Why does it have to behimwho gives me what I’ve wanted?
“If I am what you accuse me of, Ms. Farnassi." He presses his cheek against mine and whispers in my ear. “Then you should speak to me more carefully."
My eyes finally close and I start shivering in earnest even as all the points of contact burn me up. Now, my hands start to move, seeking out the warmth of his body and the fire of his skin while my thighs slowly part as if to invite him closer.
"Are you going to kill me?" The questions pour out. "The same way you killed Luca?”
“No.” He moves his lips closer to my ear, touching me with every word. “I want to destroyyou the same way you want to destroy me.”
Oh fuck.
“Then why haven’t you?”
His cheek peels away from mine, but his lips continue to murmur against my ear. “Because you haven’t earned it yet.”
Without warning, he pulls away from me completely, and I realize that the car has stopped. A moment later, the door opens on Slava's side, and the sealed darkness of our private world is chased away by a flood of camera flashes.
Slava steps out first, tall and commanding, the perfect picture of composed authority. Then he turns and offers me his hand.
I must look like a goddamn mess. My heart is pounding a mile a minute. I canfeelthe sweat slicking my face, my back, and my brow. I bet if you hold up a mirror to me, I’ll look every bit like a woman who’s just been freshly fucked.
Which, in a manner of speaking, I have been.
And as I take Slava’s hand and follow him into the circus of public attention swirling like a storm, I realize that long before I ever had a single fantasy of him fucking my body…
… he already buried himself deep inside of me, and had been relentlessly fucking my head this whole time.
10
BELLA
Everything has changed.And somehow, nothing has.
I'm handling it the way I handle everything, with an aggressive competency so that I don't have time to sink deeper into the realization of what just happened.
I scan the room and issue subtle orders to make sure that everyone is exactly where they’re supposed to be. When a caterer passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, I snag one.
Not because I want it but because it gives my hands something to do besides shake.
Because fifteen feet away, Slava is busy talking with Councilman Peters about promises of campaign donations. His performance is flawless, and I should know because I designed it.
His eyes shift my way and a knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, sending my heart skidding through my chest. I fight the urge to mouth “fuck you” to him before I turn away like his smile doesn’t bother me.
But it does. God help me, it fucking does. And after what happened in the confines of the SUV on our way here, I know that neither of us can ignore the unmistakable tension pulling tight between us.
Sooner or later, it’s going to snap, and I have no idea what happens when it does.
A ripple of commotion—whisper quiet at first—moves through the crowd. Heads begin turning. Conversations stop outright. Then, one by one, every person’s attention moves to the entrance where someone has just walked in.
I have no choice but to glance at Slava, and I see his hand gripping the glass in his hand so hard that it’s on the verge of shattering.
Like everyone else, he’s staring at the new, unexpected guest. And judging by his reaction, I know exactly who that guest must be.
Slowly, I follow the direction of the crowd and spot Nico D'Ambrosio walking into the fundraiser gala like he owns the place. Somehow, even flanked by three large dangerous looking men in suits, Nico manages to stand out.
I've only ever heard his voice.
Now, seeing him in person is disorienting. He's handsome in a way that feels almost aggressive, made even more so by the scar running from his right ear down to his chin and the shit-eating grin. His dark hair is swept back. His angular jaw is chiseled with just the slightest hint of scruff, and his amber eyes sweep the room with practiced assessment before landing on me like he knew exactly where to look.
