Chapter 4
4
EMILIA
The restaurant is eerily quiet. The only sounds are the clink of our silverware and the waiter’s annoyingly calm voice as he presents each course of mouthwatering dishes. Not exactly the best vibe for a place this stunning. No, it’s like all this elegance is wasted on the thick tension hanging between us now.
My stomach churns, and it’s not from the rich food. Damn it, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean to piss Rafael off by saying I missed him, but clearly, that’s exactly what I’ve managed to do. Now what? My mind races, searching for a way to fix this mess I’ve created.
I chance furtive glances at him between bites. Should I say something? Apologize? Or will that just make things worse? He’s got that closed-off look, so I can’t read a thing on his face. It’s maddening.
I want to shake him, to make him understand that I meant what I said— I missed him. And not just him. Maximo, Michael, Romero; they were my friends too, even if it was only for that one fleeting year.
But Rafael… he was the one I missed the most. The one I couldn’t forget.
And now he won’t even look at me.
I poke at my dessert, trying to stretch out these final moments with him. My brain screams at me to say something. But what? Something light? Something serious? Or should I just blurt out an apology, after all. ‘Sorry I said I missed you.’ Yeah, right. Or maybe, ‘Let’s pretend I never said anything.’ What a classic. I can’t exactly tell him the truth, either: ‘Oh, I didn’t actually go to medical school in Houston. I was away for training in Quantico to become a special agent, not that I didn’t want to keep in touch.’ Yeah, that will go over well. I can just see the look on his face if I ever let that slip. Or that my first mission is to investigate him .
Ugh… Let’s just stay cool and try not to dig myself into an even deeper hole over dessert.
“Are you almost done with that?” Rafael’s voice breaks through the whirlwind in my head. Startled, I jerk my gaze up to see him frowning at my barely touched plate. “Do you not like it?”
“No, um,” I stammer, clearing my suddenly dry throat. “It’s delicious.” And objectively, it is—a work of art masquerading as dessert. I scoop up more of the ‘tropical egg,’ which isn’t really an egg but made of coconut, mango, and passion fruit. The flavors explode on my tongue, but I’m too distracted to really take it in.
Because the man before me leans back in his seat, his silver eyes now scrutinizing me again. Well, at least I got his attention back, I guess. Then, suddenly, he reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a small Tiffany box. My heart stops as he puts the sky-blue box on the table between us.
No. No way. This can’t be what I think it is.
He flips it open, and I inhale sharply, sending a mouthful of dessert down the wrong pipe. I cough violently, eyes watering, dropping my fork with a clatter. In a desperate move, I grab for my wineglass and gulp down the crisp liquid.
The corner of his mouth twitches, and I swear I see the ghost of a smirk, as if he’s amused by my reaction, but I’m unable to tear my gaze away from that damned box and the thing inside.
“What is this?” But I know. Oh God, I know.
It’s a ring. A freaking gorgeous ring. Rose gold, with a cushion-cut center piece of pale pink diamond. Tiny diamonds circle it, shaped remarkably like flower petals—Azaleas, just like the ones he sent me. And just above the petals, more pink gems make up a tiny tiara in a small arch.
It’s ostentatious. Too much. Way too much. Probably costs more than I’ll make in an entire year as special agent.
But I love it. Love it. Love it.
“I hope you still like pink? If you don't, we can change the ring.”
“What?” I breathe, finally managing to tear my gaze from the ring to fixate on the lock of hair toying with his brow. My fingers suddenly crave to brush it back. How would it feel?
“You’re going to marry me, Emilia,” he declares, his tone as commanding as the note he left earlier. Not a question. Just an order, a statement of fact, delivered with the confidence of a man who’s never heard the word ‘no’. Leaning forward, he places his elbows on the table. “You want to be a doctor? I won’t stifle that dream. On the contrary, I want our careers to take off together. But I want you by my side—as my Queen.”
My head shakes on instinct, heart pounding so hard in my ears it’s a miracle I can hear him at all. This isn’t really a proposal, is it? But fuck, it sure feels like one.
Before my brain can catch up, he pushes my dessert plate aside and takes my chin between his fingers. Then his calloused thumb traces slow, teasing circles over my skin, the friction sending jolts of electricity skittering all the way to my core.
“You and me against the world, Emilia,” he murmurs, leaning even closer, his warm breath fanning my cheek. “That’s the way it’s meant to be.”
My eyes flutter shut as a wave of dizziness hits me. “What are you talking about? It–it can’t work,” I whisper, even though my voice betrays how badly I want to believe otherwise.
