Chapter 19 #3
Nowhere to be found as I breeze past him in my three-year-old Adidas that have seen more city-street mileage than most cars. I walk everywhere.
Or at least, I did.
Now I have a bodyguard named Antonio to escort me wherever I want to go.
It’s as if I’m in another world. One I never wanted to inhabit.
I can feel Enzo’s gaze on me as I’m in the kitchen, ladling up the miso into a pair of bowls. It’s every bit as potent as a caress on my bare skin, except I’m fully clothed.
He sniffs the air as I move toward him, bearing the bowls. “Do I smell paint?”
He’s seated at the place I set for him at the table, looking deceptively relaxed. I know him well enough by now to understand that Enzo is never truly at ease. Not even in his sleep.
“I did a bit of redecorating today while you were at work,” I tell him, depositing a bowl of miso before him.
The kind of redecorating he’s definitely not going to like.
“You painted?”
“Of course.” I move to my place at the table and set the soup down before sitting too.
His expression shifts. “Which room?”
“Which one do you think? Your bedroom.”
“Our bedroom now, cara.” Enzo takes up his spoon. “Antonio said something about taking you to a home improvement store, but I didn’t know you were getting paint.”
Antonio was probably too scared shitless to tell his employer what his new wife was up to. But that worked in my favor.
I smile serenely. “Just wanted to put my mark on our home like a good little wife.”
He pauses with the spoon midway to his lips. “I’m glad you made yourself at home.”
As he says the words, his eyes travel over my shoulder, taking in the kitchen for the first time since he’s returned. A frown creases his forehead as he lingers on the open cabinets, but to his credit, he just stuffs the spoon into his mouth.
The instant grimace almost wrings a laugh from me, so I hide my amusement in my glass of sake.
It’s a very good sake, but then, it should have been for the exorbitant price, charged to Enzo’s poor, smoking credit card.
I have no idea if Enzo will dislike the wine as much as he apparently doesn’t appreciate delicious Japanese cuisine.
“You don’t like miso?” I ask with false concern.
“It’s delicious,” he chokes out.
If I weren’t so annoyed with him for the way he’s been icing me out of everything, I might be touched by his clear attempt at trying to avoid hurting my feelings. He hasn’t realized yet that this is all a deliberate plot on my part.
“I hope you like tuna roll,” I tell him, taking up a piece with my chopsticks and putting it on my plate. “There’s also salmon, eel, and shrimp rolls. I think there’s even a lobster tempura somewhere.”
He sets his spoon down in the bowl with a plink and coughs discreetly into his hand. “You’re a fan of sushi, I take it?”
“I love it.” That’s not a lie, at least.
I shove a bite in, and the delicious flavors explode on my taste buds—soy marinated bluefin.
He watches me chew with an expression that borders on disgust. “I’m not that hungry. I grabbed a bite earlier in between meetings. I think I’ll go check out the paint you chose.”
I swallow and chase my tuna with sake. “Don’t spoil the big reveal. Let’s have dinner first.”
I’m baiting him, and it’s really not fair. But also, he deserves it.
He manages a few more spoons of miso before he loses his patience and stands. “You enjoy, cara. I don’t like suspense.”
Then he’s sauntering off toward the primary bedroom.
I get up and follow him because I’m not going to lose the opportunity to see his reaction in real time. He opens the door and steps inside.
“Cazzo!” He turns back to me. “You painted my bedroom fucking pink?”
I smile sweetly. “Technically, it’s called Flamingo’s Pink Paradise. What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?”
“Don’t I like it?” He casts an incredulous look around the room. “There’s paint splattered all over the furniture and the floor. Didn’t you put down a drop cloth?”
“Nope. Didn’t have one.”
He swivels toward me, all the lines in his handsome face hardening. I see realization clicking into place. He knows what I’m up to.
“Cara mia,” he says slowly, his voice silken.
I wish I didn’t feel the full impact of that voice, but it sends heat rushing through me.
“Yes, marito?” I’m still doing the innocent routine, even though I know he sees right through it.
“I’m going to give you to the count of three to run. If I catch you, it’s not going to be pretty.”
A shiver goes down my spine. Maybe I pushed him too far. I don’t know what he’s capable of.
“You told me to get settled in,” I point out.
“One,” he says, his voice dripping in dark warning.
Oh shit.
At least I’m wearing sneakers. I spin around and take off running as I hear his voice trailing after me.
“Two.”
The apartment is huge, but I’m not bothering with hiding in here.
