13. Chapter Thirteen #2
My eyebrows shoot up. “What does that mean? I can’t leave?”
“The car accident wasn’t random,” he says, and there’s a hard edge in his tone now. “It was premeditated. You were a target, Sophie. And until I know you’re not in immediate danger, you’ll stay here.”
The floor shifts under me. “What?”
I blink. “You—no. No way.”
Sleeping with him was one thing, but staying under the same roof for the foreseeable future will drive me mad.
He doesn’t budge. “I’m not asking.”
“That’s not your call to make,” I snap, trying to sidestep him. But if I have to push my way through, I would.
Although I’m not sure I’ll be able to get his larger frame out of the way. Not with all that muscle and those shoulders. Firm, broad, warm—
Absolutely not.
“What makes you think I was the person they were aiming for?” I thrust my hands on my hips. It sounds like I pulled the argument from thin air, but I ride it with it anyway.
He clearly didn’t expect me to spin things, because he lets out a baffled scoff. “You think they were after someone else? You were in your car, Sophie. You. How could there possibly be a mistake with that?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know, you tell me.” After a beat, I realize I have to come up with an explanation to back up my theory. “You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation that has been in your family for years. Which means you must have enemies.”
Keep going, Sophie. “Maybe someone saw me leaving and thought they could use the accident as a way to get back at you for something you did.”
Dom snorts. An undignified, audible snort. “And why would they choose you? They could’ve gone for Raffaele at least. I’ve known him longer.”
For some reason, it stings to hear him talk about me like I’m easily dispensable, when I’ve spent the past couple weeks buried in paperwork, literal paper, and jumping on flights so I could meet his horrible, inhumane deadlines.
But I’m not letting him take me down that easily. “And when have you shown up at an event with an employee?” He’s silent. “See?” I lift my shoulders. “I’m right. You’ve pissed off the wrong person, and they thought I’d be the scapegoat.”
It’s still a shaky theory at best, but I get angrier the more I spin it. “You should be apologizing for putting me in harm’s way, Domenico, and not making me a hostage.”
A slow, cryptic smile touches his lips as I let my hands fall to my sides.
“I see,” he murmurs. “Normally, I’d buy your argument. After all, you don’t get to where I am without making enemies.”
“However—” He takes a deliberate step forward. “I can tell you don’t buy your own story.”
I plant my feet, forcing myself not to move. My shoulders are squared, my chin lifted. Don’t back down. Not now.
He steps closer, and the heat from his body brushes against mine. His breath grazes my cheek, and I swear I can feel it pulse through my bloodstream.
I don’t blink. I don’t flinch. But inside? I’m a goddamn mess.
My eyes betray me, dropping to his arms, folded tightly across his chest. His hands aren’t on me. They haven’t moved. But I remember the feeling of them being like muscle memory.
And right now? Standing this close to him, with his voice curling down my spine and his mouth just inches from mine?
I’m a puddle of bad decisions that sound dangerously appealing.
My voice is hoarse when I finally speak. “Is this part of the lockdown? The intimidation tactic?”
“No,” he says softly. It feels like a tactic to make me lose guard; if it is, it’s working. “This is me saying that you know better, Sophie.”
His gaze drops to my lips for a split second, and my pulse kicks hard. “You’re going to need to explain what you mean, because I’m not following.”
Dom shakes his head, pulling back. “You’ll stay here until I’m sure everything’s safe. As long as you work for me,” he puts up a finger before I can argue, “your safety is my responsibility. If you don’t like it, you’re more than welcome to submit your resignation letter.”
Oh, he’s good. I don’t know whether to be furious, impressed, or angry at myself that I let it show how much I needed this job.
I could’ve found another way to get it, instead of responding when he asked, “What do you want then, Miss Greco?” with, “A job.”
I fold my arms and bite my lip hard, pushing back a wave of frustration. “You’re a cruel man, Domenico. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a long list of people out there looking for an opportunity to wreck you.”
And I’ll be at the top of that list.
His nonchalant shrug infuriates me, setting off an annoyed spark in my chest, but it quickly flames out, replaced by a small gasp when his thumb pulls my lip from my teeth. “You’ll hurt yourself,” he says.
My eyes roll to the back of my head, even as my stomach dips with need and a deep pull stirs between my thighs. I clench them without thinking, only to have his gaze nosedive at that moment.
When it eventually pans back to my face, I know that he knows. Thankfully, my stomach’s loud grumble and the housekeeper’s timely presence save the day.
“Please make breakfast for Miss Greco, Patrice,” Dom tells her, slipping his hand into his pocket.
She nods.
When she disappears into the kitchen, Dom turns his eyes back to me, and they’ve gone darker. “If you try to leave,” he says calmly, “I’ll handcuff you to the bedframe in the room you slept in.”
My breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and disbelief.
“And,” he continues, “it won’t be to repeat what happened last night.”
He leans in, just slightly—close enough for his words to graze my skin. “I assure you, you won’t enjoy it this time.”
A chill ripples down my spine, even as heat coils low in my stomach. He’s warning me, not teasing, but my body can’t seem to tell the difference.
Then he turns without another word and walks off like the conversation is over.
It’s not. Not even close. But the other part of the conversation is one I need to have with myself.