“Why not?” His thumb traces up my chin to the corner of my lips, then drags across my lower lip. My breath catches, and my eyes fly open to find his gaze fixed on my mouth, filled with a dark, possessive hunger that sends a swarm of butterflies—no, the whole damn zoo—stampeding through my stomach.
Oh God, is he going to kiss me? Is he going to kiss me? Is he going to kiss me?
The thought ricochets around my skull until his lips on mine is all I can think about. My lips part instinctively, quivering, begging for it.
Come on. Please kiss me. Please, please kiss me.
“Why can’t it work, Emilia?” he asks again, and I blink owlishly. Huh? What’s he talking about? He must see the bewilderment in my eyes because he smiles—really smiles—for the first time tonight, and my brain officially throws in the towel.
“If you’re done with your meal, we should go.” The spell breaks as Rafael stands and comes behind me to pull my chair back. My heart drops a little. I wanted you to kiss me, damn it. But he doesn’t even seem to notice.
Then, just as I’m sinking into disappointment, his chest presses against my back, and my heart rockets up from the depths, right into my throat. He’s so close. I swear I can feel every hard plane of his body, and it’s doing things to me. Dangerous, delicious things. I bite back a gasp, my thighs clenching at the rush of heat pooling between them.
Girl, get a grip.
But that’s impossible when he's so casually setting my whole body on fire.
As if to torture me even further, he brushes the hair over my shoulders, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin on my neck, and I jolt. I can hardly control my breathing as he helps me back into my coat, and by the time we’re in the elevator, I’m panting like I’ve just finished an intense cardio session.
But that’s not the end of it. Before we even reach the ground floor, he crowds me against the elevator wall. He doesn’t touch me, but God I wish he would. My skin feels heated inside my coat, and I'm so, so aware of every inch of his body so close to mine.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but his voice is dripping with amusement.
Oh, the bastard knows.
He knows exactly how he’s messing with me, and hell if I can hide it. Not when he’s crowding me like this and smelling as mouth-watering as he does. My hand twitches up, half-expecting to find drool at the corner of my lips.
“I’m fine,” I manage to croak out, though my voice is a bit too breathless… too needy.
The elevator dings, and we spill into the lobby. Still, he doesn’t give me even a moment to collect myself. His arm snakes around my waist like an iron band as we walk out of the building. The limo idles at the curb, and Alfred is already outside opening the back door for us without a single word.
I slide in first; Rafael right behind me. What felt like a spacious interior earlier now feels almost suffocating. He’s sitting so close to me that his thighs press into mine. I fan my flushed face with my hand, but it’s useless; I’m burning up from the inside out. Shrugging off my coat, I hope for some relief, but it only seems to amplify the intense, searing heat that radiates from his presence.
“Champagne?” Rafael asks, nodding towards the well-stocked mini-bar in the corner as he raises the partition between us and Alfred. The soft whir of the mechanism seals us in our own private world.
“I’m good, thanks.” The two glasses of wine from earlier are already working their magic, warming my blood and loosening me up more than I’d like. I need to keep my head clear for… whatever this is.
He shrugs and leans in, way too close, his breath hot on my ear as he says, “Tell me, amorina , are you wet for me?”
A gasp tears from my throat, my whole body going rigid the second his hot, firm palm clamps down on my thigh. “Rafael,” I whisper, his name a shaky mix between a plea and a warning.
“It’s okay, little wife. I just want to play,” he purrs, his fingers creeping down my leg in an infuriatingly slow, teasing way until they find the hem of my dress. My breath hitches, stuck somewhere between frustration and heat. But all I do is watch helplessly as he gathers the material and pulls it up, inch by torturous inch, before his fingers start their wicked crawl back up my thigh.
“I’m—I’m not your wife.”
“Not yet. But you will be. Soon.” The certainty in his voice sends goosebumps racing over my skin, and a pathetic whimper slips out as his rough hand keeps climbing higher and higher and higher, until—I cry out, my head slamming back into the seat when he cups me over my panties.
The pressure is unbearable. Heaven and hell all at once. Exquisite, but… not enough .
“Fucking hell.” His low curse ring in my ear, and I moan shamelessly, shifting in my seat to press myself harder into his palm, craving more friction, more pressure, more everything.
But then, just like that, he pulls his hand away, leaving me aching, breathless.
Bastard.
“No,” I whine, clutching at his jacket, trying to pull him back. “Finish me.”
