The ensuite is dark stone and chrome—rainfall shower in the center, wide marble sinks to the side. Black walls gleam under the dim lights like obsidian. No clutter. No warmth. Just water, steel, and the promise of silence.
I step inside, letting the scalding water burn its way down my spine. My palms brace against the tile as steam fogs the mirrorbehind the glass. My cock is hard, has been since I pulled that fucking lace from my jacket. The images flashing in my mind—her skin, the pale blush lace against her flesh, that fucking smirk that makes me want to punish her—are almost sacrilegious.
This is wrong. She’s young enough to be my daughter.
But fuck if it doesn’t feel right.
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding against each other. She’s proving to be a dangerous temptation. A ruin that will lead to my downfall if I’m not careful. This little dance along the edge of temptation needs to stop.
Ignoring the carnal urge for release, I scrub off the dirt of the day, avoiding nagging thoughts of the nixie as I wash my hair.
She thinks I’m the kind of man she can tempt into breaking his rules for her. I’m not.
13
MARA
Ihold my breath, listening to his footsteps right outside. And just when I think he’ll barge into my room angry, furious…
He doesn’t.
Instead, I can make out the distinct click of a door closing.
I wait, counting the seconds as they tick away. Still nothing. He’s not coming.
I should be relieved, but all I feel is….disappointment.
But if he thinks I’m that easy to dissuade, he’s mistaken. I’ll just have to come up with a better plan to see that icy control of his crack, splinter, and turn into dust. And I know it will be that much more satisfying when I succeed.
I don’t fail, because I’m a Folonari. We go after what we want—relentlessly. Like a bloodhound chasing the scent of its prey.
The garden is biggerthan I thought—an endless stretch of green that blurs into the horizon. I’m wearing one of the dresses I bought from La Reina, a pale blue summer thing dotted withtiny white flowers. It clings enough and stops just above my knees. Pretty, soft, harmless. Exactly the illusion I’m going for.
“It is a beautiful day, no?”
I turn to see a man who’s older than me, but still young. I assume he’s the gardener. He has soft brown curls and hazel eyes, his skin a bronze shade, as if he spends all day lounging under the sun’s rays.
Giving him a polite smile, I nod. “Yes, it really is. Is always this nice?”
“Yes. The weather…uh…is good to us.” His accent shines as he fumbles to find the right words.
Cute.
Behind him, I catch movement through the window of one of the rooms of the Castello. I turn my attention back to the gardener.
“I wish New York had good weather like this more often. I’m Mara, by the way.” I push a loose wave behind my ear like it’s nothing. Like I don’t feelhiseyes on me.
The gardener gives me a shy smile. “Luca.”
We keep talking—light things, surface level stuff. Which flowers bloom beneath the Italian sun, how long he’s worked at the Castello, which corners of the garden get the best light.
But my gaze keeps drifting back to the window. To where he’s still standing.
It’s been three days since I slipped the lace panties into his jacket. And I got no reaction.
He’s standing there behind the glass watching us. Watchingme. Like a storm biding its time. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. At least I don’t think so. He just watches.
Ignoring him, I continue the conversation with Luca. A plan is forming in my mind. I swear with the amount of plotting I’m doing, you’d think I’m some sort of evil mastermind.
