“I thought rubies were only red,” I say stupidly.
“There are exceptional ones that are pinkish.” The corner of his mouth hitches up.
“I had no idea,” I reply breathlessly. This is insane.
“And about five-foot-three tall. Brown hair. Far more beautiful than any stone.”
“That’s not true.” But I’m laughing. The ring fits, too. I don’t know how he did that. “It’s amazing, thank you.”
I look up into his eyes, and the dark-green is even more unbelievable than the ring. Even thinking to give me a ruby rather than a diamond. I would have loved a diamond too, or anything he gave me, but the thought that went into this pink-ish ruby makes my heart swell with emotion.
Hope. Maybe, despite the inauspicious beginning, we can build something good. Special.
“It’s only right for mywife,” he says, emphasising the last word.
Ah. Not me, just his wife. Temporary wife. Yeah. This wasn’t because he loves me or saw it and thought of me, or anything like that.
“I’ll give it back when we…” I don’t want to think about that.
He shakes his head slightly. “It’s your engagement ring. A gift, whatever happens.”
But we’re married. “This is so fancy, shouldn’t we just have wedding rings?”
He reaches into his pocket and opens his hand to reveal a pair of gold bands. “Of course.”
Two. A larger one lying partly over the smaller.
I’m lightheaded, caught by what this means. The billionaire mafia boss is going to wear a ring signifying his temporary marriage to me? A girl who had insane luck just to attend the Italian wedding that it turns out was our wedding. Sort of.
“Take yours,” he murmurs.
I’m helpless to do anything but he says. My fingers brush against his palm as I slide the slender gold ring from his palm, and the feel of his skin sends tingles up my arm.
Each time we touch it’s warm sparks, as though my body responds to his uniquely. I find myself gazing up at him.
With deliberate slowness he raises his hand and fits the ring over the appropriate finger. He holds my gaze as he pushes it down, as slow as honey dripping off a spoon. It slots over his tattoos, glinting against the black lines.
My mouth waters. My belly tightens. The simple act of slowly inserting his finger into a gold band is not erotic. Or it wouldn’t be if I weren’t some sort of sex starved degenerate. Between my legs heats.
By the time the ring is snug, I’m almost panting. And it took maybe three seconds.
That’s all it takes with Dante, and he hasn’t even touched me. No lewd remarks. He’s fully clothed, although that suit is the sort of sexiness that is probably banned in half the world for being obscene. His well-fitted suit, shirt, and tie is honestly enough that I’ll ovulate every time I see him in it. Three times a day, no problem.
I would very much like to launch myself at him. Beg him to teach me all the ways to make him feel good. He said he was too old for me, but it’s not like he’s really that old. There’s silver threaded through his hair, but the wedding certificate revealed he’s only forty. Hardly retirement age.
I’d like him to put me on my knees and use me. I’d love to be his toy. His cherished, petted, loved toy.
“Put the ring on, Ruby,” he orders in a gruff voice, and I realise I’ve been staring at him like a total nutter.
My hands shake as I bring them together and slip the wedding band over my fingertip, and drag it down my finger to sit next to the engagement ring, all the time looking into his eyes.
It’s even more intimate than touching.
There’s an intensity as he gazes at me, and yeah, he’s so tall my neck is tilted up, but I don’t care. I feel like a flower being warmed by the sun.
“And now we’re really married,” he murmurs, and heat shivers down my spine.
14