“We’re here,” he announces, smoothing down my dress like he wasn’t just about to detonate me. I blink, dazed, and peer out the window, struggling to focus on the world beyond our heated bubble. It takes several heartbeats to realize we’re at my condo.
No, no, no. Not now. Not when I’m so close…
A reckless idea takes root in my lust-addled brain. “Walk me up to my apartment,” I command, beyond caring how needy I sound. If he leaves me hanging again like he did this morning, I might lose it.
He chuckles as he rubs the back of his hand across my flushed cheek. “Whatever my little queen wishes, she gets.”
His eyes scan me, confirming no part of me is exposed, then he opens the partition and instructs Alfred not to wait for him. With that, he opens the back door, and I stumble out after him, feeling like I’m stepping off a roller coaster.
“Whoa, you good?” he asks, grabbing my arms to steady me.
Hell no, I’m not good. I’m a mess of quivering limbs and burning desire.
“Yes,” I mumble, failing miserably to keep the shakiness from my voice.
He gives me a moment to find my balance before guiding me into the building. As soon as we’re in the elevator, I’m on him. My hands fist in his shirt, my body seeking his heat, and he chuckles again, bringing his hand to my waist, “Easy, amorina .”
Frustration boils over, and I groan, dropping my face into his chest. His free hand slides into my hair and massages my scalp in soothing circles, but the tender gesture only makes me crave him more.
“Stop. Teasing. Me.”
“Teasing?” he echoes, amusement coloring his tone.
An eternity passes before the elevator finally opens on my floor, and I practically drag him out and down the hallway, consumed by a singular thought: I need him now. Now. Now. Now. My hands shake as I fumble through my purse, cursing under my breath until I finally fish out my keys and manage to unlock the door.
As I lock the door behind us, Rafael surveys the living room like a hawk on the hunt, then he quickly goes into the kitchen, and finally the bedroom. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was on a mission to sniff out potential danger, not that I care—I’m too busy trying not to explode.
I kick off my heels, padding after him on unsteady legs. The skin of my inner thighs rubs together with each step, adding to my pleasure. At this point, if he even just looks at me the right way, I might come. I’m that close to the edge.
In my bedroom, he methodically checks the closet and ensuite before turning to face me with a predatory grin stretching across his face.
“Now I’ve got you all to myself.” He stalks towards me, and as his hands sink into my hair, I moan, tilting my head back in eager anticipation of his kiss.
He doesn’t disappoint.
His lips crash against mine, and my world explodes. Electric heat surges through my body, a wildfire ready to reduce me to ash. The heady scent of his cologne wraps around my skin, clouding my senses until all I know is Rafael.
“Rafael,” I moan softly, my arms twining around his neck as I return his kiss with all my pent-up frustration. “Is this a dream?”
A low growl leaves his throat, and he breaks the kiss. “There are no dreams anymore, amorina . Only nightmares. But don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you enjoy the darkness. Understand?”
“What-what are you talking about?”
“This.”
In a flash, he grabs my arms off his neck and spins me around, walking us forward until my chest is pressed tightly against the wall. “No. Touching,” he rasps, nipping at the shell of my ear.
I push back into him, relishing the groan that escapes his lips as my ass presses against his erection. His head drops to my neck, his tongue tracing a hot path before he sucks the sensitive flesh into his mouth. The suction goes straight to my core, and I moan wantonly, arching my neck to grant him better access.
He adjusts his grip, capturing both my wrists in one large hand, while his free hand snakes around my body, cupping my tit and kneading the flesh until I’m writhing against him desperately, my fists opening and closing involuntarily under his hold.
Then slowly, his hand descends until he’s cupping my pussy again. Stars explode behind my eyelids the instant he starts grinding the heel of his palm against my clit.
“Rafael.” His name falls from my lips again in a breathy groan as I feel my entire being set ablaze with every movement of his hand.
“You’re drenched for me, amorina . So fucking wet, you’re soaking my hand through your panties.” His words take a while to compute, and when I realize he’s speaking Italian, a fresh wave of arousal slams into me. Fuck, that’s so hot.
His touch abandons my core and returns to my wrists. With a firm grip, he lifts both my hands up and places them on the wall on either side of my head. “Keep them there. If they move away from that wall, I’m stopping.”
My fingers curl against the threat.
“You better not fucking stop,” I pant.
His hands move swiftly, unzipping my dress and unhooking my bra like he’s done it a thousand times. He’s forced to briefly lift my hands off the wall so I can shrug off the dress, and I can’t resist teasing him. “You promised to stop if I moved, remember?”
