Chapter 42
MAX
I’d barely stepped into the house when I heard Rosalie’s furious voice coming from the living room. Her words were rapid and sharp, echoing off the walls. She was ranting in a language I didn’t speak.
Irish.
Shrugging off my coat, I lifted it onto the hook, trying to act calm as I walked toward her. I nodded along to her incomprehensible words—noises, really—hoping she might pause for a breath of air.
Her red hair was tied with a band, and her green eyes were ablaze. Her lips were moving fast.
“Are you even listening!” she yelled at me, her voice piercing the tension.
All right, I got it. Didn’t need a translator for that one. I may not speak Irish, but I knew frustration when I saw it. It was written all over her face, in every sharp look she shot my way.
What happened next shocked me. In an impulsive act, she snatched up the remote control from the couch and hurled it at me at full force. Reacting on instinct, I swiftly ducked, the remote whizzing past me to hit the wall.
I turned to her, wide-eyed.
The hell?
As if the remote weren’t enough, she grabbed a handful of pillows and flung them in my direction. They landed softly on the floor.
For a moment, there was silence. I looked at her—really looked at her—and couldn’t help but smile.
She glared at me as if she had a hundred more remotes ready to go.
And damn it, if that fire in her eyes wasn’t doing something to me.
I should’ve been annoyed, maybe even mad, but all I could think was how good she looked.
“Do you think this is funny?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.
I took a cautious step forward. “You’re going to have to slow down if you want me to understand what you’re saying,” I began, trying to be reasonable. I had no clue what had set her off, nor how to fix it.
Rosalie didn’t exactly make anything easy for me. She expected me to read her mind—an impossible task.
She shot me a withering glare, taking a deep breath before pointing a finger at me. “You,” she started, talking firmly, her next word surer than her last. “You made a bet on my engagement!”
Wait, what? A bet on her engagement? My mind raced, trying to piece it together, and the realization sank in.
My lips folded into a guilty frown. Oh shit.
The bet. How could I have forgotten about that?
Sean must’ve told her when he was driving her home.
I tried my hardest not to laugh, but it slipped through despite my best efforts.
It was a stupid joke, really. Sean and I had made a little wager about how long her engagement to Lucas would last. No one had thought it’d last long. And after I took Lucas out, I’d claimed the winnings. Blood money? Sure. But I wasn’t about to leave cash on the table.
“Yeah, I did,” I admitted, my tone remorseful.
She turned her head away from me, a bitter laugh falling from her lips. “That is—ugh. That is so . . . Romano of you.”
A crooked smile played on my lips. “You’re going to be a Romano in about a week.”
“Don’t remind me,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “I can already feel the smugness rubbing off on me.”
“Oh, come on. You knew what you were getting into.”
She shot me another glare, her eyes narrowing. “I thought I was marrying into a family of Italian charm and tradition, not one that bets on my love life like it’s a horse race!”
I stood there, legs shoulder-width apart, with my arms crossed as I listened to her recite a novel’s worth of words. She was furious at me, calling me a bastard every few sentences.
Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but notice how stunning Rosalie looked when she was mad. That only meant I had to make her mad more often. I doubted she’d appreciate that.
“Are you finished?” I asked, raising a brow.
Her eyes narrowed further at my question, her glare intensifying. “Finished?” she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, baby, I’m just getting started.”
“Of course you are.” I couldn’t help but smile wider. “You always have more to say—”
“You know—”
“I don’t, but I think I’m about to,” I said, interrupting her.
“I’m not even surprised. You’re impulsive.”
“Am I?”
“Obsessive.”
I smiled again, feeling her anger. “Very,” I admitted without hesitation.
“And selfish.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Do you like me at all?”
“No,” she lied.
“For god’s sake, mia cara. We need to work on your honesty.”
She looked up at me. I could see the conflict within her, the battle between her pride and her need. “You want me to be honest? Okay, I hate you,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Pride had clearly won.
“Again with the lies,” I replied, confident. I could tell. I could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t hate at all.
Before I could comprehend what was happening, the air was stolen from my lungs, but not by a blow to the chest. It was stolen by Rosalie. She stood up on her tiptoes to close the gap that kept her lips apart from mine, stealing the breath right from my mouth.
