Chapter 15
CHIARA
I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together. He’s the one that has my father scared. I have never seen him hide from anyone…until now.
Brian Smith must be different somehow, and I have to figure out why.
I know my father is planning a war behind closed doors.
He may have disappeared, but he’s never truly gone.
He’s always there. Watching, waiting for his chance to strike.
He’s never been the type to sit behind a desk and have his soldiers do all the fighting. He’s been the one leading them.
I hope Brian and his army are strong enough to win. A daughter shouldn’t want the death of her own parent, but this one does.
Knowing my father is scared of Brian should have me scared too, but I’m holding on to the hope that he needs me enough to let me live.
Lord knows he could’ve easily killed me already, especially when I talked back to him, but he didn’t. He didn’t even hit me. The men in my life would slap a woman around for ever talking to them that way. He just took it. And I liked giving it to him.
I know what I told myself about keeping my attitude in check around him, but every time he walks into the room, I can’t help myself. I can’t stop the need to bite and claw until I see that inferno burning in his gaze, the one that tells me exactly what he wants to do with me.
He excites and unnerves me all at once. I’m a fool for playing this dangerous game, but I don’t think I could stop it even if I tried.
Grabbing a pillow adjacent to my head, I hold it close against my chest, worry carved onto every beat of my heart, not for myself, but for the people I employ.
I really hope none of them show up at the club tonight.
I’ll never forgive myself if any one of them gets hurt.
It’d be my fault. By virtue of being a Bianchi, I could lead them to their death without lifting a finger.
I don’t care about the club itself. I never have. I only care about the people in it. I’m grateful that Brian is going to torch it, even if that means all of them lose their jobs. They shouldn’t work there anyway, not when my father is the boss.
And as an added bonus, I won’t have to work for him. Well, until he finds another purpose for me or another man for me to marry. I love my cousin to death, but I don’t want to be her.
Standing up from the bed, I walk around aimlessly before turning on the TV.
I flip through channel after channel, not finding jack shit to watch.
I hate being locked away in this room, like a mouse on a wheel.
But unlike the mouse, I’m fully aware of my surroundings.
Unlike the mouse, I know there’s more out there, and I’m digging aimlessly with no way to escape.
There has to be something I can do to get out of here. First, out of this room. Then, out of this house. I need to get him to trust me.
Maybe I can offer him something he may not know about my father. Show him that the man whose blood I share means absolutely nothing to me.
But there’s something else I can try on top of that.
Something riskier.
Bolder.
But something that may work.
I can use his attraction for me to my benefit.
I can tell he’s fighting it. I can see the flares of caution warning him away, as though I’m the sun and he’s a mere mortal who’ll burn from a single touch.
But if I can find a way to extinguish his trepidation, if I can make myself seem like I’m not unattainable, maybe I can find myself in his bed instead of this one.
And once I’m there—once he has my body and I have his heart—I’ll crush it as I make my escape.
A set of keys jangles at the door. He must be back. At least I hope it’s him. I never hear anyone else here, but then again, I’m sure that’s because the house is huge. Too many places for someone to hide.
The door flies open as Brian marches in, carrying a mini fridge.
I slant my head to the side from the bed, brows rising.
“What are you doing?” My voice is as curious as my face probably appears.
“What does it look like? I brought you a fridge so you won’t bitch about thirst and hunger. I’ve bought stuff to fill it. Give me a second, and I’ll hook it up.”
“Thank you,” I say in the most gracious voice I can muster.
He carries the fridge to the corner. Even through his black hoodie, I can see his biceps straining, wanting to break free. I’d pay to see him without those clothes on, doing whatever he’s doing.
My body tingles at the thought, making my plan much easier to accomplish. Being attracted to the man you need to fuck is a lot better than being physically repulsed by him.
Setting the fridge down, he plugs it in. I stand there biting the corner of my thumbnail, watching him like a voyeur as he squats in black sweats, his ass as muscular as the rest of him.
I’m suddenly warm everywhere, slipping into the trap of our mutual attraction. I run my fingers down my neck, the pulse beneath my skin biting into my flesh. The desire for those rough, masculine hands all over my body is overwhelming.
The need to fuck him, yet hurt him, battles for space in my head, both weaving through my heart. And I do have every intention to hurt him. Just because I want to sleep with him doesn’t change that.