Nope, I’m racing to the elevator. I’m there, about to push the button, when strong hands grasp my waist, whirling me around to face Enzo.
He’s got me pinned against the doors, his jaw rigid, his too-blue eyes burning into mine.
He’s furious, and he’s hotter than any man has a right to be.
“You didn’t say three,” I protest weakly.
“My game, my rules, hellcat.”
I’m back to his original nickname for me. It’s a warning, but I also kind of like it.
One of his hands comes up to my neck, squeezing gently, forcing my head back. I’m completely in his control, and the worry has fast melted into something far more potent. My panties are soaked.
I lick my lips. “I didn’t know we were playing a game.”
“Liar,” he accuses, but there’s a different kind of heat in his voice now as his face dips toward my neck and he inhales deeply. “You were playing a game of your own, weren’t you?” He nuzzles my throat.
Liquid heat pools in my belly.
“I…I wasn’t playing a game,” I manage, sounding annoyingly breathless.
“That’s not what the sushi dinner was about?” He kisses the hollow under my ear.
It should be criminal for him to smell this good. It’s not just cologne either. It’s Enzo. He’s fucking delicious. His pheromones are making the neurons in my brain short-circuit.
“Dinner was just dinner.” My hands find their way to his shoulders, my nails digging into the ripped muscle under his suit jacket. “An attempt to be a good little wife.”
“The opened cabinets, the mess, the sneakers, the flamingo’s asshole pink you painted the bedroom?” He palms my breast, his wounded arm apparently giving him no trouble at all, and flicks his thumb over a hard nipple.
“I told you, it’s called Flamingo’s Pink Paradise.”
“I don’t give a fuck what it’s called,” he growls into my ear and then takes the lobe in his teeth.
My heart is hammering hard, a combination of my frantic sprint to the elevator and the effect he has on me. “You don’t like it? I can always paint it my other favorite color. What do you think about Royal Purple Rhapsody?”
He bites the shell of my ear and plucks at my nipple, taking it between his thumb and forefinger and twisting. “I think you have a death wish, cara mia.”
“You’re unhappy?” I continue to play dumb, not sure where it will get me. But so far, his idea of torture involves erogenous zones, and my ovaries are completely on board with that. “You told me to get settled in and make myself at home, so that’s what I did.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He finds his way back to my throat, nipping and sucking.
“How did you mean it, then?” I’m playing with fire, I know. But I like getting burned.
His fingers tense on my neck, and he lifts his head. “Do I need to spell it out for you? Putting your shit in some drawers.” He pauses and kisses the corner of my lips. “Unpacking some fucking boxes. But you didn’t do that, did you?”
The boxes of my things are still neatly stacked in the guest room where his men left them, totally untouched.
“I was busy.”
He kisses the opposite corner. “Busy leading Antonio all over the city.”
“You told me he’d take me anywhere I needed to go.”
Enzo lifts his head, his gaze burning into mine. “I guess I’m going to have to chain you to the bed like I did at the cabin, just to keep you out of trouble while I’m gone.”
My reaction is instant.
“Try it, and I’ll castrate you with the nearest butter knife.”
He stills. “Is that any way to talk to your marito, cara?”
“I would have called you to ask permission, but I couldn’t find you in the contact list on my new phone,” I say. “I didn’t know who Marito was until I got your text.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You’re lying again. And you know what I do to liars, don’t you?”
Have I actually pushed him over the edge with everything I’ve done today? I don’t answer him, biting my lip.
“I punish them.” He plucks at my nipple. “I don’t think the punishment I’ve used in the past will work on you, though. I’ll have to come up with something…suitable.”
The hand at my waist moves, and he palms my ass through my yoga pants.
I know what kind of game we’re playing. And right or wrong, I like it.
I’m on fire from the way he’s pressed against me, the way he’s touched and kissed me.
He’s so big and strong, so dominating and powerful, and I am so incredibly wet right now.
Forget about teaching him a lesson or getting even. All I want is to turn off my mind, disregard everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, and surrender to the way he makes me feel.
I pout, deciding to play his game, but by my rules. “But I thought I was being such a good little wife, just like you told me to be.”
“You were wrong. I can see I’ve been too lenient with you.” He strokes my jaw softly with the pad of his thumb, still holding my neck. “You found out from Antonio that I don’t like sushi, didn’t you?”
“Maybe I thought if you tried it again, you’d change your mind.”
He surprises me by releasing his hold on me entirely and stepping away. “I’ve decided on your punishment. Take off your clothes.”
I blink. “What?”