19. ANTONIO
The more I get to know her, the more I want her. I slap her perfect little ass as she moves it into the bathroom, enticing me to follow her.
Get a grip, DeLuna. You're panting over her like a dog on the trail of a bitch in heat .
But even as the thought crosses my mind, I want to slap myself for using this analogy with Scarlet.
Fuck , I run my hand through my hair, getting a whiff of her scent still lingering on my fingers, and my cock goes ramrod straight again.
Food , I remind myself.
I hear water running in the shower as I grab my phone.
Images of her hands running suds over those perfect breasts make my neck break out in sweat.
In my mind's eye, I watch her put a foot up on the little bench in the shower to clean herself between her legs.
.. I hit my head a few times against the bedpost to regain control of myself.
What in the ever-loving fuck is happening to me?
The phone vibrates with an incoming message.
I ignore it and call downstairs to Fredo, my cook, to order food for Scarlet and me.
Then, I check the text. It's from Vito informing me he has a man stationed to watch Kevin.
Good, as much as I blustered with him, having him in my pocket makes life a lot easier.
I like him better alive than dead—at least for as long as he plays ball and doesn't try a stunt like this again.
While my mind is on Kevin, I mull over the fact that Bruce better come through with the jurors' names tomorrow so I can arrange some surprise visits for them, ensuring they'll bring the right verdict home.
The entire time, my ears keep track of the sound of the shower, and I'm very aware that it just turned off.
Anticipation of seeing her come through the door, wearing only a towel, fills me.
I remind my cock that she's still sore. That she just gave me the world's most mind-blowing head, but it's no use.
The need to be inside her, claiming her again, is overpowering.
Is this how a drug addict feels at the sight of coke?
All my life, I've been proud of the size of my dick; right now, I would happily settle for average, just so that I could fuck her again without having to wait a day or two.
Who is this woman who’s turning my world upside down and making me care more than I should?
The door opens, and all air leaves my body. She's so fucking ethereal. Just like I imagined, she's wrapped in one of my white towels. Her hair is still damp and curly, reaching down to below her breasts.
"Your turn," she smiles sweetly. "I saved you a towel. It was hard, though."
My heart actually flops.
"There are more towels," I say stupidly, moving by her, my nostrils flaring at the concentrated hit of her scent. I open a closet door in the bathroom, where several stacked towels of all sizes lie neatly folded.
"Oh, I didn't want to snoop." Her smile is still so sweet. I just want to fucking kiss her, bend her over the counter, and watch us come together in the mirror. Her oversized sapphire eyes sparkle with a new light, and I stand frozen, mesmerized.
A knock on the door interrupts the moment.
"Come in," I growl.
Maisy, one of the serving staff, enters, pushing a cart filled with plates and bowls hidden underneath golden domes. "Good evening, Mister DeLuna."
"Good evening, Maisy. This is Scarlet. She'll be staying with us for a while."
"Very nice to meet you, Miss Scarlet." She bobs her head.
"Same, Maisy." Scarlet smiles at her, creating havoc inside me. She's supposed to only smile at me, damn it.
"Where would you like to take your dinner?"
"By the fireplace," I decide, and watch her roll the cart to the spot I indicated.
"Will there be anything else, Mister DeLuna?"
I turn to Scarlet, questioning. She shakes her head, and I wave Maisy out of the room.
"Go ahead and start; I'll only be a minute." I nod at the waiting food.
"Uhm…" She steps from one foot to the other. "Do you have another shirt I can borrow?"
Shit , I forgot all about her clothes situation. Not only that. She needs all that other stuff women like, toiletries, creams, pastes, and whatnots.
"Of course, feel free to pick anything from my wardrobe. I'm sorry, I should have thought about that. How about after dinner, we go online shopping?" I suggest. Her face falls a little, but she nods.
"When this is over, I promise to take you on the shopping trip of your lifetime; right now, we can't afford to have you seen."
Like any woman I've ever met, she perks up at that. She tilts her head toward me, sporting a mischievous grin. "Deal."
I chuckle and move into the bathroom; time for a shower, and from the state of my dick, it's going to be a cold one.
Ten minutes later, it's my turn to walk out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I hear Scarlet's short, sharp breath intake, and pride swells my chest. Seems I'm not the only one in this room affected by the other's body.
She is sitting on one of the padded chairs, staring up at me; the dishes look untouched.
With a grin, I flex my biceps as I walk by, happy to see that the strong sexual attraction between us is mutual.
I pick a pair of gray joggers and a black shirt, noticing the towel neatly folded on top of the center island. Scarlet. Instead of discarding her towel on the ground like I do, she folded it. Suddenly, I can't wait to learn more about her, so I rush out.
She’d put the few minutes I spent dressing to good use.
Two plates, accompanied by silverware, now sit on the short coffee table, next to two glasses filled with white wine.
The domed bowls of food sit in the center, waiting to be opened.
