Chapter 24
Present
Upper-East Side, New York City
I CAME BACK HOME IN the early afternoon, the elevator opening into the penthouse with its usual soft chime. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I stepped inside, shrugging off my fur coat.
Matteo was stretched across the massive couch like he owned it, one arm thrown over the back cushion, still in his sweats. A glass of tequila on the table next to him. He didn’t even look like he was trying to look good, which was somehow worse.
The TV played in Spanish; Mexico City N+ Foro news, and the sound filled the otherwise quiet apartment.
I stood there for a moment, watching him. Too comfortable. Too at home. Too… Him.
“I’m home,” I said finally.
He muted the TV and turned his head toward me. “I noticed. How did it go?”
I took a breath, set my Chanel bag down on the table a little harder than I meant to, and walked further in.
“I’ve been thinking about what we said this morning,” I said.
His expression didn’t change, but the TV remote went fully still in his hand.
“And?” His voice was low, steady. Waiting.
I crossed my arms, suddenly unsure of my own voice. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. The whole… Benefits thing.”
Matteo turned off the TV completely and sat up, leaning his forearms on his knees, so I had his full attention. His eyes tracked my movements – slow, patient, calculated.
His golden-brown eyes burned into mine.
“Come here,” he murmured.
I didn’t move, which made him sigh and get up instead. He walked toward me, barefoot on the hardwood, hands in his pockets. The dim lamps spilled light across his features, all sharp cheekbones and amber eyes.
“You’re stuck with me,” He said quietly. “At least until the end of the year. Might as well make the best of it.”
“Still doesn’t mean we should complicate things,” I argued. My voice felt too small for the room.
“We already did.”
Heat rose in my cheeks.
“That was… Different.”
“How?”
God, he was too close now – all warmth and quiet confidence, and it wasn’t fair. I stared at the gold cross hanging off his chain instead of his eyes.
“Francesca,” he continued, softer this time. “You don’t have to complicate anything. We’re married. There are worse things than enjoying each other… While you’re stuck in this.”
I swallowed. Hard.
“I just – ” The words jammed in my throat. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding like an idiot. Without revealing the real reason.
He waited, reading me like he always did. For a moment, it almost felt like he could see straight through the armor. His voice dropped even lower.
“Don’t talk yourself out of something great just because it scares you.”
My pulse stumbled.
“I’m not scared,” I whispered.
He didn’t call me on the lie. He just watched me, eyes lingering on my face, patient but unyielding.
“We’ll figure it out, baby,” He reassured me.
I wished I didn’t believe him.
His eyes stayed on me, searching, like he could feel the hesitation I hadn’t voiced out loud. The room felt too still, too warm, the city a slow glitter in the windows.
“You’re still not convinced…” He murmured. “Then let’s spend the day together.”
“I have a lot of work to do – ”
He stepped closer, expression unreadable but frustratingly calm. “Francesca.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s play a game.”
I stared at him, arms crossed. “What game?”
“Let’s see who breaks first.”
I raised a brow.
His hand reached out for me; grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him. “If you’re so sure we’re such a terrible idea… Then let’s prove it.”
I swallowed, pulse tripping. He was doing that thing again – pulling the ground out from under me.
“And what does the winner get?” I asked.
His mouth lifted at one corner, slow and confident. “If you win, and you don’t fall for my irresistible charm, I back off.” His voice dropped, quiet and firm, but his fingers dug into my skin. “No flirting. No touching. Just in public.”
“And if you win?”
His smirk was mischievous. “Then our deal is back on.”
Heat flared under my skin. Not anger. Definitely not fear. Just passion.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
I let the silence sit. Let him wonder. Then I gave him a smile that was all sweet poison and confidence I didn’t fully feel but refused to show.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll play with you, Matteo.”
Matteo’s answering smirk was criminal; slow and certain. “May the best seducer win.”
A spark shot through me – stupid, reckless, addictive.
“Oh, I will,” I said.
And I meant it. Even though a very dangerous part of me already wondered what losing to him might feel like.
“Cards? Really?”
“Not just cards,” I argued with a smirk. “Strip Poker.”
Francesca rolled her eyes, unimpressed.
Strip Poker was my idea, obviously. Which made it even more satisfying that she acted like she wasn’t intrigued.
She sat cross-legged across from me on the fluffy rug, the lights low behind her, the city reflecting like gold dust across her skin.
Chic, collected, beautiful – already plotting how to win.
