Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Nathalie
"Ijust thought looking scared would put some pressure on my father," I say.
He looks at me. The room still smells like gunshots and there is a bruise forming along his jaw from somewhere in the chaos and I look at it and I think about the two men on the floor behind us and I think about the sound the shots made and I think about how he hadn't flinched, not once, not for a second, and I wonder if he ever feels pain or if that part of him simply doesn't exist.
I move to walk past him.
His hand wraps around my arm.
"Did Renzo tell you what was happening tonight?" he asks.
I look at his hand on my arm and then at his face.
The truth is I hadn't seen him in three days. He vanished from the parts of the house I stayed in and I had told myself he was ill and then told myself I didn't care whether he was ill and then on the second day I went to his study to bring him water and I had heard his voice through the door.
He had been talking to Renzo. I heard about my father's plan to "rescue" and about a woman.
A woman he had been searching for.. A woman he had gone to considerable lengths, through my father, to find. A woman whose name he hadn't said but whose importance had been audible in the spaces between every word.
I pull his hand off my arm.
"I eavesdropped," I say. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.
" I look at a point past his shoulder because looking directly at him right now requires more composure than I currently have available.
"I want to help you get your favor so I can go back to New York.
That's all. Tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it. "
Back to my life, I think. My miserable, empty life in a downtown apartment where the only person who calls is Alana, and only then when she wants something.
"This will be over soon," he says.
I nod. I start to turn and then I stop because if I don't say it now I will carry it around and it will get heavier.
"I owe you an apology." I keep my voice even.
"For what I said in the bathroom. For asking you to—" I pause.
"I didn't know about her. About the woman.
It was shameless to ask you for sex and I'm sorry. "
He says nothing.
"You should have just told me you had someone," I say, and I almost manage to make it sound like a practical observation rather than what it actually is, jealousy. "I would have understood."
"You heard it," he says.
"Yes." I look at him properly for the first time since I stood up off the floor. "I never thought you'd go through all of this for a woman." I hold his gaze. "She must be extraordinary. To make you want her like this."
His hand finds my wrist.
"Are you trying to get on my nerves?" His voice has an edge.
I laugh. It comes out dry. "How could I?" I look at my wrist in his grip and then at his face. "I'm a naive stupid girl who always wants the people who don't want her back. My father. And apparently even the man who kidnapped me." I pull free. "You'd think I'd learn."
He says nothing.
"Can I at least get Chinese food?" I ask.
"I'll have it delivered to you."
"Thank you."
"I'll take you back."
"It's not like I have a choice," I say, and I walk to the door.
The drive back is the longest of my life.
I sit against the window with my arms folded and I look at the city going past and I think about what I heard through his study door. He wasn't lying when he said I wasn't his type.
I had mistaken proximity for something it wasn't, which is a thing I do, apparently, as a matter of personality.
I watch the lights.
I decided last night that I was going to focus on going home.
When this is over, when my father has been dealt with and Luca has whatever he needs, I will go back to New York and I will tell my father I want to go abroad and he will agree because I will be out of his way and that will be that.
A new city. A new start. I will learn to want things that are actually available to me.
I should never have come here in the first place.
It is a very sensible plan. I look at the window as we pull through the gate and I push the door open and step down and my foot hits the ground and the pain shoots up from my heel with a viciousness that makes me pull in a sharp breath and grab the door to stay upright.
I had forgotten about the shoes.
They are half a size too small, a detail I had not mentioned to the maids who dressed me because I didn't want to cause trouble, and three hours of standing and walking and dropping to my knees on a stone floor have made the oversight extremely difficult to ignore.
I straighten and take one careful step.
"Stop."
I turn to see that Luca is already crouching in front of me, one knee on the ground, and before I can process what is happening his hands are at the straps of my heel.
"I can do it myself," I tell him.
He undoes the buckle and eases the shoe off and I feel the relief of it so acutely that I have to press my lips together.
He does the second one and then his hands close around my waist and he lifts me, and I make a sound of protest that he ignores completely, and he carries me inside and sets me on the hall table and lifts my foot in both hands and examines the red mark where the strap has been cutting in.
"The shoes were too small," he says.
"I know that."
"You should have said something."
I look away. Out the window, at the wall, at anything that isn't his face bent over my foot in the hallway light.
His hand finds my chin and turns it back to him. "What game are you playing?"
I look at him. His jaw, the bruise forming along it, the green eyes that are very close and very unreadable, have been making me behave like an idiot for weeks.
"I just want my Chinese food," I say.
I slide off the table and my feet hit the cool floor and I walk toward the stairs, slowly, because my feet ache and dignity has a limit.
I don't look back but can feel him watching me all the way up.
* * *
The knock comes when I am sitting cross-legged on the bed with my shoes off and my feet still complaining about the evening.
I open the door.
Renzo is standing in the corridor holding a brown paper bag in each hand.
"Best Chinese in the city," he says, holding them up. "I made sure of it personally."
I step back and let him in and the smell hits me immediately, garlic and ginger and something fried, and my stomach responds with a slightly embarrassing enthusiasm.
"They smell incredible," I tell him.
"Of course they do." He sets them on the table and starts pulling out containers. "I have Michelin star connections."
I sit and pull the first container toward me and look up at him. "When did you get so fond of me?"
He glances at me sideways. "I like brave women.
" He pulls out a set of chopsticks and hands them across.
"Most people pass out at the first sight of a gun.
You stood behind me tonight and didn't bat an eye, well until you lost your cool and then I saw you tap Luca and I realized it was an act.
" He pauses, warmth moving through his usually guarded expression.
I laugh.
He straightens and tucks his hands into his pockets and looks at me for a moment. "Hang on, alright? You'll be home soon."
