Chapter 9
BELLA
The back seat of the SUV feels overwhelmingly small right now.
By all means, the space is sufficient for two people and there is an empty seat between me and Slava. But somehow, it’s not enough, and behind the tinted windows that seal us in, it feels downright claustrophobic.
I’m acutely aware of every motion from him, and I can’t stop darting glances at him through the tinted glass. It’s unfair that someone I should hate so much looks so fucking good.
In the blurry reflection, I can see that he’s doing the same to me. My skin tingles from his penetrating gaze, and each second of silence is another second where my mind keeps turning back to what happened right outside of my door.
And the deliberate way I hit him with my hair before getting inside.
I don’t know why I did that.
No, that’s not true. I know exactly why I did it.
When he saw me come outside of my apartment, his eyes went straight for the necklace hanging around my throat. And as soon as he did, a familiar fire started burning in his eyes.
And there’s a part of me that wanted to get burned. There’s a part of me that wants to see if he might react in the same domineering way he had at the office.
I wanted him to grab my hair again, yank me back, and demand an apology for how flippantly I’m acting in front of him.
I’m not sure what would’ve happened if he did.
His ghostly gaze leaves my face and settles on the necklace with an intensity that feels like heat through glass.
Just what the hell does this thing mean to him? What do I mean to him?
He clenches his jaw again and opens his mouth. For a moment, nothing comes out. Then, he clears his throat and finally breaks the silence. “What does my schedule look like for the night?”
I can do that. As long as he’s opening this window of opportunity for me to think about anything but him, I’m going to take it.
"Meet and greet with the first donors at eight," I retreat into the safety of the mask of professionalism that still exists between us.
"Your main guests are the police commissioner, and city council members who are up for re-election. After that, you’re free to do as you please until your speech scheduled for nine fifteen. "
He holds my gaze, and a fluttering warmth pulses at my throat.
"And security?"
“Everyone entering will pass through metal detectors. I made sure there won’t be any gunmen this time."
It’s not a lie. Not exactly. At least, I don’t know if it’s a lie because I can’t control what Nico D’Ambrosio might do.
Slava laughs.
It's a small sound instead of his usual amused grunt. And in the tight confines of the SUV, it almost sounds genuine. My teeth tug unexpectedly at my bottom lip when I hear the sound, and I find myself staring back at him.
He has smile lines. I don't know why I find this disorienting.
No more words are said, and his gaze reluctantly pulls away from my eyes but not from me.
Never from me. It explores my exposed neck, and I’m reminded of his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh.
It licks at my bared shoulder, and I can feel the brush of his chin.
It continues to move lower and lower, down to the slit in my dress where my thighs are exposed, down the length of my calves, until it settles all the way at the pair of black modest toe pumps that laces up around my ankles.
Then his gaze starts to rise, lingering over every inch of exposed skin, past the dress clinging to my navel, and up towards the valley of my breasts where a single bead of sweat is starting to roll from the suffocating heat between us.
And it stops exactly where I expect it to stop.
Despite the empty seat between us, I become more aware than ever just how close he feels. The heat of his body rolls into mine, and he shifts until the breadth of his shoulders fills the edge of my vision.
I can touch him if I want to.
My hands remain still. Slowly, I force myself to break the silence and resent the sure knowledge in my heart that somehow, I’ve just lost a game of sorts.
"Why do you keep looking at this necklace?"
He leans in close, and I hate that I instinctively back up until my hair and back is pressed against the cool glass of the window.
There's nowhere for me to go. The car door is at my back, the leather seat beneath me, and his body is closing the distance between us with the steady inevitability of gravity.
"Why don’t you tell me?" he purrs my name. “After all, you’re my PR agent and you should know everything about me.”
The words vibrate with an unmistakable hunger, and he continues to invade my space until we’re close enough to kiss.
My eyes dart to his lips for just a moment. A split-second surrender before my brain yanks back control. But it’s already too late. He’s seen it all.
