"Vincent DeLuca."
She whipped around. "You know him?"
"I know of him." I set my own glass down, my mind already racing. Vincent DeLuca had connections to the Vitale family—one of our rivals. He was also known for being ruthless, ambitious, and not particularly concerned with things like laws or morality. I also knew his nephew Beniamino DeLuca. He ran the drug trade and other avenues in Florida. They were nothing alike though. Beni was a business man. Vincent was just sleezy. "He's not a good man, Angelina."
"I know." Her voice was small, scared in a way she hadn't been even when I'd had her tied to my bed. "He's already making threats. Subtle ones, but threats nonetheless. If I don't figure something out soon..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
I moved to stand beside her at the window, close enough to touch but not touching. "Six months left on your deadline."
"Yes."
"And you came to the auction hoping to find someone who could help you."
"No." She looked up at me. "I came to the auction hoping to forget about it for one night. To feel something other than terror and pressure and the weight of my mother's expectations. The fact that you're..." She gestured vaguely at me. "You. That's just coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidence."
"Neither do I," she admitted. "But here we are."
Here we were indeed. I needed a wife. She needed a husband. We were sexually compatible in ways that made dick hard just thinking about it. And we were both running out of time.
"I'm going to make you an offer," I said. "But not right now."
Her brow furrowed. "Why not?"
"Because right now, you're still in subspace. Still floating. Still not thinking clearly." I traced my finger along her jaw. "And when I make this offer, I need you completely present and clear-headed. Able to make a rational decision."
"What kind of offer?"
"The kind that solves both our problems." I leaned down and kissed her forehead—gentle, chaste, completely at odds with how I'd fucked her. "But first, you're going to eat something. Then you're going to rest. And then, when you're ready, we'll talk."
"Dez—"
"That's not what you call me." My voice went hard, dominant, pulling her back into the dynamic we'd established.
"Sir," she corrected automatically.
"Better." I smiled and traced my thumb across her lower lip. "Now, are you going to be a good girl and let me feed you dinner? Or am I going to have to tie you to that chair again?"
Heat flared in her eyes. "Would that be such a punishment?"
This woman was going to destroy me.
"Bedroom," I commanded. "Lie down. Rest for an hour while I handle some work. Then we'll eat, and then—" I let the promise hang in the air, "—we'll see how well you handle a flogger."
Her breath caught. "I've never?—"
"Good to know. That'll make it even more fun." I guided her toward the bed. "On your stomach. I'm going to set a timer. When it goes off, you come find me. Until then, you sleep."
"I'm not tired."
"You will be in about five minutes. That's how the crash works." I pulled back the covers, gesturing for her to get in. "Trust me."
She climbed into bed, and I covered her with the silk sheets and a soft blanket. By the time I'd turned on some quiet music and dimmed the lights, her eyes were already heavy.
"Dez?" she murmured.
