I’d expected fear and resistance.
I got none of it.
Such a willing little sacrifice. I wondered if she’d be this calm behind the closed doors of our bridal suite. The plan was to take her fast and hard, from behind. The Italians wanted the traditional bloody sheets. Providing those was my sole duty tonight.
Her scent reached me when I drew her closer. Something soft and subtle beneath the sharper tang of nerves. Peaches, summer-warmed and ripe. It curled low in my chest, distracting in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I breathed it in despite myself, slow and deep. The scent grounded me to the blistering truth.
We were married.
I found myself rethinking my plan. I wanted those eyes on me tonight—and not filled with fear or loathing. Gabriella wasn’t looking at me now, eyes staring off into the distance. That was fucking unacceptable.
Tapping my fingers against her side, I broke through her thoughts. “Have you eaten today?”
She tilted her face up just enough for me to see her expression. “I had a sandwich.”
“That’s it?” I demanded.
Gabriella simply shrugged. “It was enough.”
Hardly.
I would fix that as soon as this charade was finished.
Wide, brown eyes shone beneath the lights. The little actress, playing her part for every watching enemy in the room. If I hadn’t been holding her, feeling the tension coiled beneath her skin, I might have believed it.
Her heart beat fast.
I tightened my hold slightly, not enough to bruise, just enough to remind her—and myself—who controlled the pace.
“You’re holding me too tight,” she said as we swayed in an arch.
“I know.”
One dark brow rose. “Afraid I’ll slip away?”
I barked a rough laugh. “You can try.”
Those sharp brown eyes narrowed, golden flecks crackled through her irises, making them seem full of fire. “Is that a challenge?”
“Know this, little bird, I will hunt you down to one of the four corners of the earth if I have to.” My hands slid up her spine, caught the back of her neck, and pressed hard in warning. “There is nowhere you can hide from me.”
The soft hitch of her breath sent a bolt of heat straight to my groin. Fear washed through her features confirming what I already knew. Gabriella was a runner.
In another situation, I might have let her go. It was criminal to force a beautiful woman like her on a burnt, jaded fucker like me.
But she was mine now. And I didn’t hate the way she fit against me.
That realization struck harder than any threat in the room.
Her waist curved perfectly beneath my palm. Her back was warm, pliant, andreal. When her fingers flexed against my shoulder, it sent a sharp line of awareness through me. I was supposed to be thinking about ambush points. Escape routes. Which man would try something first.
Instead, I was thinking about her mouth.
About the way her lips parted slightly when she breathed. About how they’d felt beneath mine—soft and yielding. Hungry and defiant. I wanted to taste her again. And not a man in this room could stop me from taking what was mine. The thought fueled something dark and possessive in my chest.
Gabriella leaned in closer, trying to escape the heavy hand that I kept on her neck. She gasped. For a split second, her composure cracked. Her eyes flicked past my shoulder, toward the doors. Toward freedom she wanted to take.
I lowered my head, my mouth close to her ear, my words meant for her alone.
