus beats me for it. My mother is not something I’ll share with anyone but him especially because he doesn’t deserve it. And I’m sure he feels the same about me when it comes to his revenge. If Maximus wants me to know why he hates my father, he’ll tell me.
If not, I hate Caruso enough for both of us.
Maximus cocks his head, and a strand of midnight hair falls across his brow. “And what do you think of Rossi?”
I blink and rapidly gather my thoughts at the unexpected question. I’ve never liked Rossi, and the first time I met him, I couldn’t wait to get away. He didn’t do more than kiss my hand, but he reeked of licentiousness, and it soured my stomach. The way he looked at me was with more than attraction; it was filthy and very unlike the way Maximus watches me.
I’m not sure if it’s the flaring of his nostrils or something else that tips me off, but when Maximus grabs my upper arms, I’m able to keep from crying out in surprise. He yanks me to him and lifts me off the floor until I’m on my toes and his face is a breath away from mine. This close I’m able to make out the churning in his dark eyes, which look almost fevered.
“You better answer me right the fuck now,” he bites out between clenched teeth, “or God help me, I’ll whip your ass raw. Do you have feelings for Rossi?”
My mind goes blank.
For the first time in my life, I’ve forgotten how to articulate a sentence or express a coherent thought. And all because Maximus sounds like a jealous husband. I know he’s not, that he hates me almost as much as my father, and yet… Why does he care?