Once he has the fridge situated, he walks back to the door, carrying in a couple of paper bags. Crouching down, he begins emptying them, stocking the fridge with bottles. Rising to my feet, I head toward him with every intention of setting my plan in motion.
When I’m right beside him, I lower myself, reaching into a bag and taking out a few containers of Greek yogurt while he places a carton of mixed berries in the fridge.
He side-eyes me. “I’ve got this.”
My mouth tilts up at the corner. “By the looks of you, I’m sure you can handle plenty.” I reach out a hand, a finger landing on his shoulder. “But I wanted to help.”
His jaw pulses as our eyes connect, and my heart plummets into the pit of my stomach. I let my nail slowly trail down his arm, our mutual gaze drifting into a state of vulnerability neither one of us wants to surrender to.
His unrelenting gaze is so powerful, it has the force to shatter my resolve, forgetting the plan I want so badly to work.
His hooded eyes caress a path from my lips down to the top of my breasts, hidden under a thin scrap of fabric. I suddenly feel claustrophobic in my tank top. The hunger in his eyes robs me of all my breaths, my finger still glued to his thick muscles.
He releases a low, sharp exhale before his palm snaps around my wrist, yanking it away.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” he growls deep in his chest.
But I don’t think he means it. Not with the way he’s still gripping my hand. Not with the way his eyes can’t seem to stop drinking me in, savoring every bit of my face.
It’s okay to be attracted to your kidnapper, right? Is there a handbook on this? I mean, I was into him before I knew what he was capable of, so this isn’t some kind of Stockholm syndrome thing, right?
But it still feels dirty. A good kind of dirty. Like I want to shower with him instead of wash his filth off me. And he’s filthy, all right.
“I’m sorry if my touch somehow offended you.
” My voice grows weak as my eyes fall downcast, hoping he believes the show.
“I’m sorry if I’m not the type of woman you’d normally go for.
” I start getting up, trying to pull myself out of his fastened grip.
“I’ll, ah…” I tug at my lower lip. “Go back to…”
Before I can attempt to walk away, his arm curls around the small of my back, pulling me flush to his side, one of my legs falling into his lap. Our gazes meet, raging through my well-constructed wall.
His heavy breaths mingle with mine, our lips falling closer, barely anything between them, both of our chests rising and falling with every frazzled exhale.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he stamps out, his erotic growl pulsating over my trembling lips.
I pull in a quick, sharp inhale, the rhythm of my quaking heartbeats slicing through my rib cage. A heavy ball of anxiety forms in the emptiness of my stomach, diving deeper.
I can’t seem to turn down the fire he’s an expert at setting. He’s an aphrodisiac and the whole fucking meal. But this is purely sexual, and that’s all it’ll ever be.
He drops my wrist, his hand falling to my hip, grazing up as his eyes stay fastened on mine.
“If you weren’t his daughter…” His fingers climb higher, reaching my arm, trailing up, biting into my skin until he finds the back of my neck. “I’d have you naked and thoroughly fucked multiple times. I can tell how badly you need it.”
My core aches, needing the emptiness to be filled with his all-consuming power. Needing to end this persistent desire for a man I should never want.
He draws even nearer until his lips skim over mine.
“But, baby…” he says, his gravelly tone dripping with masculine husk. “I know you more than you realize.”
He smiles against my mouth, and I let out a whimper just as his tongue snakes out, the tip dipping in between my lips.
“And this little act of yours…” he continues, “…is never gonna work on me.”
His hand spreads over the back of my head, his fingers sinking gradually into my long hair, like a serpent before an attack. He fists my strands in his palm, winding it around his wrist, pulling my head backward with brutal force.
A moan falls from my lips, one that tells him how much I enjoy a little pain with a little pleasure.
“Whatever this is, Chiara…”
He yanks harder, and I hiss.
“It’ll never work. I’ll never touch you,” he promises, his intense gaze piercing through mine. “Not even if you were naked and spread open for me like an offering, your fingers inside you, begging for my cock.”
He tilts his lips over my jaw, his nose creeping up my neck, sending goose bumps erupting throughout my body.
His mouth lands over the soft spot below my ear, his breaths feathering softly over my skin there until the need to come overwhelms all my thoughts.
He pulls in a quick inhale. “Save that energy on surviving. You’ll need it.”