Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Olivia
He pushes open the hotel door and I gasp. I wasn’t sure what to expect because we’ve scaled back a lot of extravagant purchases over the last few years. But deep down, I was hoping he’d take it back to when we were first married and spoil me. And he hasn’t disappointed.
The honeymoon suite is decorated for the season. The bed is covered in wine red velvet and silk, mistletoe hangs over the windows, and there’s a fire burning in the hearth. All along the windowsill are bouquets of white roses. They cover one of the bedside tables and beside them is a black velvet box tied with ribbon.
I know there’s probably thousands of dollars of jewelry inside. He doesn’t do things by halves and he knows I have a weakness for things that sparkle.
“Lucien,” I whisper. “You really didn’t have to.”
He kisses my head. “You deserve to be spoiled,” he murmurs. “But don’t worry, I’ll make you work for it tonight, baby.”
I shiver and his eyes bore into me as he ushers me inside and shuts the door. We both had a long day, but now that we’re finally at the hotel, I can tell we’re both getting a second wind. I know Lucien is because I can see he’s got a hard ridge beneath the front of his pants.
I skim my red nails over it as I pass by.
“Fuck, baby,” he says under his breath.
He was at work all day, but I got a few texts from him between meetings. Most of them were tame, the usual kind of texts husbands and wives send each other to keep the day running smoothly.
Made it to work. Love you.
Leaving work now.
But in between those texts, he sent one that made my heart flutter.
Be a good girl and pack the heels I like for tonight.
I rolled my eyes at that one, pretending it didn’t make my head spin and butterflies erupt in my stomach. I knew exactly which shoes he was referring to and I obediently went upstairs and slipped them into my suitcase.
I’m about to wrap my arms around his neck when his phone rings. Whenever we get interrupted, his lips thin, just a tiny amount. But his expression of annoyance quickly shifts away as our eldest son’s name appears across the screen. He taps the speaker button and sets it on the bar.
“Marco,” he says.
“You make it up to the hotel alright?” My eldest son’s voice sounds so much like Lucien’s now, especially when it comes through the phone’s speaker.
“We’re here, honey,” I chime in. “Are we still going to meet up with you and Freja tomorrow for dinner?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” he says. “Don’t say anything embarrassing because she’s here and you’re on speaker.”
My heart lifts. I’ve been trying all year to get Marco to bring his girlfriend to meet Lucien and he finally agreed to do it at the last minute. I know how nervous he is to introduce her to the family. And on top of that, it’s a delicate situation because her father, the president of their university, doesn’t approve of Marco. Or his connection to the Italian mafia.
“Hi, Freja,” I say cheerily.
“Hello, Mrs. Esposito,” she says timidly. She’s got a timid, soft voice with a slight accent. I met her last year and she was sweet and quiet. Exactly the kind of girl I always saw Marco ending up with.
“Hello, Freja,” says Lucien, his deep voice cutting in.
I hear her gasp.
“Not cool, dad,” Marco says. “Be nice.”
Lucien’s brow twitches. “I just said hello.”
I slip my hand around his elbow, reining him in. “Alright, honey, we’ll see you tomorrow night for dinner. You have a good night.”
“Thanks, mom. Goodnight.”
Lucien hangs up the phone and I fold my arms, giving him a look. He knows exactly what he did and he finds it amusing, I can see a faint glimmer deep in his cold eyes.
“I just said hello,” he says again.
“She’s terrified of you,” I say.
He takes a step closer to me and his hand comes up, brushing my chin. “Why would anyone be terrified of me? Are you, Mrs. Esposito?”
Heat creeps through my body and concentrates between my thighs. He backs me up against the bar and my heart thuds. How does he get it to patter so fast after all this time? I swear it’s like our first night all over again. His hand slides down my waist and he grips my hip hard enough it twinges.
His mouth brushes my neck. Butterflies take off in my stomach.
“Oh,” I whisper, letting my head fall back against the bar. “I was terrified of you the first time we met. And even more scared the first time we slept together.”
His kisses burn up the side of my throat. My toes curl.
“But you did such a good job,” he says quietly.
Oh my God, it feels like warm water is seeping through my veins and making me ache between my legs. The ceiling is made of dark wood beams and soft cream tiling. It swirls, twinkling with lights and garland overhead. His mouth moves down to my collarbones, kissing slowly. Open just enough he leaves bits of wetness from his tongue as he goes. Heat curls down my thighs and my toes curl.
His hands slide down my back, pulling my hips against his groin.
He’s rock hard, of course he is.
“What are you drinking tonight?” he asks.
I gasp as he kisses the little dip of my cleavage and pulls back. His lids are heavy over those icy eyes and the light glints off the gray around his temples. I can feel my heartbeat between my thighs and I’m desperate to be tipsy on champagne with his cock inside me.
“Champagne,” I whisper.
“Only the best,” he says.
He releases me and circles the bar, taking a gold bottle from the ice bucket. My eyes follow his tattooed hands as he grips it, twisting the wire. It comes away easily, popping and sending a wisp of bubbles up. I never get tired of watching him do the simplest things. It amazes me that he can pour a glass of champagne like a gentleman with the same hands he’s used to murder more people than I can count.
He’s a complex man. I’ve given up trying to understand him.
He fixes a glass of whiskey for himself and brings me the champagne. It’s the kind I like, a little sweet, a little tart, just enough bubbles. I take a sip and his eyes follow my mouth, lingering on the lipstick stain I leave on the glass.
“What did you get me?” I whisper.
“The usual,” he says. “Beautiful things for a beautiful woman.”
I chew my lip, cocking my head. “You’re very hard to buy for. You don’t want pretty, expensive things the way I do.”
“I don’t need anything.” His brow twitches. “I have one very pretty and very, very expensive thing already and she keeps me thoroughly occupied.”
I can’t keep from blushing. He leans in and his lips brush my temple.
“Speaking of pretty things,” he says. “Go put on yours.”
“Only if you put on yours,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches and he grips my ass, squeezing it. “Go on then.”