Chapter 27 #2
But she did agree to allow me to do whatever I felt was necessary to secure her house for the evening. That is non-negotiable.
I am still counting it as a win.
So, I went full-scale with it. Maybe even overkill.
This is her house. Her staff, food, vehicles, children, multiple arrivals. I accounted for them all.
The one thing I can’t account for is the multiple protection teams. Nick Dixon’s security.
That is the part that keeps grinding against my patience.
Nick Dixon’s people are efficient. I will give them that.
Well-trained. Disciplined. Used to protecting wealth in public spaces, hotels, casinos, private aviation, high-profile family movement. They are not amateurs.
They are also unknown factors in my operation.
I do not like unknown factors.
I like them even less around Caterina.
I agreed because Caterina promised utmost secrecy. No one outside the essential circle knows about the dinner.
The menu is being prepared and served by some of the few trusted staff in the family. Security is being handled by my people and Nick Dixon’s people, with limited overlap and clear zones.
Deliveries are restricted. Routes are staggered. Entry points are narrowed. No press, no friends, no extended family, no extra household staff.
It is still a risk.
Even the trusted Oliver isn’t to know about the dinner tonight. He’s the one who usually plans her events, and he has all her contacts, so it’s been a bit of a challenge for Caterina as well, since she’s had to pull this off without his help.
“We have brunch with the women from the Arts Council tomorrow, but we're getting the flower arrangements in from Botanica tonight," Oliver says. "Did you want to be here for it?"
"That won't be necessary," Caterina says. "Just make sure the room is cool enough to handle them until brunch tomorrow."
"Got it," Oliver says, jotting notes down.
"Actually, could you see if Botanica can fit a couple more arrangements in for me?" Caterina says.
"Are we adding more tables?" Oliver frowns down at the notepad, as if the world were ending from a couple more tables.
"No, these are for me. My house."
My attention sharpens. I’m not aware of any flower order for her house for tonight.
"Okay," Oliver says, ready to write it down. "Any particular flowers?"
"Something... cheerful but elegant," Caterina says. "Yellow roses, but soften them. Creams, a little peach, a little greenery. Nothing massive. For the dining room."
Oliver writes quickly. “Yellow roses, cream, pale peach, greenery. Not massive.”
“And one for the entry table,” she adds. “Smaller. Same palette.”
The flowers aren't unusual.
Caterina orders flowers regularly. For her house, for events, for gifts. She used to get flowers delivered to her home weekly before I forced her to cut that back. But cutting them off completely would be suspicious, so I allowed her to continue a certain number of deliveries to the house.
But having a delivery tonight is unexpected. Every aspect of security tonight has been planned down to the last detail. A flower delivery was not one of them.
I catch her eye.
She holds my gaze, her expression calm and unreadable. She gives a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of her head.
Don't worry.
Easy for her to say. She isn't the one who will be on watch when the delivery truck arrives. She isn't the one who will have to clear the vehicle, the driver, and the arrangement itself before it is allowed anywhere near her house.
"Anything else?" Oliver asks, oblivious to the silent conversation happening across the room.
"That's it for now," Caterina says. "Thank you, Oliver."
"You're welcome," Oliver says, gathering his tablet and notepad. "I'll send the updated schedule over in five."
He stands, gives me a brief, nervous nod, and lets himself out of the office.
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of us alone in the quiet, newly secure room.
She looks down at her desk, tidying a stack of papers, avoiding my gaze.
"Flowers, Caterina?" I ask, my voice flat. I keep my posture relaxed, my hands loose at my sides.
She looks up, and for a second, I see the defiance I am used to. The flash of challenge in her eyes. But it's gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by something else. Weariness, maybe. Or calculation.
"A houseful of my family deserves to look nice," she says. "It's been stressful for everyone. A little color won't hurt."
"A little color could be a bomb," I say. "You know that."
Her jaw tightens. "It's not a bomb, Adrian."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because no one at Botanica is trying to kill me or gives a damn about my father's legacy," she says. "They're flowers. They make people happy. They make a house feel like a home. It's one of the few normal things I can still do."
Normal.
That word is a trap in this life. We both know it.
"They could be intercepted," I say. "They could be swapped. The driver could be a problem. The van could have something else in it."
"They won't be," she says, and I can all but feel her coming up behind me. "They'll just be a driver and a van and flowers."
