“She’s delusional,” Massimo says, finishing his beer and setting the empty bottle down on the table behind us. “We’re madly in love, but she’s afraid to admit it.”
I glare at him. If this continues, he’ll give me wrinkles around my eyes. “There is only one delusional person in this scenario, and it’s most definitely not me.” Someone raises the volume on the music, and Ben hauls Sierra out onto the large circular patio area, and they start dancing. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Dario leading Nicolina over to join them as another couple approaches our little group.
I tense a little as Alessandro and Serena come up to us, praying he doesn’t spot any connection to Anais. But he doesn’t give any indication he sees a familiarity when Leo makes quick introductions and I shake his hand. We talk casually, and every muscle in my body locks up as Massimo’s arm snakes around my waist again. My body fights an internal war as I battle the urge to melt against him.
This isn’t me, and I’m growing increasingly alarmed the more he’s around.
I dig my nails into his wrist as I remove his arm this time. Amusement dances across his face, and I’m tempted to stab him with the knife concealed in my cell phone. “You must have a death wish,” I growl, shooting an apologetic look at the others.
“Let’s dance,” he says, ignoring my ire. Linking his hand in mine, he tugs me across the garden toward the circular, paved area.
“I am this close to stabbing you,” I warn, utterly annoyed when he throws back his head and laughs.
“Regina, I would expect nothing less.” He sweeps me into his arms when we reach the makeshift dance floor. I have no choice but to hold on to him, circling my arms around his warm neck as he sways us in tune to the music. Nicolina grins at me as we dance, and I briefly wonder whose side she is on. Renzo has a face like thunder as he watches Massimo twirl me around in his arms, but his animosity is nothing new. He has been steadfastly stubborn with regards to this marriage deal.
Heat rolls off Massimo’s body in heady waves, lulling me into a bit of a daze. Instead of fighting him, I go with the flow, indulging myself for once. He is an excellent dancer, and while I can easily hold my own on the dance floor, on this occasion, he is the commander, and I am merely along for the ride. We float across the stone floor, turning and twisting and spinning, and every time he reels me back into his gorgeous body, it’s hard to remain immune with the feel of him this close. He is all hard muscle, flexing hips, and intoxicating warmth. Spicy, citrusy notes of his cologne waft around me, adding to the addictive pull of this man.
He is dangerous for me, and I need to regain control. “You’re making me dizzy,” I rasp a few minutes later as he twirls me around before hauling me back into his arms.
“Are you always this grumpy?” he inquires, holding me close as we sway from side to side.
“Never. You bring out the worst in me.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Do you want to know what I think?”
“No.”
Of course, he ignores me. “I think you don’t know how to enjoy yourself. I think you work too hard and you need to let loose more often. I think I will be good for you because I will force you to stop and appreciate life, to feel things you have closed yourself off to, and those thoughts scare you to death.”
He is eerily close to the truth. Not that I’m admitting it. “I think you have an overinflated sense of your own importance and you know nothing about me.”
“The latter might be true, because there is nothing on the internet for me to find, but I’m a good judge of character, and I know what I see when I look at you.”
Yeah. I’m not touching that. “Nomafiosoworth his or her salt leaves anything to be found on the internet. You have minimal footprint too, so stop talking shit.”
“Keep this up,mia amata. All it does is turn me on.”
“Stop calling me that.” I’m beginning to sound like a broken record, and maybe I need to mix it up.
“We need to discuss specifics of the contract. I can drop by your house tomorrow to talk about it,” he says, dipping me down low.
I tighten my arms around his neck and cling to him as my hair trails the ground. “There is nothing to discuss. I will have my attorney send a draft agreement to your attorney tomorrow. You can raise queries on anything you don’t like and suggest your own additions.”
“We should hash it out between us first and then have the attorneys draw up the paperwork,” he refutes, keeping a tight hold on me as he straightens us up.
“I am out of town for a couple of days, and we should start this as we mean to go on. It’s a business agreement, and all negotiation should go through our legal teams.”
“I want to discuss sex and children. I am not doing that through my lawyer. Let’s talk about it now.”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“Bullshit,” he says, subtly pivoting his hips so I feel his erection pressing against me. “That is what you do to me, and I’m betting if I pushed my fingers inside you you’d be equally turned on.”
“Your arrogance is outrageous and wildly short of the mark.” I narrow my eyes to slits, pretending my panties aren’t soaked and I can’t feel his cock jerking behind his pants. “Sex is off the table and nonnegotiable until it’s time to procreate. Children will have to wait until the timing is right.”
“Neither of us is getting any younger, and I need heirs. I will be requesting a full medical exam and inserting a timeline into the contract for pregnancy.”
The feminist in me is livid, but it’s the way of our world, and causing a ruckus will only draw attention to a topic I need to keep on the down low. “Women are having babies well into their forties. There is plenty of time for us to start a family,” I lie. “But if you want a timeline, I will suggest one I think you’ll be happy to agree to.” I can’t fulfil it, nor would I want to if I could. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead before that clause comes into play, so I can agree to it.
