Chapter 7
Angelina
Iwoke to darkness. For a disorienting moment, I didn't know where I was. The sheets were too soft, the bed too large, the scent beneath my nose too masculine and unfamiliar. Then it all came rushing back.
The auction. The bidding. Dez Moretti paying two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for me. Being fed while tied to a chair. Being fucked so hard I'd seen stars. Telling him about my mother's will and my impossible deadline.
Oh god!
I sat up too quickly, and my body protested. My wrists ached slightly from the restraints. My thighs were sore from being spread for so long. And between my legs… I could still feel him.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the city lights filtering through the floor to ceiling windows. I could see the outline of the four-poster bed, the restraints hanging like promises from each post. Heat flooded through me at the memory of having them securing me in place.
A clock on the nightstand indicated I'd been asleep for over two hours.
"Dez?" I called out softly.
No answer.
I climbed out of bed on shaky legs, the black silk robe he'd wrapped me in falling open slightly. I retied it and padded barefoot across the marble floor, following the sound of voices.
I found him in what appeared to be a home office. It was all dark wood and leather and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He sat behind a massive desk, phone pressed to his ear, and he looked every inch the powerful man he was.
"I don't care what Vitale thinks," he was saying, his voice cold and commanding in a way that sent shivers down my spine. "The territory is ours. If he has a problem with that, he can take it up with my father. Yes. Fine. Tomorrow."
He hung up and looked at me, his expression softening immediately.
"You're awake."
"You said to find you when the timer went off." I gestured vaguely back toward the bedroom. "I assume it went off at some point."
"About forty minutes ago." He stood and moved around the desk toward me. "I was about to come wake you. How do you feel?"
"Sore." I didn't see the point in lying. "But really good, actually."
"Sore where?" His hands went to my shoulders, kneading the muscles there with practiced ease.
"Everywhere." I leaned into his touch. "But especially my thighs. And... other places."
His smile was pure male satisfaction. "Good. I want you to feel me every time you move tomorrow. To miss me."
Tomorrow. When this would be over. I'd go back to my apartment and my impossible deadline and my uncle's threats, and whatever this was would just be a memory. The thought made my chest tight.
"Hey." Dez tilted my chin up, his eyes searching my face. "Where did you just go?"
"Nowhere. I'm fine."
"Liar." He kissed my forehead. "But we'll come back to that. First, dinner. You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since lunch, and you've slept the day away. You're eating." He took my hand and led me back toward the main living area. "Come on. I had everything delivered while you were sleeping."
The dining table was set for two, covered dishes waiting. He pulled out a chair for me—not the one with the restraints, I noticed with a mixture of relief and disappointment—and waited until I sat before taking his own seat.
"We're going to do this differently," he said, uncovering the dishes to reveal what looked like gourmet Italian food.
Potatoes, lamb, vegetables, and fresh bread.
"You're going to feed yourself this time.
But I'm going to watch. And you're going to eat slowly, properly, and you're going to finish everything on your plate. "
"That's a lot of food."
"You need it." He served me a generous portion of everything, then did the same for himself. "Eat."
I picked up my fork and started on the potatoes. It was delicious—slightly crispy and perfectly seasoned. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Dez spoke again.
"Tell me about your company."
I looked up, surprised. "Why?"
"Because you run it. Because it matters to you. Because I want to know." He took a sip of the wine he'd poured. "Tell me about Castellano & Co."
Something in my chest loosened at the genuine interest in his voice.
"My mother started it thirty years ago," I said, warming to the subject. "She was a chemist with a PhD from Northwestern. She was working for one of the big cosmetics companies and got frustrated that everything was either effective but harsh, or gentle but useless."
"So she made her own."
"Exactly." I found myself smiling. "Started in our garage, mixing formulas at night after her day job. Her first product was a lip stain that actually stayed on for hours without drying out your lips. She sold it at farmers markets on weekends."
"And built an empire."
"Eventually. It took years. But she was brilliant and stubborn and refused to compromise on quality." I pushed pasta around my plate. "By the time I was in high school, we had our own lab. By college, we were in major department stores. Now we do about fifty million a year in revenue."
Dez let out a low whistle. "That's impressive."
"It was. It is." I corrected myself. "But my uncle has been slowly poisoning it from the inside. Suggesting we cut corners, use cheaper ingredients, outsource production to save money. All things my mother would have hated."
"But he's on the board?"
"He's the CFO. My mother gave him the position years ago, back when she trusted him.
Before he married into the Vitale family and started thinking he deserved more.
" I took a long drink of wine. "Now he's just waiting for me to fail so he can take over and turn my mother's legacy into another generic cosmetics brand that puts profit over quality. "
"Over your dead body."
It wasn't a question. Just a statement of fact.
"Literally, maybe." I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out flat. "He's made it clear what happens if I don't meet the terms of the will."
Dez set down his fork, his expression going cold in a way that made him look dangerous. "Tell me about his threats. Has he hurt you?"
"Not directly. He's too smart for that. But the implications are clear." I forced myself to keep eating. "If I don't produce a husband in the next six months, I lose everything. And if I do... well, accidents happen. Especially to women who stand in the way of powerful men."
"Not if they're protected by more powerful men."
My heart skipped. "Dez—"
"Eat," he commanded softly. "We'll talk about this after you finish."