Without warning, his palm comes down on my ass. The sharp sting blooms into a delicious warmth that spreads over my burning skin, leaving me grinning as he guides my hands back in place, my cheek pressed against the cool surface.
“Happy?” he grunts.
“Not yet.”
“Don’t test me, amorina . You won’t like the results.”
“Says who?”
He taps my inner thighs, and I lift my legs obligingly, allowing him to pull the dress away. Once it’s gone, his palm glides up from my ankle to my ass, followed by feather-light kisses that leave tingles in their wake. When he reaches my raw cheek, he nuzzles against it, then bites into the tender flesh—hard.
“Says me.”
I yelp at the jolt of pain, but he’s quick to soothe it with his tongue by laving the spot until the sharp burn morphs into a pleasure so intense it makes my toes curl.
“Fuck.”
Fuck is right .
Still buzzing from the aftershocks, I barely notice when his fingers dip under my panties and slide them down. My legs lift on autopilot, one after the other, eager to be freed from the damp silk. Glancing back, I catch him just in time, raising the soaked material to his nose, inhaling deeply. My head spins as he rumbles out a pleased groan.
“Intoxicating,” he murmurs, pocketing my underwear like a trophy he just won.
I gulp audibly as he rises, excitement bubbling up in sync with his hands dragging up my skin until he’s right where I need him the most. When he parts my folds, a soft gasp escapes me, immediately followed by heat flooding my cheeks at the obscene squelching sounds that fill the air. I’m so wet, it’s practically dripping down my leg—how the hell did I get this turned on?
His thumb rolls over my swollen clit, and I groan, goosebumps erupting all over my body again. The rustle of clothes behind me catches my attention, and I peek back to see him unbuckling his belt and shoving down his pants. A delicious thrill runs down my spine.
“Are you on birth control?” he asks.
Before I can answer, his cock springs free, and my mouth instantly floods with saliva. Holy mother of all that’s unholy. My eyes widen, drinking in the sight of his impressive manhood—thick, sinewy, and pulsating with raw animalistic desire.
“Are you on birth control, Emilia?” he repeats, more insistent this time. There’s an edge to his voice now, a barely contained urgency that makes my insides clench with anticipation.
But still, it takes me a few more moments to process the question, my brain foggy with lust and spinning like a hamster on a wildly out-of-control wheel. “Yes,” I manage to say. “I’m on the shot.”
“Good.” He grunts approvingly and pats my inner thigh. My legs part for him instinctively, and he steps closer, notching the broad crown of his cock against my entrance. He glances down at me, and at the same moment, I glance up. Our eyes meet.
Then something magical happens.
For the first time in my life, I’m unable to look away from someone’s gaze. It’s like staring into the heart of a storm—dangerous, thrilling, and utterly mesmerizing. My brain tingles, a familiar pressure building behind my eyes. But this time, the pain doesn’t come. Instead, he thrusts into me, and my jaw goes slack as indescribable pleasure surges through my veins.
But even as my body is consumed by sensation, I can’t look away from his eyes. I don’t want to.
I’m seeing someone—truly seeing them—and being seen in return.
I stare at him in wonder, mouth agape, toes curling as he pushes fully into me. “Your eyes are turning dark blue,” I whisper, marveling at the play of emotions in his stare. He wants me. He really wants me. His cock is hard as hell inside of me, but his eyes… they hold a depth that goes beyond lust. There’s hunger there, for sure, but also something softer, something that makes my heart ache.
Without conscious thought, my hands leave the wall, drawn to his face like a moth to flame. I place my palm on his cheek, and his cock twitches inside me as his jaw tightens, his eyes going heavy-lidded. Huh . Well, that’s interesting.
Fascinated, I start exploring his face—the firm curve of his lips, the crooked tip of his nose, his thick brows, and finally, finally, my fingers sink into his hair.
Oh. Oh wow .
“So soft,” I whisper, threading through the silky strands and over his scalp. His eyes snap shut, and a sound almost like a purr rumbles through his chest. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a ravenous, savage hunger in them, but somehow, it doesn’t overshadow the affection I still see simmering beneath.
My heart flutters.
This is dangerous , a small voice in the back of my mind warns. You’re getting in too deep.
But my curiosity flares, and I lean in, ready to bury my nose in his hair and breathe him in.
“Hold the fucking wall, Emilia.”
I jolt at the command, dislodging his cock inside me. With a growl, he captures my wandering hands and press them firmly back against the wall, linking his fingers over mine as he thrusts into me again. I cry out, my head smacking against the wall and breaking the fierce connection between our eyes. But I don’t feel the pain.
