And his face… Sharp jaw shadowed with dark stubble. Black hair messy from sleep. Heavy eyes fixed entirely on me now, watching me with an intensity that made my skin too tight for my body.
In another life, I would’ve ruined myself for a man like him willingly. That humiliating truth settled low in my stomach.
“I…” My voice cracked apart embarrassingly. “I had a nightmare.”
“I know.” His voice sounded different at night. Lower. Rougher. Intimate in a way that slid beneath my skin and stayed there.
Leo’s hand moved slowly against my waist, grounding me with each steady pass of his palm. The warmth of him surrounded me completely now. He was all dark cologne, smoke, expensive whiskey, clean masculine skin.
It smelled dangerous. It smelled safe. That contradiction confused me more than anything else.
Because this man had destroyed my life. He lied about me. Ruined my reputation. Took my innocence so no other man would ever want me enough to stop him from marrying me.
I should’ve hated him. I did hate him. So why did being in his arms feel like the only thing keeping me together?
Another tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Leo caught it. His thumb brushed slowly beneath my eye, rough skin dragging softly against wet tears.
“Easy,bellissima,” he said softly.
“I hate when you call me that,” I whispered shakily.
A low laugh vibrated through his chest beneath my hands. “No, you don’t.”
Heat flooded my cheeks because the asshole was right. I hated that he knew it.
“I do,” I muttered weakly.
“You get this tiny little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time you lie to me,” he said.
“I’m not lying at all,” I insisted.
“You’re constantly lying to yourself,” he said, and I flushed, because it was the truth.
The words settled heavily between us. His mouth brushed softly against my temple. The gentleness nearly ruined me. I turned slowly in his arms until I faced him fully, and my pulse spiraled out of control.
Moonlight carved sharp shadows across his bare chest while black sheets rested low on his hips. Tattoos disappeared beneath the fabric in dark winding lines that made my mouth go dry. Hard muscle flexed every time he shifted slightly closer, like his body physically couldn’t stop responding to mine.
Too close. Way too close. And somehow still not close enough.
My gaze drifted helplessly lower over his chest, tracing ink and warm skin and the hard lines of his stomach before lifting back to his face. Leo noticed everything. A dark expression flickered through his eyes. Possession mixed with hunger. Heat curled low in my stomach.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured softly, “and I’m going to stop pretending I have self-control.”
My breath caught. “I didn’t ask you to have self-control.”
The second the words left my mouth, silence crashed between us. Leo went completely still. Then very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying right now, Chiara.”
God, that voice. It wrapped around my body like silk ropes tied too tightly.
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I whispered.
“No,” he said quietly. “You really don’t.”
His hand slid into my hair, fingers threading through tangled blonde strands before gripping gently at the roots. Not enough to hurt. Enough to control. A shiver rolled violently through me. Leo noticed that too. A dark satisfaction flickered across his face.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “You feel too fucking good in my bed.”
Heat exploded across my skin. I should’ve moved away. Should’ve remembered who he was. Instead, I leaned closer. Leo inhaled sharply. Victory flickered through me for one reckless second. Then his grip tightened slightly in my hair, dragging my attention fully back to him.