“You’re ridiculous,” She said, voice smooth as ever. “Trying to get me naked won’t help you win this, you know.”
I leaned back on one hand, swirling my drink with the other. “Who said I need you naked to win, princesa?”
“Please. You think getting rid of clothes is going to make me fold faster?”
“I think,” I said, drawing a card, “That I like watching you strip.”
Francesca snorted. “Bold of you to assume I’m losing.”
I revealed my hand. Straight flush.
She stared. I shrugged. She huffed. And she tugged off her first piece – her diamond earrings – placing them on the table with theatrical slowness.
“That doesn’t count,” I said. “They don’t cover anything.”
“They count. They're an accessory. Diamonds.”
“Diamonds I’d like to fuck you in later.” I gave her a knowing smile. “Put your diamonds back on, and take off a piece of clothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Unless, you’re scared you’re going to lose…”
“Fine.” Francesca sighed and took off her sweater, leaving her in just a tight V-neck long-sleeve. She met my eyes again as she placed her earring back on. “Your turn.”
My turn, fortunately, sucked. Terrible cards.
“Matteo?” Francesca raised an eyebrow; slow, challenging.
I sighed, faking innocence, and pulled off my sweatshirt, as well as my white t-shirt, so I was shirtless.
She stared.
I shrugged.
She rolled her eyes like she was immune to me. She wasn’t.
“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, but she still picked up her cards.
“The rules are simple,” I reminded her. “You lose a hand, you strip.”
“Oh, I’m familiar with strip poker,” she drawled, reshuffling her cards with far too much confidence. “Just didn’t think you’d start stripping so fast.”
I pretended to be offended. “Is that your subtle way of calling me a slut?”
“That was not meant to be subtle.” Her mouth twitched – she was having fun.
We played. And I won the next hand.
Francesca pulled off her long sleeve, only to stay in the tiny, laced camisole she had underneath.
“How many layers do you have on?”
“That’s for you to find out.” She winked, making me rock hard.
I let her win the next hand.
I stood, grabbing hold of the band of my sweatpants, slowly on purpose, keeping my eyes on hers. I pulled them off, now only in my boxers.
She tried – really tried – to look unaffected. But her gaze dropped to my bulge for half a second too long.
“You taking your clothes off, will only make it easier for me to win later.”
“Maybe I’m just warm,” I replied smoothly. The heating always kept the apartment perfectly temperature, so I could stay like this as long I wanted.
She raised a brow. “Or maybe you want an excuse to be half-naked when you inevitably lose your self-control.”
I chuckled. “You think I’m going to break first?”
“I know you will. You’re a man. Men are dumb. And predictable.”
“Ouch.” I dealt again, leaning forward. “And you think you’re immune? To me?”
She slid her gaze up to meet mine, slow as a drip of honey. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
My pulse jumped. Dangerous girl.
I won the next hand.
I leaned back against the couch, victorious as I crossed my hands behind my head and watched her. Francesca rolled her eyes as she stood, pulling down her sexy-secretary skirt.
I wet my lips, biting my bottom one.
We were both down to underwear.
She sat back down on the rug and reclined on her palms, completely unapologetic. Matching black lace. My new religion.
“That’s a dangerous outfit,” I murmured, feeling the urge to rip off her camisole and expose the bra teasing me from beneath.
“Oh, this?” She cupped her breast, pretending like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.
Feeling a current zip through my skin, I glanced down to see her perfect, princess foot rubbing the inside of my thigh.
We stared at each other, stilling – the game slowing but the air heating.
Her lips curled. “You nervous, Matteo?”
“Maybe,” I said, voice low. “You’re so goddamn addicting, it drives me a little crazy. What can I do, Donna? I’m just a mortal man.”
Francesca parted her legs, a clear invitation.
“Make me,” I smirked, not ready to lose yet.
Her eyes snapped back to mine – fire, challenge, and something molten beneath.
God, I wanted to ruin this game. Ruin her doubts about us. Ruin that pretty pussy I could see drenching the lace.
But I wanted her in my bed – every goddamn night – even more.
Whether she knew it or not… We were both already losing. And I was enjoying every second.
She moved before I could blink – slow and deliberate, like a predator who knew exactly how the hunt would end.
Francesca DeMone crawled across the rug on her hands and knees, black lace catching the dim lights, platinum hair brushing her shoulders like silk. Every inch she closed tightened something low in my stomach.
She moved right between my legs, not stopping until she straddled the air above me – close enough that her breath warmed my throat, close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, our mouths would brush.