All I feel is him.
I hold onto the wall for dear life, pressing my cheek against it as he pounds into me relentlessly. Each thrust sends shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through my entire being, building and building like a tsunami about to break. He hunches over my back, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses over my cheek and down my neck.
Then suddenly he adjusts his stance and pushes up at an angle that has his cock dragging over my g-spot just right, and oh god, oh god, oh god?—
My vision whites out. Bright lights burst behind my lids, and I’m lost to the scorching pleasure ravaging my body, leaving nothing but raw, all-consuming sensation in its wake. His name rips from my mouth as my orgasm crashes over me in endless waves.
And he isn’t far behind. With a guttural growl, he curses in rapid Italian I can barely decipher as he joins me, filling me up with his hot cum.
“Dio mio, sei incredible. Mi fai impazzire,” I catch through the haze. My God, you’re incredible. You drive me crazy.
I shudder around him as he collapses against me, pressing me even harder into the wall, our fingers still tightly interlaced.
For what feels like an eternity, I can’t hear or see a damn thing. My heart is beating so fast and hard, I swear it’s trying to leap out of my throat. Each breath is a desperate gasp, my chest heaving as I cling to the remnants of pleasure.
Then, like a cruel slap to reality, a phone starts shrilling through the air. My body goes rigid when I recognize the tune.
It’s my ringtone for Stacey.
Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Rafael pushes away from me, releasing my hand and pulling out with one last, tender kiss to my cheek. I remain sagged against the wall, legs trembling, while he tugs his pants back up. My mind spins and panic squeezes my chest. Still, some part of me can’t help but note—he didn’t even strip fully. Just his cock. And honestly, that was enough. More than enough .
“You good?” he asks, his hand running down my spine as he glances at me in concern. The touch should be comforting, but all it does is amplify the whirlwind of emotions inside me. My mouth is cottony, and my throat feels tight, so I just nod. “Do you need me to get that for you?” He gestures towards my purse on the floor, where my phone continues its insistent chorus.
Oh hell no. My eyes widen in pure horror, and I push away from the wall. “No!” The word bursts out of me. I move too quickly, and my knees give out instantly. But before I can crumple into a pathetic puddle on the floor, Rafael’s strong hands are there—steady, firm, saving me from myself. Again.
“Careful,” he scolds, his face pulled in a tight scowl. “I won’t get your phone if you don’t want me to. I need to leave anyway.”
But I barely hear him. My attention is now wholly focused on my ringing phone, so all I manage is another absent nod.
“Think about my offer, okay?” His voice drops softer as he brushes a hand down my cheek before releasing me. When he’s sure I can stand on my own, he takes a step back, and with a last lingering look, he leaves the room.
Don’t go , I want to cry out. But I bite my tongue. This is for the best. This is what needs to happen.
I have a job to do. I can’t let my feelings—or libido—get in the way.
Seconds later, the front door slams shut—right as my phone goes silent.
But relief doesn’t last. It just starts ringing again. “Oh, for crying out loud,” I groan, snatching my purse from the floor and fishing out the damn thing. I clear my throat several times, desperately trying to compose myself before finally answering.
“Hello?”
“I was worried something might have happened to you,” Stacey’s voice, laced with concern, hits me hard. And there it is—shame. Red-hot and burning through me like acid, eating away at the afterglow of the most intense sexual experience of my life. What the hell did I just do?
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I repeat, as much for myself as for her. “I couldn’t answer because he was with me. But he just left.”
“How was dinner?”
I bite my lip, torn between duty and the desire to keep this night for myself. But I can’t keep it. This is my mission, after all. Bile creeps up my throat as I recount the mundane details of our dinner conversation and Rafael’s proposal. But there’s no way I’m mentioning what just happened at my apartment. That’s too personal, too raw. The memory belongs to me and me alone.
“Very good,” Stacey approves. “Things are going even better than I expected. You’re definitely going to accept his offer, Emily. It will help put you closer to him.”
I make a noncommittal sound, and she praises me for a job well done, expressing her eagerness to hear more from me. By the time she finishes talking, my nausea has piled up to the back of my throat, and I have to breathe through my mouth.
The moment the call ends, I bolt for my ensuite, where my fancy dinner makes a violent reappearance. But it’s not the act of betraying Rafael that leaves me retching—but because I have to do it again. And again. And again, until I’ve succeeded.
Because it’s my job.
Because I need to prove his innocence.
Because I’m already desperate to see him again.