Page 52 of The Mafioso’s Bride

"You can change your mind," I tell her.

Her fingers press into mine. "About going home?"

"About any part of tonight. The house is yours whether you sleep there or not. The marriage is yours whether you want me in your bed or across the hall."

"I asked you to take me home and prove that you want your wife."

"You did."

"I have not changed my mind."

The driver keeps his attention on the road. I want the partition raised, the car stopped, and my wife under me. I settle for drawing her hand onto my thigh.

"Say what you're planning," she says.

"Several things inappropriate for the car."

"The driver works for you."

"He does. I would prefer not to kill him for looking in the mirror."

Her mouth curves. "He has not looked."

"He wants to remain employed."

She moves closer until her leg touches mine. "I want firm pressure. I want you to kiss me. I want you to use your mouth on me again. After that, I want your penis inside me."

The driver raises the partition.

Giada looks at the black panel. "He listened."

"He values his life."

I bring her onto my lap and my mouth closes over hers. She catches my coat in both fists and pulls me closer. I hold her waist hard enough to give her the pressure she wants. Her tongue meets mine. Every restrained hour since she left my bed ends against that partition.

She rocks once over my erection.

"Home," I say against her mouth. "We do the rest at home."

The car enters the drive. Giada returns to her seat before the driver opens the door. I take her suitcase with one hand and offer her the other.

She looks from my hand to the house.

"Your choice," I say.

She steps out and places her palm in mine. "My home. My husband. My choice."

"Yes."

Inside, the foyer looks exactly as it did when I left. Her blue mug remains on the table near the stairs. One of her books lies open beside it. Evidence of her fills a house I once kept untouched.

I set the suitcase down. "Where do you want it?"

"Your room."

"Our room."

"Our room," she repeats.