Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I stumbled into the living room and pressed my back against the wall, trying to calm my pounding heart.
Oh my fucking God. I’d just walked in on Vince Salvini getting himself off. I couldn’t even…what had I been thinking…but also…wow…just wow.
His body was worth being replicated into a white marble statue and preserved for eternity. He’d looked like a Greek god, all hard ridges, bulging muscles covered in tattoos, and his cock…
I’d almost choked on my saliva when I laid eyes on him.
I shook my head. This was undoubtedly the stupidest thing I’d ever done.
Why on earth did I think letting him get a taste of his own medicine would be a smart move?
I’d heard the shower. I knew he was in there…naked, so what had gotten into me to walk in on him?
I groaned. And then, freezing and staring like that.
I would never live this down, not in a hundred years.
I needed to get out of here, stat.
I took in my surroundings with a wary gaze. Vince’s apartment, though it revealed little about the enigmatic man himself, was elegant, sophisticated, and yet, for some strange reason, felt almost…homey.
I shook my head, then made my way toward the exit. Hopefully, I would find my shoes there because I didn’t have them on when he dumped me in the pool, and none of the ones in the closet had fit.
But shoes or no shoes, I needed to get out of here.
And then, my feet suddenly stopped when my eyes fell upon an unexpected sight.
What in the ever-loving hell? I walked to the pen housing a crate with the most adorable white ball of fluff. A puppy? Vince Salvini, the most ruthless man in the city, had a puppy?
No fucking way.
Was this another hostage?
Curiosity piqued, I inched closer to the pen, extending my hand cautiously. The tiny pup lay in its crate, completely silent and still, watching me with dark, button eyes. “Hey, you, aren’t you a cutie?” I crouched down, made myself as small as possible, and stretched out my hand.
I didn’t expect the puppy to move, especially not since it appeared to be wary of me, but inch by inch, it emerged from its crate until it was close enough to sniff at my fingers before nuzzling against my palm, wagging its tail.
A wave of warmth washed over me as the friendly creature greeted me with unbridled affection, and even flopped down to get its belly scratched. “Hey, cutie pie.”
I couldn’t resist the temptation. I gently scooped up the puppy and carried it to the sofa, cradling its fragile form against my chest. The little one squirmed happily, lapping at my face with its tiny tongue.
I chuckled. I was a dog person through and through, although Dad never allowed me to have one.
One more reason to gain some freedom to finally live exactly the life I wanted.
I stroked its fur, and in that moment, all the fear and uncertainty melted away, replaced by a simple, pure connection with this innocent creature.
For a few precious seconds, I allowed myself to bask in the warmth of that unconditional love.
The peace of the situation…until my eyes fell on my ball cap and my wig in the middle of the coffee table. Shit.
I stared out of the window and absent-mindedly caressed the pup.
Vince Salvini knew more about me than any other man. Had seen more than any other man.
I turned my head at a noise, and I met his eyes across the room.
Dark, contemplating eyes staring at me as if he could see right through my defenses and straight into my soul.
I stared back at him, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. Images of him in the shower flashed through my mind, and I felt a flush creeping up my neck. How could I have been so bold and stupid to walk in on him like that?
Leveling the playing field…as if there would ever be anything level between Vince Salvini and myself.
He slowly approached me, looking unfairly sexy with his wet, slicked-back black hair, the white button-down shirt clinging to his muscular frame, and jeans that hung perfectly on his hips.
And to top it all off, he was still barefoot.
Damn. How could that simple detail make him seem more approachable, more human?
My first instinct was to look away, ashamed and uncomfortable by the events of the past couple of hours. I couldn’t believe I had gone from being kidnapped to witnessing something so intimate and personal. It was all too much.
“I see you met Picca.”
I looked up, and he was suddenly much closer than I’d anticipated. “Picca?”
He nodded at the pup in my lap. “Short for Piccolina.”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. Piccolina was my number one choice for naming a pup after I overheard a grandfather call an endearing little girl that way in a cafe in Italy. I narrowed my eyes. He named his dog Piccolina? Apart from it being obviously an Italian endearment, the name—and the dog—didn’t fit Vince at all. Not dark, not badass, not even a little fear-inducing. “You named your dog Piccolina?”
He held my gaze. “Yes, you got a problem with that?”