My body is hot and my skin tingles with awareness—at the complete absence of space between us, at the thin piece of fabric separating my flesh from him, and at the racing pulse hammering away the final remnants of reason in my brain.
“Because this necklace is yours,” I whisper.
A dark smile appears. I can see the promises of things I’m not supposed to imagine written across his beautiful face.
“Good girl.”
A familiar forbidden heat jolts across the nape of my neck, a thumb strokes the point where my jaw connects to my neck, and I forget how to breathe.
How the hell did he just touch me without me noticing?
He moves his hand down my neck along the length of the chain, fingers dancing across my collarbone. My vision turns hazy at the touch. A slow current of electricity thrums through my body and refuses to dissipate as long as his skin is on mine.
His hand continues to move along the chain until finally, he takes the seven-pointed-star pendant between his fingers. Rough knuckles send ripples of fire spreading into my chest.
"And this is the part where you ask me just how is it that you came into possession of what belongs to me.” His voice drips with every word. “Ms. Farnassi."
A storm of emotions crashes through me. Thrill and fear and excitement and dread fight for control in my mind. None of them are winning. All of them are screaming.
I shudder without meaning to, and know I’ve lost for good.
His voice drops to a deep gravelly tone. “You already know the answer, don’t you?”
"My brother wasn't a thief,” I answer with my chin lifted and defiant.
His other hand presses against my thigh through the slit of my dress, hot and insistent.
A whimper falls out of my mouth at the contact, and I hate that he can do this to me.
I hate that I’m letting him do this to me.
A finger slips under the slit and starts to travel up, exposing my skin as he does so.
“I knew your brother better than you ever did.”
My breath quickens as he approaches that forbidden crook where my leg meets my hips. I clench my jaws tight to keep my teeth from chattering. And despite the urge to close my eyes and let him continue, I keep them open and focused on his gray irises.
“You don’t know shit about Luca,” I seethe. “You murderer.”
"Murderer,” he repeats.
His hand on my thigh stops, but his hand holding the pendant moves back to its original position behind my nape, and then higher up until his fingers are threading through my hair from the base of my skull. Slowly, he winds my hair around his fist. Once. Twice. Three times.
Until every single strand is under his command.
When I tilt my head back from the pressure to expose my throat, he gives it a firm and insistent tug. There’s pain, yes, but it’s the kind of pain that I’ve been craving ever since Luca died.
Why does it have to be him who gives me what I’ve wanted?
“If I am what you accuse me of, Ms. Farnassi." He presses his cheek against mine and whispers in my ear. “Then you should speak to me more carefully."
My eyes finally close and I start shivering in earnest even as all the points of contact burn me up. Now, my hands start to move, seeking out the warmth of his body and the fire of his skin while my thighs slowly part as if to invite him closer.
"Are you going to kill me?" The questions pour out. "The same way you killed Luca?”
“No.” He moves his lips closer to my ear, touching me with every word. “I want to destroy you the same way you want to destroy me.”
Oh fuck.
“Then why haven’t you?”
His cheek peels away from mine, but his lips continue to murmur against my ear. “Because you haven’t earned it yet.”
Without warning, he pulls away from me completely, and I realize that the car has stopped. A moment later, the door opens on Slava's side, and the sealed darkness of our private world is chased away by a flood of camera flashes.
Slava steps out first, tall and commanding, the perfect picture of composed authority. Then he turns and offers me his hand.
I must look like a goddamn mess. My heart is pounding a mile a minute. I can feel the sweat slicking my face, my back, and my brow. I bet if you hold up a mirror to me, I’ll look every bit like a woman who’s just been freshly fucked.
Which, in a manner of speaking, I have been.
And as I take Slava’s hand and follow him into the circus of public attention swirling like a storm, I realize that long before I ever had a single fantasy of him fucking my body…
… he already buried himself deep inside of me, and had been relentlessly fucking my head this whole time.