My attention is caught by a fire roaring in the gas fireplace, and I wonder how she managed it all.
Two large pillows are placed on either side of the table, and she gracefully lowers herself down. Mindful of her injury, I ask, "Are you in any pain?" I am astonished by how hoarse my voice sounds.
Her slim neck turns, and I'm instantly hard again, seeing her there, her long legs angled underneath her, her slim figure drowning in one of my sweatshirts.
Something else wells inside me. I like seeing her in my clothes.
It awakens a proprietary instinct in me.
It marks her as mine, and I like that. I want the whole world to know that she's mine.
Nobody will ever dare to touch her again. Nobody. Unless they have a death wish.
She shakes her head. "I helped myself to a bottle of Motrin on the nightstand."
"Good." I lower myself on the opposite side of the table. "Interesting dinner seating," I comment.
"We can sit somewhere else if you like. I just thought…"
"I like it," I assure her.
"Really?" Her face brightens as if I'd just handed her a five-carat diamond.
"It looks… comfy." I lift the first lid. "I wasn't sure what you liked. I ordered Fredo to make a couple of steaks, but if you like something else, we can order it."
"Fredo?"
"The cook."
"Oh." She steals a glance at the uncovered tray. It holds two medium-rare steaks; the garlic butter has melted some, giving the meat just the right appearance to make it drool-worthy. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?"
"I wish," she regards the steak with hungry eyes.
Laughing, I place one on her plate before adding the second to mine.
The next bowls hold steamed vegetables, twice-baked potatoes, sautéed onions, and mushrooms.
"This looks delicious." She watches me as I place a little bit of everything on her plate. There is something very satisfying about putting food on her plate for her.
"Dig in." I invite.
" Buon appetito ," she reaches for the fork.
" Parli Italiano ?" I ask, amazed—do you speak Italian?
" Un poco ,"—a bit—there it is again, that smile that would make Mona Lisa green with envy.
"What other surprises do you hold?" I ask, watching her cut a piece off the meat, bring the fork with it to her mouth, and close her eyes before taking a bite. I don't think watching a woman eat has ever aroused me—until now. This woman is full of firsts.
"This is so good," she praises, savoring the meat and creating havoc with my insides. It takes me a moment before I realize she's still talking. "I also speak some Mandarin, Spanish, French, and Russian."
"A strange choice of languages," I observe, but I’m deeply impressed.
"Mom insisted." Her smile fades a little. She dabs her lips with her napkin. "How long will I have to stay here?" She changes the pleasant dinner conversation, reminding me that this isn't a date. She is my guest. Hostage, really.
"You don't like it here?" I stall.
She tilts her head, and shrewd, intelligent eyes penetrate mine. "Don't do that, please. I need honesty."
If anyone else dared to second-guess me or call me out like she just did, I’d put a bullet through their head. But with her? I kind of like it. I like it when she calls me out on my bullshit.
I take a bite of the steak just to give myself a moment to compose an answer.
She is not stupid. She knew from the beginning that my intention in taking her hostage was to leverage her life to ensure her father's continued commitment to getting Carlos into jail.
Just as she should know now that I have no intentions of leveraging her.
I could never follow through with the consequences.
She wants honesty, though. I chew slowly while she silently observes me, seeing through my stalling technique.
"The idea was to keep you as my hostage to make your father do the right thing," I confirm her suspicions.
"And that has changed?" she wants to know, sipping from the glass of wine as if we were guests at a big dinner party. Her posture is admirable, and so is her composure.
"That changed," I confess.
"So what am I now?"
"I don't know," I reply honestly, already getting lost in the fathomless blue depths of her eyes. "From this moment on, no one touches you. No one will even think about harming you. I’ll start World War III before I let that happen."
"As long as I'm your guest?"
As long as we live , pops into my head, but I don't want to scare her or make her think I'm some perverted stalker.
"As long as it takes," I settle on.
"Why do you want Carlos in jail so badly?"
The direct hit catches me off guard, and I choke for a moment on a piece of carrot. Alarmed, she looks at me, ready to jump up. "Are you okay?"
She hands me my glass of water.
I wave my hand. "I'm fine." I'll be damned if I die because of a piece of carrot. Bullets have tried and failed.
"I'm sorry if that question was too personal, but you're risking a lot to put him in jail, and aren't you supposed to be of the same mafia family or something?" I just adore the way she puts air quotation marks up with her fingers around mafia family .
At the same time, I can't help but admire her intelligence. She's not from our world, but she knows enough to put two and two together.
"Are you a reporter or something?" I try to deflect, knowing she's not. I've done my homework on her.
"No, I work for the Historical Preservation Center. I reconstruct and repair artifacts." She shrewdly tilts her head to the side, "But then, you already know that, don't you?"
With every minute I spend with this woman, I like her more. "Beauty, wit, bravery, and intellect, you're going to break my heart." To add to my dramatic declaration, I put my hand on my chest.
She chuckles, and the sound is like an aphrodisiac to me.