"What?"
"Get out of my sight. Now." I stand, needing distance, needing to think. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
"You just—you can't just?—"
"I can do whatever I want. That's the point." But even I can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "Get your things. Move them to my room. If you're not there in ten minutes, I'll come back and finish what I started."
It's a bluff. We both know it.
Because if I touch her again right now, I won't stop at a finger.
She sees it in my face—the barely leashed control, the want I can't quite hide—and something shifts in her expression.
"Get. Out."
"Make me."
The challenge hangs between us, dangerous and tempting.
I could. I absolutely could.
But I won't.
"Ten minutes," I repeat, heading for the door. "If you're not in my room, I'm dragging you there myself."
I leave before she can respond or I do something stupid like kiss her or finish what I started or admit that she's gotten under my skin in a way I didn't anticipate.
In my office, I pour myself a water with shaking hands and down it in one go.
What the hell was that?
I've spanked women before. Punishment, play, whatever the situation called for. Always controlled.
But this?
This was neither.
This was me losing my grip on the situation. On myself.
Bianca Mancini is becoming a problem.
A problem I have no idea how to solve.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dante
I give her thirty minutes instead of ten.
Partly because I need the time to get myself under control. Partly because going back too soon feels like admitting she rattled me.
Which she did but I don't need to advertise it.
At midnight, I finally head upstairs. The house is quiet, Maria long since gone to sleep, the security team outside doing their rounds. Just me and Bianca and whatever mess I've created between us.
I push open my bedroom door and stop.
She's in my bed.