And I didn’t stop her.
It felt as if something within me snapped once I understood she wanted to kiss me.
Her actions contradicted her words. I could tell she wanted to hate me, but she couldn’t.
I admired her efforts while I deepened the kiss.
Her lips were soft, brutal. I was tired of holding back.
My free hand reached her hip, and I grabbed onto her skin tightly.
It felt like I’d finally gotten a hold of something I should’ve had years ago.
Something that was mine.
Her kiss seeped into my chest. It burned. Her lips were soft. God, they were everything I remembered them being. They still tasted like cherry.
I kissed her with built-up tension, fearing I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I felt sick with nerves. Rosalie smiled gently against my lips, and I quickly became addicted.
My breathing grew unsteady. I was greedy for more of her.
Her fingers dug into the fabric of my shirt as if she was afraid I’d slip away.
With just one kiss, I began to crave a second, then a third, and most definitely a fourth.
I could feel the anticipation pulsing through me, encouraging me to let go of all reason. I’d already forgotten the reason I’d forced myself away from her.
It felt good to finally grab temptation by the throat and taste her lies. Her sins.
But Rosalie’s lips tasted different. They weren’t as sinful as I remembered them being. She tasted like heaven, and it felt reviving to kiss her.
Every nerve ending in my body electrified in her hold. It wasn’t just built-up tension; it was built-up fixation, with no outlet.
The moment she whimpered into my mouth was the moment I forgot why I was even taking my time in the first place. How could I, when she sounded like that?
Rosalie knew what she was doing to me, and she did it well. I was no match for her. I could feel my heart sinking in my chest. It beat rapidly, and I couldn’t control it.
Finally, I lifted her into my arms, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I set her down on the counter, kissing her everywhere I could, before my hands ventured to the hem of her dress—the same dress I wanted to tear off her body.
Positioning myself in front of her, I forced her legs apart.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered against her neck as my hand moved to pull her dress up her thighs slowly. “Tell me to go, and I will.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I thought she’d tell me to stop. I thought she’d remind me of the rules. But she remained silent, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then her words came quickly. “I don’t want you to stop.” She took my hand and brought it to the strap of her dress. Her head nuzzled mine as I held the thin strap between my fingers. “I want you to take this off.”
She didn’t have to tell me again before I brushed it off her shoulder. The fabric of the dress caught on her nipple—the same one that I put in my mouth.
I lifted the dress out from under her. Her hips fit perfectly in my hand, and the black thong she wore fit the shape of her body perfectly.
Leaning down, I kissed the skin of her thigh, pressing my hand against her stomach and slowly pushing her back. My kisses moved inward, meeting the lace of her thong. Her fingers instinctively combed through my hair, pulling me closer to her.
Pressing my thumb against her clit, I watched her mouth fall open gradually, allowing a weak murmur to slip through her lips.
God, that sound. I’d do anything to hear it again.
And I did.
I pulled the lace to the side and brought my lips closer. It wasn’t long before my tongue found her clit, and her nails found my skin.
Fucking finally, I had what was mine.
She liked how I made her feel, and I was damn near insane for how she tasted.
We were perfect for one another, no matter how much she refused to acknowledge it.
She wouldn’t be this wet if she truly hated me.
She could test me, lie to me, say she hated me, but that didn’t stop her body from reacting to me.
My hands held onto her waist and then moved to her thighs. Her back shifted, struggling to remain still as she arched from the pressure of my tongue. Slowly, I pushed my finger inside of her.
“Oh,” she whimpered. I could tell she was close and didn’t want me to stop. I leaned down to her neck, hearing her breathe in my ear. Her sounds were going to play in the back of my mind like a damn broken record.
“Max, please,” she begged. “Don’t stop.”
I considered her request for a moment, taking in the sight of her, so vulnerable and desperate. I’d waited for what felt like years to have her right here, exactly where I wanted her, but I knew I had to make her wait; to make her want me more than she already did.
It was my turn to play a game—one I stood a chance in. I was serious when I said I wanted her to burn for me. I wasn’t going to let her have it easily.
“Liars don’t get to come, baby.”