Chapter 18 Daisy
DAISY
The difference between a gentleman and a man is that one knows when to hold your hand and the other knows when to grab your hair.
You are a menace, cara.” Despite the words that Giulio shoots my way, he doesn’t sound like he minds.
I settle more firmly against the warm, cushioned seat of his SUV and watch his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel.
I lick my lips and lower my gaze to the front of his slacks where he’s still sporting an erection that makes me a little nervous about how he’ll fit when he gets inside of me.
“You’ve been calling me that all night,” I murmur. “It’s Italian, right?” He nods. “You said you were raised here—well, in Brooklyn, but in America. How do you know the language so well?”
Giulio glances at me for a brief second before he directs his attention to the front of the car. He eases into the next lane, the long stretches of pavement and streetlights blurring around us. “Don Luciani taught me,” he admits, “and yes, it’s Italian.”
“What does it mean?” The vehicle slows at a red light and idles before the faded white line.
The soft wash of air conditioning soothes my flesh, which felt too hot when we were outside and his hands had been all over me.
Now, it’s chilly in here, and I close my arms around myself as I wait for his answer.
“‘Dear,’” Giulio finally says. “Cara means something like… ‘dear.’”
So, does that mean Giulio has been calling me his “dear”? Like we’re a real married couple? My heart throbs in my chest, and my eyes fall away from his face as the light changes and he presses the gas, sending us shooting forward once more.
My reasons for not being sure about Giulio haven’t changed.
Ginny gave everything to a boy once, a rich jock from our high school who promised her the world.
He took her virginity, and no matter how many people in our group home warned her that he was playing her, she hadn’t listened.
Fifteen was far too young to die. It was also too young to be pregnant without family and without the baby’s father.
She knew that, and though a part of me feels like her choice was selfish, another part of me understands why people make hard decisions.
Fear. Confusion. Pain. Hurt. Grief. She saw no way out, and I couldn’t fault her for the decision she made. Even if, years later, it still leaves me feeling achy and full of sorrow at her loss. Wherever he is, I hope that jackass never forgets what he did to her.
“Where is your mind, cara?” I blink and glance up realizing that we’ve stopped moving, and the car is parked in the garage attached to our building.
Turning to look at the man in the driver’s seat, I think about all the decisions that brought me here to this moment. To him. Taking Michelle’s shift. Going into that bridal suite. Agreeing to marry a stranger.
Giulio’s hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over my cheek, the pad a bit rough yet still soothing.
I lean into the touch, liking it far more than I care to admit.
Or maybe it’s okay to admit it—I like Giulio.
He’s strong, funny, and capable. A man like that’s a heady thing when I’m used to guys who have no direction and simply wade through life using everyone around them until they figure it out. I know what I want, and so does Giulio.
Plus, he’s loyal, an internal voice reminds me. That’s, like, every girl’s dream, right?
Yeah, Giulio is a loyal man, all right. Loyal to his family and, hopefully, loyal to his wife. After all, he doesn’t mind getting rid of dead bodies for me, and I’m sure there are loads of husbands out there that wouldn’t even take out the trash.
A shudder works through me as Giulio stares at me.
His thumb moves slowly up and down the side of my face.
I don’t fear him. Not anymore. Now, I’m drawn to him.
I find myself leaning over the console, closing the distance between us the same way I did back at the rooftop bar.
He smells amazing—all spice and cardamom.
I wonder if he’s wearing a cologne or if this is just his natural scent.
It’s masculine and addictive, and I’m falling into it faster and faster.
Giulio’s hand slides away from my cheek and jaw around to the back of my head.
He cups my skull in his wide palm and holds me still as our heads tilt.
An ancient, primal instinct has me tipping my face upward, and as his lips graze mine for the second time, more of those fireworks burst behind my closed eyelids. He tastes just like he smells.
Fucking amazing.
“Just like that, cara,” Giulio murmurs against my mouth. “Open for me.”
Jesus H. Christ. It’s too dangerous for him to sound like that when I’m already so turned on.
Still, my mouth opens and I let him inside, gasping a little when his tongue touches mine.
My breasts swell against the front of my black dress, and I want more than anything to rip it free.
Despite the luxurious fabric of the outfit, it feels no better than sandpaper against my skin right now.
Nothing but Giulio’s hands on my body would feel remotely comfortable.
I want that, I realize. His hands on me.
His body against mine. But Giulio is a gentleman in many ways—even if he does horribly bad things that would get anyone else arrested and locked up in a maximum-security prison.
He won’t be doing anything like stripping me bare and spreading my thighs over his so he can sink his cock deep into my core here.
With that knowledge, it’s not as hard as it should be to break away from the kiss.
“What’s wrong?” Giulio’s hand holds on to my skull, though he doesn’t try to kiss me again.
My eyes fall to his lips. They’re wet, glistening. Shit. “Upstairs,” I manage to croak out. “Now.”
A beat passes. A second. By the third, Giulio’s gone. I blink as the driver’s side is suddenly empty, the door shut, the keys no longer in the ignition. My door opens, and I whirl as Giulio reappears.
Oh, thank God. I reach for him before I realize I’m still strapped in. Fumbling against the seat belt, Giulio doesn’t wait for me to figure it out before he leans in and releases me. One arm winds beneath my legs and a second goes around my back as he lifts me from the car and kicks the door shut.
I fall against him with a gasp. “Giulio!” This is so not some dramatic made-for-TV romance. Yet… he doesn’t put me down as he stalks toward the elevator bank.
I don’t wait for him to say anything as I lean over and hit the button.
Then, as if I can’t help myself, I weave my arms around his neck and press my face close, inhaling his dark spice scent all over again.
