That single moment between us felt terrifyingly real. No matter how hard I try to put it out of my mind, I want to chase that high again.
More importantly, I want there to be some kind of confirmation that it was more than just two scared people trying to find some degree of temporary solace.
“And the shower?” The words taste like copper and salt. Like blood. “Was that part of my job description?”
His nostrils flare before his face rearranges into that handsome inscrutable mask again.
“It won’t happen again.”
I don’t believe it. And I know he doesn’t believe it either.
“Why not?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is carefully flat. “Because it was a mistake.”
A mistake…
I came harder on his fingers than I have in years of mediocre dating, and to him it was amistake.
But I notice that his hand is still on my waist, his eyes drop for a moment to my lips, and his throat bobs.
He’s lying.
His mouth sayswon’t happen again, but his body is telling a very different story.
I lean forward, close enough that my breath fans across his jaw. Close enough that I can see the muscle ticking in his cheek as he fights to maintain his composure.
My fingers find his shirt. The button just below his collar. I toy with it, slow and deliberate.
“What if I want it to happen again?”
One hand slides down from my waist to cup my ass. Fingers press into my skin with possessive pressure that sends sparks dancing down my spine. I arch shamelessly into the touch, and his erection is pounding against my belly.
His other hand fists in my hair. Air pushes out of my lungs.
The yank comes without warning. My head snaps back and suddenly I’m looking at the ceiling while his face presses against my cheek, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. Arousal floods through me like a drug, and pools hot between my thighs.
“Be careful what you’re asking for,malyshka.” His hand starts winding in my hair again. “You might not survive it.”
32
BELLA
The nightmare shakes around me,and Don Leo’s fat fingers are hooked into the neckline of my one-piece, his breath stinking against my face as the sea breeze chokes the air amidst crashing waves.
“Tell me, ragazza, did this Russian prick ever tell you what he did to my poor Gia?”
I thrash against the hands holding me down, but they’re everywhere, and he’s too strong.
“You’re about to find out, Bella.”
Hands tighten instead of releasing, and I scream harder, clawing at whatever I can reach.
“Bella! Look at me!”
A pair of gray eyes swim into focus in the dark, followed by familiar sharp cheekbones. The smell of the sea is gone, and the waves are replaced with the steady hum of the airplane A/C.
I’m not there on the yacht.
