“There is a lot of merit in keeping your enemies close. If Cruz has put her up to this, this could work to our advantage too. There are several ways sleeping with the enemy could work to our benefit.”
ChapterTen
Catarina
IpauseThe Last Kingdomon the TV as a knock resounds on the living room door. “Come in,” I call out, unfurling my legging-clad legs from underneath me and planting my bare feet on the ground. It’s late, and I’m trying to relax and forget about the marriage contract I signed earlier today.
It’s done.
I’m marrying Massimo Greco in a week, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tied into knots and conflicted over the decision I’ve made. As Ricardo enters my private space, I stand, pushing my long wavy hair off my face and tugging on the hem of my off-the-shoulder sweater.
“Donna Conti. Apologies for the interruption, but we have an issue at the front gate.”
I’m instantly on guard, jerking my head up as I stride toward him. “What kind of issue?”
He drags a hand through his hair. “Your fiancé is at the gate demanding to be let in.”
I blink a couple of times and tug on my ears, not sure I heard that correctly. “Are you telling me Massimo Greco is at the gate?”
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I let loose a string of colorful expletives. “How the fuck does he know where I live?” I didn’t tell him on purpose, readily agreeing to live with him at his house in Long Island after we are married. This house is my sanctuary, and I won’t have any man intruding in my safe place. While I don’t go to the lengths Don Mazzone does to keep his residence a secret, the location of my home is not exactly common knowledge either.
“I don’t know, ma’am. What do you want me to do?”
“You might as well let him in. He’s stubborn as fuck, and he won’t go away easily.”
He nods. “As you wish. I will escort him personally.”
“Thanks, Ric.” I move to follow him out of the room—to head to my bedroom to get changed and make myself more presentable—when I think better of it. Fuck him. If Massimo is rude enough to show up unannounced this late at night, he can take me the way I am.
Maybe if he sees the real me, it will defuse his attraction and he’ll give up his conjugal rights.
Against my better judgment, I agreed to a modified sex clause. Three times a week instead of twice daily. Vanilla instead of his list of kinky shit. And he can have my mouth and my pussy, but no man is taking my ass ever again. I expected him to protest more, but he was annoyingly agreeable to all my changes.
I don’t trust it or him.
He’s a Greco, after all.
No one with that name can ever be trusted.
I suspect he thinks I’ll be unable to resist him and I’ll come crawling to him for sex more often.
Ha! He can think again! The devil will dance on my grave before I’ll ever beg that man to fuck me. As it is, I only agreed to three times a week to get the contract signed. I have no intention of screwing him that regularly. It’s not like he can do anything about it. Once we marry, it is for life. Only death can sever our ties. Something that will happen sooner than expected for my husband-to-be.
Dropping back onto the couch, I top off my wineglass and unmute the TV, working hard to dial back my aggravation because I refuse to lose my cool in this man’s presence again. Massimo has an uncanny ability to rattle me in a way no one else does, and I don’t like it. I need to remember who I am and what I am here to do.
A few minutes later, Ric knocks on the door again. I pause my show for a second time, pissed Massimo is interrupting my Alexander Dreymon swoonfest—fuck, that man is sex on legs, and I have a newfound appreciation for fictional Viking warriors.
Drawing deep breaths and cautioning myself to remain composed, I walk toward the door and open it slowly. The man I am betrothed to stands behind my bodyguard and looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Thank you, Ricardo. You can remain out here.” I step aside to let Massimo enter, refusing to look at the good-looking bastard as he saunters into the room like it’s not rude to show up unannounced and uninvited.
I close the door behind him, watching as he drinks the room in. This is the first time I have seen him in casual clothes, and I hate to admit he looks hot, but there is zero point lying to myself.
Dark denim hugs his shapely ass and highlights his strong thighs and long legs in his designer jeans. A long-sleeved gray Henley is stretched across his large biceps and muscular back. Ink covers both sides of his neck, crawling down underneath his top, and I wonder how much of his body is tattooed.
I guess I will find out in due course.
The thought equally thrills and terrifies me.