I continued to stare at him, but when it didn’t look like he’d back down anytime soon, I became overwhelmed and severed the contact.
“We just recently found each other.”
I looked back up. What an odd phrase to use. Was Picca a rescue dog, or did he kidnap her from somewhere, too? “Found each other?”
Vince gave a nudge to my wig and ball cap on the coffee table, a silent acknowledgment he was onto my secret. He took a seat in an armchair opposite me and scrutinized me with those intense eyes of his.
“What?” I met his gaze head-on, surprised to find that he didn’t look furious. In fact, his expression was unreadable, revealing nothing of the thoughts surely swirling behind those dark eyes.
“I think we got some talking to do,” he finally said, his voice low and steady.
We sure did. Not that talking about what had just happened in his shower was something I necessarily wanted to do. I felt a flush creep up my neck. “Or I could just leave, and we’ll talk some other time,” I said, pushed Picca from my lap, and got up.
“Freeze,” he said and raised a single eyebrow. “You’re not gonna get out of this so easily.”
I glared at him but sat back down. Gonna get out of it easily—was he kidding me? “If you hadn’t staged this ‘kidnapping’”—I made some air quotes, which seemed to annoy him because his jaw tightened, which gave me a weird sense of satisfaction—“we wouldn’t have to talk at all.”
“If you hadn’t followed me around like a class A stalker, I wouldn’t have had to kidnap you.”
I leaned forward. “If you would just let go of that stupid idea of an arranged marriage, I wouldn’t have followed you.”
He mirrored my move. “If you just knew your fucking place, woman, I wouldn’t even know your name.”
And wasn’t that the crux of it all? His and my father’s old-fashioned beliefs of what I should do and what my place in this world was?
I stared at him, and he stared back at me.
Picca reacted to the tension in the room and jumped down from my lap, and hid under the table.
Smart dog. “What exactly, according to the great Vince Salvini, would be my fucking place?” I said, my voice dangerously low while I was barely holding in the anger.
His eyes turned cold, and he flattened his lips. “Being a good daughter and not doing what you’ve been doing would be a good start.”
“Sucks for you to have been born in the wrong era, then,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m all for empowerment and self-determination, but you clearly need someone to tell you what not to do.”
“And you appointed yourself to do the job? Well, again, I’m really sorry to disappoint you, but you should’ve just drowned me then because I’m old enough to do”—I slowed my speech to the point of articulating as if he had to read it from my lips—“whatever the fuck I want to.”
He threw his hands up in a sort of “I give up” gesture. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Would it have been better if I’d slapped you? Because, I honestly contemplated it just to snap you out of your panic.”
I glared at him.
He sighed. “I did what I did because you were so far gone…” He let his voice trail off.
I deepened my glare. “None of this would’ve been necessary if you hadn’t kidna?—”
“I know, I know.” He sighed again, then got up, rounded the table, and pulled me up, as well. “Let’s go; Picca needs her walk. You can lay into me on the go.”
The instant his fingers wrapped around my arm, sparks of electricity jolted through me. I yanked free from his grasp, my heart pounding with a strange, unsettling mixture of awareness and…something else I didn’t quite want to identify.
“Do not touch me ever again,” I spat, glaring daggers at him.
Vince’s eyes darkened like the sky with an approaching storm, but he slowly released his grip on me without protest. For a few tense moments, we simply stared each other down in a silent battle of wills.
He broke the silence first, nodding toward the coffee table. “You shouldn’t forget your ball cap.” His voice was low, controlled, giving nothing away.
I followed his gaze to where my wig lay beside the cap.
He hadn’t asked about it. Not yet, at least.
He hadn’t outright asked about the hacking either. I felt a strange sense of intrigue spark within me at his restraint. Was he not sure it had been me—was that why he never outright said it?
Picca emerged from her hiding spot under the table, scampering over to Vince and pawing at his pant leg. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he crouched down, suddenly looking more approachable, almost…playful.
Holy hell. I couldn’t, really. How did this man go from cold, to angry, to level-headed and playful in milliseconds?
“You want to go for a walk, Piccolina?” he asked, his voice taking on an unexpectedly gentle tone as he scratched behind Picca’s ears.
The pup danced excitedly around his feet, barked, then jumped into his arms.
Vince chuckled, and for a moment, I found myself utterly transfixed by this softer side of him. It was a stark contrast to the dark, dangerous, intense man I’d faced just moments ago.
