I nearly choke on the sight.
My nerves riot, anticipation and dread crashing into each other until I feel faint.
Sandro crosses the room without a word, his steps steady and unhurried as he stalks toward me like a predator closing in on its prey. My heart stutters to a halt, when he stops in front of me. But he doesn’t grab for me right away. Instead, his hand comes up, his finger hooking gently beneath my chin, tilting my head up until my eyes lock with his. The weight of his gaze pins me in place. I’m trembling, I realize, shaking so hard it’s humiliating. And I don’t know if it’s with giddy anticipation—or downright terror.
“Stand for me,raggio di sole,” he commands.
Ray of sunshine.Somehow, the term of endearment lances straight to my heart.Is it what he calls all the women he’s been with? Or did he pick it specially for me?
His voice is soft, dark, threaded with something dangerous that somehow soothes me, and I can’t help but obey, even though my knees are practically knocking they’re shaking so hard. My breath catches in my throat as I rise and the space vanishes between us. I can feel the heat radiating from Sandro’s chest, the moisture clinging to his skin and turning the air between us steamy.
His hazel eyes burn deep into my soul, unspoken emotion roiling in their depths and turning my stomach into a tangled mess.
“You never need to fear me, Evelina,” he rasps, his sandpaper voice brushing featherlight across my skin, and it sends a shiver down my spine that feels dangerously close to desire. “The world might. But I promise you never will.”
The words don’t banish the nerves clawing at me, but they pierce through just enough to ease something in my chest. I swallow hard, clinging to the assurance. I’ve heard stories, whispersabout Sandro—the twin who fights like a crazed beast, the one who says little but makes up for it with the bodies he leaves in his wake. And after seeing the evidence of violence dried on his skin—not once but both times I’ve laid eyes on him outside our wedding—I know those whispers weren’t exaggerations. But this quiet vow promises something else. Something that makes my throat ache with relief, even if my body still trembles.
The tension charges the air between us, and I want to do something to dispel it before it knocks me off my feet.
“You can—” I swallow hard, trying to dislodge my heart from my windpipe, and my tongue darts nervously to wet my lips.
Sandro’s eyes track it.
“You can call me Evi… if you like,” I breathe, heat swirling beneath my cheeks. “That’s what my friends call me.”
Sandro’s eyebrows lift, the corner of his lip twitching as if with amusement. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
My lips part, but I’m at a loss for words.Is he… teasing me? Or pointing out that whatever we might have will be the farthest thing from friendship?Either way, it makes fresh butterflies take flight in my stomach, and a breathless laugh rushes from me as my nerves finally get the better of me.
“I… I guess I don’t know,” I admit, smiling sheepishly as my skin flames.
Sandro’s eyes trace the lines of my face as his lips tug up into a tragically beautiful smile. The rough pad of his thumb grazes the edge of my jaw then across my lower lip, and his gaze heats. “Evi,” he murmurs, as if testing out my new name as he leans closer. “I like it.”
Then his mouth finds mine.
The kiss is slow at first, almost testing, and my stomach somersaults at the unexpected gentleness. His lips are warm, firm, coaxing instead of demanding. The molten heat of it spreads through me, liquid fire replacing the cold terror in my veins.
His tongue slides out to trace the seam of my lips, and when they part for him, the world tilts. Suddenly, all I can feel is Sandro as he strokes between my teeth. It turns my core molten, and before I know it’s coming, a soft whimper rips from me.
The sound seems to trigger his need, and the heat intensifies as he kisses me like he’s claiming me, like there’s no more room for hesitation. The sheer force of it steals the breath from my lungs. My body trembles so hard my knees threaten to buckle, but his hand, still cupping my chin, steadies me.
Heat pulses beneath my skin, spreading outward, dizzying and dangerous, yet thrilling in a way that makes my pulse race faster than it ever has before. My hands, uncertain, hover in the air for a moment before finally daring to touch him, and when they do, the solid wall of his chest feels both foreign and comforting beneath them. He’s so big, so solid, and yet I can feel the restrained strength humming against my palms.
His other hand trails down my arm, over my waist, and rests at my hip. Even through the thin lace of my lingerie, his touch sears. He kisses me deeper, his tongue tangling with mine, and I gasp into him, my heart fluttering violently in my chest. I’ve never been kissed like this. I’ve never been kissed at all, and the intensity of it threatens to undo me before anything else has even happened.
When he finally pulls back, just enough to breathe, his eyes lock on mine. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide, stormy with something that feels both terrifying and magnetic.
“Are you ready, Evi?” he murmurs, his voice so low it vibrates against my skin.
The words form knots inside me, and my heart hammers erratically against my ribcage. I don’t know that I’ll ever truly be ready, but I can’t turn back now. I nod, though I’m trembling so badly I doubt I look convincing. Sandro’s gaze softens, if only a fraction, then he bends to kiss me once more. This time, it’s slower, coaxing instead of claiming, and I melt under it, my body yielding to his without a thought.
His fingers slide over my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he finds the busks of my strapless lace corset. My breath hitches as he deftly separates each hook and latch, baring me piece by piece as he lets the lingerie fall to the floor. My instinct is to cover myself, to hide from his penetrating gaze, but he doesn’t give me the chance. He draws me closer instead, his palms moving up my bare back with a tenderness that startles me.
“Beautiful,” he mutters against my mouth, the word gruff, as if torn from him unwillingly.
The compliment nearly undoes me. I’ve never thought of myself that way, not really. But the way he looks at me—steady, unflinching, like he’s cataloging every inch of me and finding nothing lacking—makes me feel beautiful for the first time. My nerves begin to twist into something else entirely, a tight coil of anticipation, foreign but not unpleasant.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can feel the heat of his stare even before he dips his head, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin of my collarbone. The touch draws a sharp gasp from me, and I clutch at his shoulders as his lips travel lower and lower.