She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her cheek against my back, between my shoulder blades. She feels warm and soft. She feels like everything I want and everything I can't have.
I cover her hands with mine, linking our fingers. "You can't just add things to the plan, Caterina. Not tonight."
"I know. I'm sorry," she murmurs into my shirt, snuggling closer. "It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I shouldn't have done it without talking to you."
I close my eyes. I can feel the soft press of her breasts against my back. The warmth of her breath through the fabric of my shirt. The clean, sweet scent of her hair.
She is a weakness. A vulnerability. And she is using it on purpose.
"One day, Cat," I say. "One day, this isn't going to work on me."
"Today?" she whispers seductively, pressing her breasts more firmly against my back.
Her hand slides down my stomach, a slow journey that has my body responding instantly.
I quickly grab her wrist and spin in her arms, making her gasp.
Before she can blink, I have her arms pinned behind her back, and her body pressed hard against mine. I hold both of her slender wrists in one of my hands. The other, I slide into her hair and use it to tilt her head back so she has no choice but to look up at me.
Her eyes are wide and dark, her lips parted. She is breathing fast. I can feel the quick, frantic beat of her heart against my chest.
And I can smell her arousal.
It is a sweet, potent perfume that calls to a part of me I am trying hard to keep leashed.
"You are playing a dangerous game," I say. My voice is low and rough.
"I like danger," she says. A dare.
"No," I say, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her throat. "You don't."
I lean down and brush my lips against hers. A light, teasing touch that is a promise, a warning, of more.
She tries to deepen the kiss, but I pull back, my grip on her hair tightening.
"Adrian," she whispers, a breathy plea.
Her hips shift, rubbing against me, and I have to bite back a groan. I'm already hard. Just from having her near me.
"Right now," I say, my voice still low. "I am on duty. So this?" I press my erection against her stomach. "Is a liability. And these?" I pull her in, plastering her breasts against my chest, making her gasp again. "Are a distraction."
Her pupils are dark pools, blown wide. Her lips are parted. She's definitely not scared. She's turned on.
"Am I distracting you, Adrian?" she asks, her husky.
"You're always distracting me, Caterina," I say, and claim her lips in a bruising kiss meant to dominate. I pour all my frustration, my desire, my fear for her into it. It is a kiss that says I am in control, even when I feel like I am spiraling.
She doesn’t hesitate for a second. She meets me stroke for stroke, her tongue dueling with mine, her body arching against mine. Wanting more. Always more.
She is a force of nature. And I am caught in her path.
I pull back, breathing heavily.
Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes are dark with a hunger that mirrors my own.
"Okay," she whispers. "I'll behave."
I narrow my eyes.
"Tonight," she continues.
There it is.
"Don't," I warn her. "Don't play with me."
"Who says I'm playing?" she asks, her voice a sultry whisper. She shifts in my grip, rubbing against me again. "I told you I'll behave. But I've got it in my system now." She licks her lower lip, her gaze dropping to my mouth. "I can't behave until I've got it all out."
This woman is going to kill me. Her father will fire me. And then I'll be dead. But I'm going to die a happy man.
She leans in, her lips a breath away from my ear. "Fuck me, Adrian," she whispers. "Right here. Right now. Fuck it out of my system, and I promise I'll be a good girl for you tonight."
A harsh, ragged breath tears from me.
My control snaps. I crush my mouth to hers, my tongue delving deep, tasting, taking. I spin us away from the window, not that far gone.
With one hand, I tug her blouse from her trousers. The other, I keep locked around her wrists as she struggles to free them from my grip. She likes it. She likes it rough. She likes to fight, just a little.
My fingers find the front clasp of her bra, and I flick it open. I groan as my lips leave hers and I dip my head to take a pebbled nipple into my mouth. I bite down gently, and she cries out, her back arching, pressing deeper into me.
She is writhing in my arms, trying to free her hands to touch me, but I don't let her. This is my game. My rules.
"You are such a goddamn tease," I growl against her skin. My free hand slides down her stomach, over the curve of her hip, and then around to her backside. I squeeze, pulling her flush against my erection.
"Only for you," she pants.
I latch onto her other nipple and ravage it with tongue and teeth and lips. Her head falls back, her throat exposed. I want to bite her there, too. Leave a mark. A claim.