As if sensing my stare, Vince glanced up, his expression unreadable, before he glared at me. Then he rose to his feet and strode toward the door, Picca cradled against his chest.
“Let’s go,” he stated matter-of-factly, not giving me attention whatsoever as he held Picca with one hand while using the other to retrieve a leash from a nearby hook. He just assumed I would do what he told me to…again.
I didn’t move and stared at him. Was he for real? Did he think just because he ordered me to, I would follow him? “I’d rather not.”
He stopped, turned, sat down Picca, marched back, and was right in my face.
Back to furious.
This man had mood swings akin to me when I was hungry.
“Are you sure you want to make a big deal out of this, as well?” he asked, his voice a low growl, his eyes cold and hard, holding mine.
I swallowed. For a second, I’d forgotten how infuriatingly intimidating he could be. Not that I would ever willingly show him the kind of impact he had on me. I straightened my spine, steeled myself against the impact he had on me, and stepped even closer. “I’m sure.”
Suddenly, he grinned. Only, it wasn’t really a grin. Well, maybe if a shark could grin, it would look like that—right before said shark would take a bite. “I knew you were a brat, Punk.” He took another step.
His front touched mine, and he was back to towering over me again. My first instinct was to move back, but I fought hard. Give this man an inch, and he will steamroll you completely. That was the one thing that I was certain of.
“Lucky for you, I have some experience in the area”—he lowered his voice even more, suddenly sounding almost sensual—“and even luckier for you, I find brats quite endearing.” He let his gaze roam from my eyes to my lips, then slowly lower along my neck and to my breasts.
His hot gaze was like a physical touch, and my skin broke out in goose bumps—all over. My mind flashed back to the way he looked at me when I watched him in the shower. Hot, languid, so fucking sexy, with a challenge sparkling in his eyes.
Come closer if you dare, they seemed to say.
And I felt a quiver in my belly. Fear or desire? Not that it mattered.
Shit. I was not equipped to handle sexy, sensual Vince Salvini.
At least not face-to-face with zero distance between us.
I took a step back. “I’m not…I don’t, I…I?—”
“You what?” He slung his arm around me, pulled me against him. “You really think I’m someone who you can dick around, little girl?”
Well…if I was completely honest, for a split second, I’d entertained the thought that doing something that involved his dick would’ve been nice. But in reality…I was not ready for that. Not when it came to Vince Salvini’s dick. “I’m coming, okay? Picca needs her walk after all.”
He held my gaze and didn’t let go.
My heart suddenly beat faster. “You win, okay? You can let go now.”
He raised a single eyebrow.
Was he truly contemplating not letting me go? Somehow, that prospect got me freaking out all of a sudden. “Would you please let go?” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse and airy.
He hesitated, then released me, turned around, scooped up Picca, and laughed when she weaseled her way toward his face and licked his nose.
I grabbed my ball cap and hurried after them, my mind still reeling from the cognitive dissonance of dealing with what had just happened.
Again, he went from intense to this playful ritual within a second. How did he switch between ruthless and endearing so seamlessly? Split personality?
Vince Salvini was maddening.
I followed Vince and Picca but hung back while I took a good look around the apartment on my way out. I should’ve checked it out when he was in the shower instead of checking him out.
The living room was sleek and modern, with clean lines and a minimalist aesthetic. But the kitchen looked well-used, with pots and pans neatly arranged, surprising me. I wouldn’t have pegged Vince Salvini as the domestic type. Wouldn’t have thought he cooked for himself either, but I would bet money he valued privacy over the comfort of having a cook.
“Move it, Punk,” Vince called out, already standing by the private elevator. I quickened my pace, eager to get this bizarre situation over with.
As I stepped next to him, he suddenly looked down at my feet.
“Shit,” he said, pushed Picca into my arms, sidestepped me, and opened the door to the left of the elevator.
I looked down and realized I was still barefoot.
“I’ll grab your shoes,” he muttered while the elevator doors slid open.
A few seconds later, he emerged holding a pair of worn sneakers—my sneakers.
He kneeled down before me. “Right foot.”
I stared at him. “I can put on my own shoes.”
He leaned back on his hunches and looked up at me. “Seriously, woman? You need to learn what’s worth fighting for and what isn’t,” he said, then held out his hand. “The right one, please.”
