“Leave it.”His voice is low, close to my ear, the words vibrating through bone.Not a request.
My lungs squeeze tight.
I keep my gaze fixed on him, reminding myself this is the man who forced me to sign a marriage license and who thinks he now owns my body.“So I’m supposed to stand here and let you unwrap me like a gift you paid for with my brother’s blood?”The question slips out sharper than I intend, but I do not soften it.Let him hear the edge.Let him remember exactly whose daughter I am.
He does not answer with words.Not at first.
Instead, he settles his free hand at the small of my back, palm wide and warm through the silk, and he draws the next button free himself.Controlled and precise.
The fabric parts another inch.His knuckles graze my spine, still rough with dried blood, and the tiny rasp of it makes my breath hitch audibly.“A gift?”He kisses the shell of my ear.“Yes.”
The terrible simplicity of his husky response leaves me breathless.
“I want you willing.”
I glare.“Not happening, Moretti.”
Annoying the hell out of me, he chuckles.
“Oh yes.It is.”
As much as possible, I pull away.But he still has me completely imprisoned.
“You’ll ask me to take you.”He kisses me again.
“Screw you.”
“That’s it.”His voice drops even lower.“Instead of asking, I’ll make you beg.”
Not ever.I hate this man.Despise him.I’ll tolerate his touch if I must.For my family.But there won’t be anything willing about it.“Never.”
“Shall we see?”
“Just go ahead fuck me, Moretti.”I wave a hand dismissively.“That’s what you want.So spare me the meaningless words.”
His eyes darken.“You think you’re in charge, princess?”
Mouth set in a grim line, he scoops me from the floor.
One shoe slides off as the floor drops away, and my stomach flips.
Silk bunches between us as he holds me against his chest like I weigh nothing.
Desperate for stability, I grab hold of his shoulders, curling my fingers into his suit coat.I hate how solid he feels.I hate that my body registers safety in the very arms that dragged me here.“Put me down.”
Ignoring me, he starts up the wide staircase.
All his soldiers avert their eyes.Nothing to see here.
Each of Moretti’s steps vibrates through me, the slow, measured rhythm of his stride pressing my hip against the hard plane of his abdomen.My pulse hammers louder than the distant hum of the air-conditioning.Every breath I take pulls in the scent of him—citrus, gun oil, and the dark, expensive cologne that clings to his skin like a second vow.
The landing opens into a long hallway lined with tall windows.
Early-afternoon light spills across pale limestone floors and out over the infinity pool below, the water a shimmering sheet that seems to pour straight into the vineyards beyond.
For a treacherous second, I stare at that view, at the blue sky meeting green hills, at freedom I can see but cannot reach.My throat tightens.If I could run, I would.If I could scream, I would.But his arms are iron bands, and the house is full of men and women who answer only to him.
Maybe sensing my tension, he adjusts his grip, drawing me fractionally closer, and the motion sends a fresh wave of silk whispering against my thighs.I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper.I will not let the arrogant asshole feel me tremble.I will not give him that.
