Chapter Fifteen
Antonio
Her head tips back, allowing me better access, baring her throat to me like an offering.
Triumph hits me first, hot and immediate, then lust pools low in my belly. My hand stays on her thigh, fingers spread on the skin the slit gives me, and I feel the fine tremor running through her. She’s trying to look composed. She’s failing. I can work with that.
I drag my mouth along the line of her jaw slowly. I take my time with it, because time is control, and she’s been trying to claw that from me all night with that dress and that mouth.
“Elsa,” I murmur against her skin, voice low enough that it belongs only to her.
Her breath catches—and I feel the tiny hitch that tells me I’m exactly where she didn’t want me to be.
I press my lips to the hollow beneath her ear, open-mouthed, lingering. She smells seductive, the kind of perfume that clings to a man’s shirt afterward and makes him think about it all day.
My thumb strokes once on her thigh—one slow circle—because I’m not in a hurry to ruin her. I want her aware. I want her choosing it.
I smile against her throat anyway and let my teeth graze her skin—barely there, a warning.
Her throat works. She swallows. I feel it under my mouth, and it makes my grip tighten on her thigh.
Then she speaks again, and her voice comes out steady—too steady for a woman with my mouth on her throat.
“Tell me something,” she says, calm as if we’re discussing wine pairings instead of the fact that my hand is under her dress and my mouth is on her neck. “Are you always like this?”
I pause, lift my head, and look at her. Up close, the red gloss is lethal. Her eyes are bright, heavy-lidded, and there’s a sheen to them that has nothing to do with makeup.
“This?” I ask, keeping my voice easy.
She lets her gaze drop to my mouth. “Certain,” she says, and her tone is airy. “Like you can take what you want when you decide you want it.”
There’s a question behind the question. A needle she’s threading.
I rest my forearm on the back of her chair, caging her in again, and let my fingers trace over her bare back. “You’re still sitting here.”
I dip back to her neck and kiss again.
Her fingers slide into my hair—light, almost lazy—then tighten for half a second, the smallest tell that she’s holding on.
“Maybe I’m just… curious,” she says.
“Mmm,” I murmur, and drag my mouth along the line of her jaw. “Curious about what happens when you stop fighting?”
“No,” she says, and the word is soft—almost amused— “curious about whether you’re like this with everyone… or only when it benefits you.”
I still my mouth against her skin, just for a beat, then I lift my head enough to look at her properly. Close enough that my breath skims her lips. “You think I’m touching you for strategy?”
Her lashes flicker. Her fingers stay in my hair.
“I think you don’t do anything without a reason,” she says, voice airy, dangerous, the warning in it finally getting through to me. “So tell me yours.”
I let my thumb keep moving slowly higher along her thigh, testing the line where the stocking ends and warm skin begins. “My reason,” I murmur, “is that I like the way you taste, and you haven’t told me to stop.”
“That’s a reason,” she says lightly. “Not the reason.”
“You want honesty?” I ask, voice rough.
“I want the truth,” she corrects, and her mouth curves, but it seems self-deprecating more than amused. “Can you give me that?”
I lean closer, close enough that my words brush her lips. “The truth is I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Her eyes flicker—just once—like something in her wants to believe that, but then her lashes lower, covering her eyes.
“And?” she prompts. “What were you doing while you were thinking about me, Antonio?”
“Working,” I say, curious where this is going.
“Oh?” Her gaze drops to my hand under her dress, then back up. “What kind of work?”
I hold her stare. “I had a meeting.”
Her lashes lift a fraction. “A meeting… on Saturday,” she says, sweet and sharp. “Hmm.”
“Yes,” I murmur. “They happen sometimes, as you well know.”
“Do you know what I did today?” she asks, conversational, like she’s offering a harmless topic.
I blink once. “You got dressed,” I say, voice rough. “You decided to ruin me.”
Her mouth curves again, faint. “That too.”
She holds my gaze, and she doesn’t look away.