I obeyed, though the food had lost its taste. My mind was spinning with possibilities, with hope I was afraid to feel, with the knowledge that whatever Dez was about to propose could change everything.
When my plate was finally clean, he took it from me and set it aside. Then he stood and held out his hand.
"Come with me."
I let him lead me to the living room, to the massive leather couch that faced those stunning windows. He sat and pulled me down beside him, close enough that our thighs touched.
"I'm going to lay this out clearly," he said, his voice businesslike despite the intimate position. "And you're going to listen to everything before you respond. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
A small smile. "Thank you, sweetheart. But you can call me Dez for this conversation. This isn't a scene. This is business."
That should have disappointed me. Instead, it made everything feel more real. More serious.
"I need a wife," he began. "My father gave me an ultimatum. Get married within a year, produce an heir, or he names my younger brother Marco as his successor."
My breath caught. "Who told our parents that this was okay?" I asked seriously.
"That part." His hand found mine, fingers threading through mine. "I'm looking for someone suitable. Someone who can handle my family, my lifestyle, the darkness that comes with being a Moretti. Someone strong enough to stand beside me instead of cowering behind me."
"And you think that's me?"
"I know it is." His gray eyes met mine with absolute certainty. "You surrendered to me today, Angelina. Completely. Let me tie you up, fuck you, command you. But you never broke. Never lost yourself. You bent, but you didn't break."
"That's sex. Marriage is different."
"Is it?" He shifted to face me more fully. "You need someone powerful enough that your uncle thinks twice before trying anything. Someone with the resources to protect you and your company. Someone who won't try to take control of Castellano & Co. because he has his own empire to run."
"And you need someone who won't embarrass your family. Who can handle their own. Who's strong enough to produce heirs and raise them in this life."
"Exactly." His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. "We're compatible sexually—more than compatible, if today was any indication. We're both intelligent, ambitious, and practical. And we both need the same thing."
"A marriage of convenience."
"A marriage of mutual benefit," he corrected. "With some very convenient side effects."
Despite everything, I felt myself smile. "You're very smooth."
"I'm practical." He raised my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles.
"Here's what I'm proposing: A marriage. One year minimum, with options to extend or dissolve after the terms are met.
You get a husband and a pregnancy, securing your inheritance.
I get a wife and an heir, securing mine.
Your uncle backs off because threatening a Moretti's wife is a death sentence.
My family gets what they want. Everyone wins. "
"Except us."
"Why except us?" He looked genuinely confused.
"Because we barely know each other, Dez. We met yesterday. Had one scene together. And now you want to bind our lives together based on what? Sexual compatibility and business necessity?"
"That's more than most marriages in our world start with." His voice went soft. "But you're right. We don't know each other yet. Which is why I'm proposing we use the rest of the weekend together to figure out if this could actually work."
"How?"
"We talk. We play. We see how we handle each other outside of scenes.
" He pulled me closer, until I was practically in his lap.
"And before you leave, we make a decision.
If you think this could work—if you're willing to take the risk—we draw up a contract and make it official.
If not, you walk away with your seventy-five thousand and we never speak of this again. "
It was insane. Completely, utterly insane. I'd known this man for less than a day. Had let him tie me up, fuck me, and feed me like I was his pet, his possession, his to command. And now he wanted to marry me.
"What about love?" I asked quietly.
"What about it?"
"Don't you want to marry someone you love? Someone who loves you back?"
His expression went carefully neutral. "Love is a luxury people like us can't afford. My parents had an arranged marriage. They respect each other, work well together, and produced five children. That's more than enough."
"That sounds lonely."
"Maybe." He cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "But I'd rather have a partnership built on mutual respect and incredible sex than a love match that falls apart the first time things get hard. Wouldn't you?"
I thought about my mother. About how she'd loved my father desperately, completely, right up until the day he died when I was eight. About how she'd never remarried, never even dated, just poured all that love into me and her company. About how lonely she'd been, even surrounded by success.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I never thought I'd get married at all. And now I have to, and I thought it would be some business arrangement with a stranger who'd tolerate me at best, though I've been stalling for love. But this…you—"
"I don't just tolerate you, Angelina." His voice went rough. "I want you. Want to see you in my bed every night. Want to watch you build your mother's legacy into something even greater. Want to put my baby in you and watch you grow round with it."
Heat flooded through me at his words, at the possession in them.
"The possession isn't just a kink for you, is it?" I asked.
"No." He smiled, slow and dangerous. "I want you pregnant. Want everyone to know you're mine. Want to see you carrying my child and know that I did that. That you let me."
God help me, I wanted that too. Wanted it with a ferocity that shocked me.
"This is crazy," I whispered.
"Probably." He kissed me, soft and sweet and completely at odds with the filth he'd just been speaking. "But it's also the most practical solution either of us has. So what do you say? Do we spend the rest of the weekend figuring out if this insane idea could actually work?"
I should have said no. Should have walked away, taken my money, and figured out another solution. But as I looked into his eyes and felt the solid warmth of him against me… I couldn't.
"Yes," I said. "Let's figure this out."
His smile was brilliant.
"Thank you’ sweetheart."
Then his mouth was on mine, claiming, possessing, sealing the deal in a way that was far more binding than any contract.
And I kissed him back, tasting possibility and danger and the future I'd never let myself imagine.
I was brave enough to take this leap. And I knew it could be my salvation or my destruction.
Maybe both.