I lifted my foot, and he grabbed my ankle and slipped my shoe on. But something about the sight of Vince Salvini on his knees before me sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. It was such a…domestic image. Also, strangely gallant… How many sides did this man have?
“What’s with the look?” Vince’s deep voice broke through my thoughts.
I blinked, realizing I’d been staring. “Nothing, just…kinda weird.”
One dark brow arched upward. “What is?”
I struggled to put my discomfort into words. “It’s like, I don’t know, weirdly intimate?”
The barest hint of a smirk played on Vince’s lips. “Didn’t take you for the prudish type, Punk. Also, you’ve seen my dick. Don’t you think we’re way past that stage?”
I scowled at the nickname, heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s not about being prudish! It’s just…strange, okay? You kidnapped me, and now we’re acting like…like…”
“Roommates?” Vince supplied dryly.
“Exactly!” Not at all like roommates—more like enemies on a roller-coaster ride between the need to kill each other and a weird kind of sexual attraction actually.
But maybe that was all in my head.
His piercing eyes bored into me, unblinking. “If this is too much, maybe you shouldn’t have been following me around like a creepy stalker.”
My mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words.
He had me there. With a huff, I shoved my second foot into the sneaker, suddenly very eager to get out of this suffocating apartment and away from this suffocating man.
He stood, took Picca back, and when we stepped into the elevator, I made sure to stand on the opposite side, facing him. “I apologize for the stalking if you apologize for the kidnapping. Also, let’s talk about this whole arranged marriage farce while we’re at it.”
Vince simply stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Instead of answering, Vince crossed to my side until he stood next to me and wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me in an uncomfortably close embrace while we stared at each other through the mirror. “I don’t want an apology. I want to know why you were following me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the way my heart raced at his proximity. And the way he held my gaze through the mirror. “I was curious,” I replied, lifting my chin defiantly.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might actually release me. But then, a slow, wolfish grin spread across his face. “Is that so?” He turned his head and leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “Well, curiosity can be a dangerous thing, Punk.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as his fingers traced a featherlight pattern along my side while he turned back to stare at me through the mirror. “And what exactly were you curious about?”
A shiver ran through me, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted to his touch.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Vince’s eyes in the mirror. Our bodies were pressed impossibly close, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, Picca pressed against his chest.
An electric current seemed to crackle between us, raising the fine hairs on my arms. Despite the absurdity of the situation—this man being the bane of my existence—I felt more alive than I had in a while.
Flirting with danger was a thrill.
But at the same time, my body was calm, not panicked at all.
Gathering what little resolve I had left, I met his gaze in the mirror. “I saw you…shaking your ass for your friend,” I blurted out. “I thought maybe I could get some pictures to blackmail you with.”
Vince’s brows shot up, and for a moment, I thought I saw surprise flicker across his features. But then, he threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rich sound that reverberated throughout his body and mine.
“You thought you’d catch me in flagranti?” He chuckled, shaking his head.
I huffed, which only made him laugh harder.
“Dom is an attractive man,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
I frowned, unsure if he was teasing me or not.
“But he isn’t your lover.” Vince considered me for a few seconds. “Disappointed?”
I cocked my head to the side, refusing to be baited. “A girl can always fantasize.”
His grin widened, and he leaned down until his lips were mere inches from my ear. “Maybe we should put on a show just for you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Or is it a threesome that floats your boat?”
I felt my cheeks flush at the implication, but I couldn’t help but be fascinated by how unfazed he was by my accusations. Most men would have fallen all over themselves to declare their heterosexuality or manliness.
As if sensing my thoughts, Vince asked, “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Nothing,” I said because I sure as shit wouldn’t tell Vince there was something I admired about him. His ego was doing just fine without additional flattery.
He chuckled again, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Dom’s a spectacular lover,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Wait, what…how would he know that?
He suddenly let go and put some space between us. “Sadly, you’ll be a married woman soon, so you’ll never get the chance to find out.”
The words were like a bucket of ice water, and I glared at him, but he simply tapped my forehead with his index finger. “You look pretty even when you’re frowning,” he murmured, then as if he’d touched a hot stove and got burned, he jerked his finger away from my skin.
The elevator dinged, signaling our arrival on the ground floor, the doors slid open, and with a jerk of his head, he motioned for me to follow him out of the building and onto the sidewalk.