“You went to your meeting this morning,” I say.
“Mmm.” She tips her head just slightly this time, not in surrender this time, in consideration. “Mandatory. Annoying.”
My stomach tightens, a slow coil of recognition when danger is imminent. I’m well-versed in the feeling.
I keep my face steady. “You were very unhappy about it.”
“I was,” she says. “Because I missed something last night, and I’ve been kicking myself all day for it.”
My thumb drifts a fraction higher, absent-minded now, because my mind is working. “You missed your people,” I murmur.
“I did,” she confirms, and her eyes don’t blink. “And when you miss people, you have to catch up.”
My pulse ticks. Once. Twice.
This isn’t small talk.
This is a line leading somewhere.
I force myself to breathe evenly. “Who are you catching up with, dolcezza?”
Her lashes lower, then lift. “Careful,” she says, almost gently. “You’re asking questions now.”
“I like knowing things,” I say.
“Oh, I know.”
A warning.
My hand tightens on her thigh, not to hurt—just to anchor myself. “Tell me,” I say, voice low. “What are you doing right now?”
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move away.
She tips her head back again and offers me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m having dinner,” she says.
Then, as if it’s nothing, as if she’s discussing the weather, she adds:
“And I’m deciding how much it’s going to cost you.”
My breath stops.
Not because I don’t understand the words.
Because I do.
And because suddenly, the surrender doesn’t feel like surrender at all.
It feels like she’s letting me get close enough to bleed.
I keep my face inches from hers, my mouth hovering at her throat, and I make my voice smooth and controlled when I ask:
“Cost me for what, Elsa?”
Her smile doesn’t shift, but something in her eyes does—cold glazes over them.
“For making me believe you wanted me,” she says quietly. “Not what I could do for you.”
My hand stays on her thigh, but it no longer feels like control. It feels like I’m holding a lethal weapon.
I keep my voice steady by force. “I don’t know what you think I—”
She lifts a hand and touches my tie, two fingers smoothing it. “Men like you don’t do anything without a reason,” she murmurs.
“What did you hear?” I ask, low. “Who’s been in your ear, Elsa?”
Her smile sharpens by a fraction. “Just you,” she says. “And if you think there’s a single chance in hell that I’m letting this acquisition go through just because you fucked me, you are deeply, deeply mistaken.”
For a full second, my brain just… stalls.
Acquisition.
That word doesn’t belong here. Not in this room. Not in her mouth. Not with my hand on her thigh and my mouth hovering above hers.
I pull back an inch—just enough to look at her properly, like distance will make it make sense. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Her smile widens, beautiful and cutting. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, bright and brittle. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Or were you just hoping I wouldn't find out so soon?"
Something cold drips down my spine.
Her eyes don’t waver. They stay on mine—cold and hard.
My grip loosens on instinct, not because I’m letting go—because something in me just realized I’m standing too close to a cliff and I didn’t even see the edge.
“Acquisition,” I repeat, slower, like I’m testing the word out. “Why are you talking about an acquisition?”
She tips her head slightly, her hair shifting over her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s the only reason you’re here.”
I stare at her, but it’s not about the dress anymore. Or the lipstick. Or the heat in my veins.
It’s the puzzle that’s just clicked into place in a way I don’t like at all.
“Elsa,” I say carefully, “what company are you talking about?”
Her brow lifts. “You’re seriously asking me that?”
“Yes,” I say. “I am.”
A tiny, humorless laugh escapes her. “You’re good,” she murmurs. “I’ll give you that. The earnestness is almost believable. And I thought you said you didn't play games."
“Just answer the question.”
"Northstar Hospitality."
The name hangs in the air between us. A mistake. A huge, glaring, unbelievable mistake.
My entire body goes rigid. Every muscle. Every nerve.
And then the rage hits me, fast and hot. I take a slow step back, and my hand falls away from her thigh. The disconnect is jarring.
The woman I was with last night. The woman in front of me.
"Elsa," I breathe out. "Nilsson."