Inside, the walls are painted in soft greens and blues, eachroom a different shade. The sage-green kitchen is to die for—a sprawling island commands the center, complete with an eight-ring gas hob and twin basins.
The rest of the house is just as stunning: five bedrooms, four baths, a library, a games room, even a home cinema.
“Do you come here often?” I ask as I perch on the kitchen counter, watching Enzo prepare dinner.
He looks devastating in sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt. Not that I don’t adore the suits—but Enzo relaxed? My ovaries are screaming.
“Not as much as I should.”
“We should make it an annual trip. Ooo, for our anniversary each year? That would be so cute! And eventually we can bring our children—”
He silences me by stepping in close, his arms braced on either side, caging me against the cabinets. His lips crash into mine, wine lingering on his breath.
His hands trail down my sides, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him. His cock presses into me, the friction so delicious I moan into his mouth.
Suddenly—
He steps away.
“What are you—”
His expression is molten.Dangerous.“Run.”
“What—”
His chest rises and falls, breath ragged. His eyes burn.
I wet my lips. His gaze follows the movement.
“Run, Iz. I’m going to catch you.”
My heart stutters.
I don’t move.
He takes a step closer.
I leap off the counter—then bolt.
The patio doors stand open, so instead of heading deeper into the house, I veer outside.
My bare feet slap against warm tile as I sprint, the surface giving way to grass, twigs, and leaves as I race toward the woods.
The exhilaration—the thrill of knowing he’ll catch me—makes every sting of pain worth it.
I duck behind a tree, holding my breath as Enzo’s footsteps close in.
“I knew you’d enjoy this,” he calls, amusement lacing his voice.
He’s right. I love it.
I dart from my hiding spot and push deeper into the trees, heart pounding so hard it drowns out the world.
A twig snaps.
I spin.
Nothing.
