His accent was a bit different. A mixture of Italian and Spanish. He spoke both languages.
In the dim light, I understood why I’d mistaken him for Vincenzo. His hair was the same, long, slicked back into a ponytail, and his build was similar. Though this man was shorter, he was no less powerful for what he lacked in height.
His aura was even more intimidating—he seemed to push in on me, a great pressure, making me want to almost squirm, to scoot to the furthest end of the bed, though he hadn’t even touched me.
“Are you hungry?” he asked me in Spanish.
He peeled the rest of the rind with his teeth, turning to spit it in the fireplace, allowing the flames to consume it. They curled like delicate ears before they faded into ash. The scent of sweet ripeness was all over him, clinging, and my stomach made another vicious noise.
Taking food from him made me uneasy. What if he had injected it with a drug?
“When you die,” he said slowly, examining the last bite of the orange. “It will not be by food poisoning. That is something a woman would do to avoid the mess of blood. I am a man. A man who enjoys getting his hands dirty.”
He offered me the last bite of the orange and I took it, not to offend him, but I didn’t eat it. I was so tempted to. It was cool—he must have had it out in the cold—and it smelled unbelievably good. I could imagine it tasted like a fresh spring that welled from the ground, full of ice-cold orange juice.
I needed to be careful—because the fruit seemed so forbidden, and I was so damn hungry. If I tore into it, like a starved animal, he would sense something was off.
If this predator found out that I was pregnant, he’d use it against me to get to Brando. Especially if he knew I carried his son.
“You are more beautiful than I imagined. The camera loves you, yes, but in person there is something mysterious about you that the camera cannot capture. Your peculiar nature eludes even the magic that is film.”
I looked up from daydreaming about the orange to meet his eyes straight on. He was openly staring at me—in a way that made my face heat. It made me extremely anxious and uncomfortable. I set the fruit down so I wouldn’t accidently squeeze it.
He took a seat closer to me, and whether from the fireplace or a drift of cold, I smelled body odor and the metallic tang of blood on him. A bulge underneath his thermal shirt told me that his arm was bandaged. One of our men had gotten close to him.
Even though I could tell he was dangerous, he didn’t seem rash, but it was hard to tell. Either he was good a disguising his feelings or I couldn’t really feel anything because fear ruled everything else.
“You arefeelingme out,” he said, reaching out to touch my lips. “That is what you do, yes?”
By instinct, I leaned back, not wanting his hands to touch me.
He smiled, showing a set of long teeth that fit his face. Not perfectly straight, but they were so right for him that it was scarcely noticeable. “Ah, do no worry,vixen,your husband is not here to see.” He lifted his brows, waggling them at me. “This is between us, ah?Il nostro segreto.”
Our secret.
This time when he reached out, I’d reached the edge of the bed, the wooden frame stopping me from going further. His fingers caressed my lips and I closed my eyes, forcing myself to concentrate on quelling the nausea instead of obsessing over the nerves that were threatening to make me hyperventilate.
His fingers lingered from my mouth to my chin, dipped along my throat until he came to the spot he’d cut. Hesitating there, he caressed, ticking his mouth.
“Such beautiful skin,” he murmured. “A sin I had to make such a beautiful woman bleed.”
As his heat grew more intense, so did the scent of him as he moved in closer, using his tongue to lick a trail from my lips to my chin, dipping along my throat, circling around the cut, cleaning it. I had to take deep, deep breaths to keep from gagging, from outright vomiting on him. I didn’t think that’d go over so well.
“You taste sweet,” he said, almost in ecstasy.
“I—” I forced the next words out. “I need to use the restroom. Please.”
“Of course.” He grinned at me. “Be my guest.”
He lifted a hand, pointing in the direction of the door I’d assumed led to the bathroom. It wasn’t until I went to move that I realized how frozen I’d been, curled into myself, hands into fists, nails dug into my palms.
Seeing that I was shaky on my feet, he stabilized me, and once the stars cleared from my eyes and my mind found its equilibrium, I moved like a sly fox and dislodged my elbow from his arm.
He snatched it before I could shut the door behind me. He squeezed so hard stars came back and my legs swayed.
“There is no way to escape,” he whispered in my ear, but his breath burned against my skin, making me think of the orange peel being consumed by the fire. “Do not even think of causing trouble.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I whispered.
