She’s my wife. Caterina.
She is cool and self-contained as she stands a moment, studying the terrace, the table, and then me. And when her gaze meets mine I feel the impact, all glittering, sharp-edged challenge.
The wolf in me shifts, hungry, predatory, knowing exactly what it wants to eat now and it’s not the food Maria will be serving us. Before in sweatshirt and pants, she looked vulnerable and fragile, and the wolf wanted to protect her.
But right here, right now, in her green sequins and war paint, the wolf wants to fuck her. And so do I.
‘I’m early, sorry,’ she says, not sounding sorry in the least. ‘I didn’t want to wait for Maria.’
I move instantly, rounding the table to pull out her chair for her. ‘Nor should you. Please. Sit.’
She stalks over to the chair, eyeing me warily, perhaps expecting me to stand back to let her sit down. But I don’t. There’s a reason she’s all dressed up with looks to kill, and there’s a reason her make-up is war paint.
She’s on a mission, this littlegattina, that’s obvious, and I’m fascinated to discover what kind of mission she’s on. Is it to prove she can be the perfect wife like all the others? Or is it to show me exactly what kind of woman I married? Or is it that she knows I want her and is going to use that to get what she wants out of me?
Intriguing woman. The dress and the make-up are purecosa nostrawife, but that look of stubborn determination in her eyes… I’ve seen that same look in the eyes of my paternal grandmother before she died. All steel, no mercy. The woman who made my father what he was. The look of a warrior.
I hold the sides of her chair as she sits down, and I catch her scent, warm jasmine and musk, and the wolf in me growls, hungry and getting hungrier. I glance down at the top of her glossy black head, noticing that despite her confident entry, her shoulders are tense and there’s a stiffness to her movements.
So, this is all an act to hide her nerves. Yet, seeing through her bravado doesn’t disappoint me. It only makes me respect her even more. She came to this mission ready, despite being afraid, and she came down to face me. And I am not an easy man to face.
I let go of her chair and walk over to the ice bucket where the bottle of Dom is sitting atop a mound of ice. ‘A little of this excellent champagne to celebrate,’ I say, opening the foil then popping the cork.
‘To celebrate what?’ Her voice is sharp. ‘My kidnapping?’
‘Of course.’ I ignore her tone, pouring us out two glasses and then handing one to her. ‘And our marriage.’
She takes it, watching me as I sit opposite her. ‘To my new wife.’ I lift my glass in a toast.
Her eyes glitter in the candlelight, green as the sequins on her dress. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t drink to my own imprisonment.’
‘A little dramatic,gattina,’ I chide, mostly for my own amusement. ‘You’re hardly a prisoner.’
‘Aren’t I?’ She puts her glass down, untouched. ‘There are guards on basically every square meter of this entire property.’
‘Of course there are guards.’ I take a sip of the champagne and it is, indeed, excellent. ‘I’m the head of the Argenti family and I have enemies. They’re there to keep people out, not in.’
‘So, if I wanted to, say, take a helicopter tomorrow and get out of here, I could?’
Oh, she’s sharp as the points of her little heels isn’t she?
My pulse accelerates as I smile and settle back into my chair, enjoying the challenge she’s just thrown at me, and anticipating more. ‘Naturally you could. Providing you have adequate security.’
Her gaze narrows. ‘And if I didn’t want security?’
‘Come now,gattina.You know how this works. I’m sure your father didn’t let you go anywhere without a bodyguard or three, so why would you expect that to change now you’re my wife? You’re still a target, I’m afraid.’
It’s no less than the truth, but it’s clear she doesn’t like that one bit.
‘I’ve been a prisoner in my father’s house all my life,’ she says flatly. ‘And I refuse to be one here. So if what you said about respecting me is true, then you need to respect my need to feel like I live here, not like I’m trapped here.’
She’s so very emphatic, her gaze never wavering from mine, the force of her will measuring itself against my own. It makes my pulse beat even faster. I like it. I like her challenge and her spirit. I like her courage and her ferocity. She’s gutsy, this woman, to come downstairs dressed like that, ready to cross swords with me, knowing who and what I am.
But she’s right. Sheistrapped here. Just like your mother was.
Something tightens in my chest, but I ignore the feeling. This is an entirely different situation. Caterina isnottrapped here. She can leave at any time, as long as she has some security.
Besides, I can’t imagine her being anyone’s prisoner. How her father even got her to the altar to marry the Bianchi stripling seems like a miracle. Unless she wanted to be there, of course.