God, if he figured out a way to bottle his own smell, he’d make a killing.
Enough to go legit if he wanted. Then again, maybe he already has and what I’m smelling is simply sex-in-a-bottle of men’s cologne.
A groan sticks in my throat as the elevator doors open and he steps inside. This time, I don’t reach for the button, and he adjusts his hold on me to punch the one to our floor. I kiss the side of his neck before licking the skin there. I like the salty taste.
Giulio growls, and a smile lifts the corners of my lips. “You’re testing my patience, cara,” he says.
“Yeah,” I agree, kissing the pulse point of his jugular again, “but you like it.” He doesn’t respond, which is an answer in itself. Or perhaps I’m just more aware than ever that it’s not a pogo stick pressing against the underside of my ass and my side.
The elevator dings, and Giulio is out and down the hall before I lift my head.
The door to our penthouse comes into view, and he gently sets me before it, caging me against the solid wood.
His hands go to the keypad above the lock where he presses in a code and then his thumbprint even as our gazes collide and lock onto each other.
My chest pumps up and down, and I’m viscerally aware that my face is flaming hot.
My body isn’t far behind. The door opens, and cool air hits me as he backs me into the penthouse.
I nearly trip over the lip of the kitchen, but Giulio merely lifts me straight out of my heels.
He sets me back on the floor and turns to the wall.
I wait impatiently, my bones practically vibrating beneath my flesh as I realize that this is really about to happen. I’m about to have sex with my husband.
The security system beeps, announcing that the house is armed.
Short of a bomb dropping on top of us, no one is getting in here tonight.
As if the sound is the last vestige of Giulio’s control snapping, he whirls and moves toward me.
Oh yeah. My eyes eat him up, loving the way he moves.
It’s all sinew and lithe athleticism. Some big guys walk around like bumbling hippos, not even aware of their size.
Not Giulio. He strides right up to me like a panther stalking its prey, and I’m so fucking ready to be eaten by him.
The second he’s within touching distance, my hands go to the top of his pants, and I yank his black button-down shirt out of the waistband.
Our mouths slam into each other, eyes closed and breaths stolen as we kiss and try to disrobe even as both of us move slowly, inexorably toward the hallway and to one of the bedrooms.
Giulio kicks off his own shoes in the living room, trying and failing to keep our kiss going as he bends to accommodate my shorter height. I pull away laughing, but then he’s back, pulling me into him as we move for the bedroom. A moan rises up my throat.
More fumbling steps, and I shove him against the wall of the hallway to reach back and grip the zipper of my dress. A whisper of metal teeth, and the dress sags forward. Giulio’s hands come up to help me strip it off, his fingers touching the lacy edge of my bra.
“Bedroom,” I practically pant. “Now.”
He smiles, and for a second, I’m stunned stupid. Have I ever seen him smile before? Even if I had seen it then, it would’ve been nothing like this smile. This secret, intimate smile is mine and mine alone, and it makes me fucking jump him.
Gripping his shoulders in my hands, I leap up and am pleased by his quick reflexes as he catches me and brings me against him.
My legs wind around his waist as my hands sink into his hair, disrupting the previously well-groomed strands.
Now they stand on end, messy and in disarray—so out of character that it turns my wicked criminal husband into a man straight out of a romance novel.
To be fair, even all stoic and proper, he could still walk fashion week as a cool businessman. This Giulio, however, is all sex god, and I want him inside of me more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life—even fucking chocolate during shark week.
His shaft presses against the place between my thighs as he grips me beneath my legs and hefts me up further before turning and striding the rest of the way down the hall.
I don’t bother to look where we’re going.
I trust him implicitly, and I don’t think I’d mind it even if he took me straight over the edge of this high-rise building.
Gripping his hair, I kiss him as we enter a bedroom.
His or mine, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it’s got a bed.
I plan to get him horizontal on it as fast as possible.
His big hands squeeze my ass, and it’s hotter than Hades that he hasn’t stumbled once since carrying me.
“Bellisima, cara,” Giulio says as he pulls back for a breath before diving down and kissing my throat.
Thrusting my head back to give him access, I press my breasts into him and grind down against the erection straining the front of his slacks.
Irritation slides through me at the lack of skin to skin.
I drop my legs from his waist. He resists letting me go, but I struggle against him anyway, shoving my hands at his chest and cursing a blue streak.
When I finally get my wish and his hands fall away, we’re both panting hard and there’s color high on his cheeks—as well as a glitter of danger in his eyes.
I swallow, but I know that he’ll like what I plan to do.
With courage I only ever seem to possess in risky situations, I step up to him and take the sides of his shirt before ripping it completely open.
Buttons come free, pinging across the floor.
A few even hit the wall, but after a barely there moment of shock, Giulio grins.
Then he helps me pull the sleeves off his arms and toss the offending item of clothing onto the floor.
His arms come around me, and he backs me toward the bed. The mattress hits the backs of my thighs, and without missing a beat, I climb slowly but steadily backward. My eyes drop to… Holy mother of…
I can’t think. I can’t see straight. My eyes must be deceiving me because it’s not possible. I am so not this lucky.
Yet, there he is. Giulio La Rosa, my husband. My half naked and incredibly aroused husband.
Casting a quick look to the ceiling as if I can see beyond it to the sky above and the invisible wind of a deity hovering above us—hopefully in the very far distance because I certainly don’t want an audience for what I’m about to do to this man—I send a prayer of thanks to whoever made this possible.
Because there’s only one reason an average girl like me is somehow married to a man who looks like Giulio.
Even Mean Daisy pops out and grins at me. Waving, she mouths one word before disappearing again.
Jackpot.