I open the container and the steam rises and I look at it for a moment. "Trust me, Renzo, I'm not in a hurry." I glance up at him with a dry smile. "Not when the rewards are this good."
He laughs and points at the bag.
"There's a second container in there, don't let it get cold."
"Thank you," I tell him, and I mean it for more than the food and I think he knows that.
He nods once and walks toward the door and then the door opens before he reaches it. The room goes very still.
Luca stands in the frame and his eyes move from Renzo to me and back to Renzo.
"Good night, Miss Keller," Renzo says and he is past Luca and gone before I answer him.
The door closes and Luca crosses the room. His hand finds my arm and he pulls me up from the chair and walks me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. He puts one hand beside my head and looks down at me and says,
"You seem very easy-going with everyone but me, tonight."
I look up at him. The way he looks at me is so intense that, for a second, I think it might be passion.
But I push that thought away as it forms. He doesn't care about me, this is business.
All I could do was to make my father give him what he wanted so he could let me go.
A man like him would never care about a person like me.
I am already pathetic in his eyes. Yes, I avoided him tonight.
I had to stop myself and these feelings I get around him.
I can't keep making a fool out of myself.
I smile. "Don't you know, Don?" I tilt my head. "I'm nice to anyone who'll sleep with me." I hold his gaze. "Wasn't I nice to you when I thought you could fuck me?"
His hand tightens around my jaw.
His eyes drop to my mouth and come back up and his breathing has changed and so has mine and the wall is cold behind my shoulders and his hand is very warm against my face.
"Say that again," he says.
I look up at him and his grip tightens. I say, clearly, holding every inch of his gaze, "I am nice to any man who—"
His mouth covers mine and his tongue pushes deep, sliding against mine, and I taste him, the cigarettes, lingering champagne, and raw hunger.
The flavor fills my mouth and makes my stomach clench with unwanted need.
For one dangerous second, I want to melt into his arms and let my body soften and surrender completely.
But I fight it.
I bite down on his lower lip, pulling blood, then shove at his chest. When he doesn't budge fast enough, I slap him across the face.
"What do you want from me?" I spit.
He pins me back to the wall in a heartbeat, one hand gripping my jaw so tightly I feel my pulse hammering against his fingers. His eyes are raging.
"You are playing dangerous games, princess."
I stare straight into that storm and grin, mocking. "A few days ago you said I wasn't your type." My voice drips with sweetness. "Don't tell me that was a lie."
My hand travels down between us and closes boldly over the straining hardness in his trousers. He's rock hard and pulsing heavily against my palm.
"I guess your body is more honest than you are." I lean in until our lips almost touch. "Don't tell me you can't control yourself around me."
He lifts me off the floor and throws me onto the bed. I bounce before he's on me, mouth attacking my neck and sucking hard, his teeth biting into my skin, sending sharp sparks of pleasure-pain straight to my clit. He pins my wrists above my head with one strong hand. We're both panting.
I shut my eyes and moan as his lips move lower, kissing wet and open-mouthed along the deep neckline, dragging his hot tongue over the tops of my breasts.
The stubble on his jaw scrapes deliciously against my flushed skin.
Then he pulls back, stroking my face almost gently with his thumb, his touch leaving trails of fire.
"You're right," he says, voice rough. "I can't control myself, princess."
I lean up, eyes narrowed. "Disappointing. Pathetic!"
His hand shoots to my throat. He squeezes just enough to make my breath catch and my pussy throb. He bites hard into the side of my neck, fisting my hair, the sharp sting blooming into throbbing heat. I clutch the sheets, breathing fast, feeling myself grow slick and swollen between my thighs.
He pulls back, eyes blazing. "Didn't you want me to fuck you?"
I'm panting, aching, but I lift my chin. "Not anymore."
He tears the lower half of the dress apart with one rip and his hand dives inside my panties, his thick fingers sliding through my dripping folds and pushing two deep inside me in one smooth thrust. I moan the sound of my arousal as he curls them perfectly against that sensitive spot.
"Liar," he whispers against my ear as he thrusts his fingers harder, fucking me with them, stretching me open.
I hold onto his shoulders, nails digging in while he kisses down my neck, my chest, my stomach. My skin burns everywhere his mouth touches. I cry out in pleasure when he parts my legs wider, pulls his fingers out, and looks me dead in the eyes as he lifts them to his mouth. They're coated with me.
"Principessa, sai di buono. Ne voglio ancora," he murmurs in Italian. Princess, you taste so good. I want more.
He pushes me flat on my back, spits directly onto my, dripping pussy, the warm saliva mixing with my juices. Then his tongue is inside me.
I cry out, "Oh shit—" as he slides it deep inside my cunt, fucking me with it.
I clutch the bedsheets, pressing both hands over my mouth, but the sounds still escape.
His tongue licks over my swollen folds, then drives back inside, teeth grazing my throbbing clit.
I can hear his heavy, starving breaths as he devours me like a starving man, sucking my clit hard, thrusting his tongue deep, lapping up every drop of me.
I feel his hands caressing my bare ass as he eats me out and then without warning, he smacks it.
The sharp sting makes my pussy clench around his tongue.
I scream into my palm. He caresses the burning flesh, then spanks me again.
My thighs shake uncontrollably. His breathing grows rougher against my pussy, my cries louder, until he delivers the final slap that shoves me violently over the edge.
I come hard, my is body quaking and convulsing for what feels like minutes, waves of blinding pleasure crashing through me as my pussy gushes against his mouth. He keeps licking and sucking greedily, drinking every spasm until the orgasm slowly fades and I go completely limp beneath him.
His tongue cleans me gently, dragging softly over my oversensitive folds. When he finally lifts his head, his mouth and chin are shiny with my cum. I lower my trembling hands, reach down, and wipe his face with shaky fingers.
"You ruined another dress."