Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ANNA
“You’re changing,” the low baritone of his voice slipped into my skin. “Now.” The command set my teeth on edge. I should coax out another reward just for using that tone with me.
I scowled at him while my skin filled with a familiar energy. Like liquid heat injected into my veins.
He studied me from the bottom of the stairs. Dark intensity in his eyes.
I took him in leisurely. He wore a suit that should be advertised as a sex invitation.
Molded so perfectly to him that it made me wonder if they had pasted it to his body and how he even removed it at night.
How would he look naked if he looked this good in clothes?
In the back of my mind, I stored another question for him.
Had he ever thought of modeling? That laser sharpness combined with his tousled hair…
he could probably do video too with that seductive timbre in his voice. “Can I tell you what to wear, too?”
Our gazes hooked. The only thing he gave me was an indifferent stare.
“No?” I cocked my head, the imbalance he created in my emotions rattling at something inside. “Then I can wear whatever I want,” I said, following my reckless words with a few steps down.
He crossed the room and met me at the bottom.
I stopped two steps above him. He was a slab of marble inconveniently blocking my way.
The long black dress I wore tingled in all the wrong places, as if it were a physical touch.
In the swell of my breasts, in the dip of my waist, and in the heat between my legs.
“Change. Now.”
He was so close I could feel him on me. His scent, teak and cider.
His touch, a memory bursting with heat. Tension climbed into the room like smoke rising from the floor.
Three days of avoiding each other ignited into a flame.
I wasn’t sure I wanted more revelations.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to give me more answers.
But the thing was, I was beginning to want him.
His words, his touch, his taste. My conscience clawed at my soul.
“What’s wrong with this dress?” I asked him, but the memory of how he ripped the last one trembled on my lips. I wiped my tongue over them to erase it.
He stared at my lips and said, “Nothing.”
“That’s settled then.” I took another step down.
He remained fixated on the spot. I knew what he wanted.
He’d walked into my room in the morning and, as if we were a normal couple, told me his sister-in-law had arranged for a party.
But we weren’t normal. We had a deadline for our marriage.
Secrets between us. And questions. So many questions.
Dangerous ones. But also, chaste ones. Like, where did he sleep?
Then he’d casually told me to wear the dress in the closet.
When I found it, another question popped up.
A dangerous one. How did he know my style?
It was fuchsia. Long. Flowing with a slit in the front that teased my mid-thigh.
Anna of eleven years ago would have loved that. Not this Anna, though.
“I don’t wear fuchsia,” I muttered.
“You do now.”
A groan of frustration fell from me. I rolled my eyes. “Make me then.”
His eyes flashed. He took a threatening step forward. I almost fell on my ass in my hurry to get away. “No.” I slammed my palm on his chest, keeping him at bay. His heartbeat thundered to the beat of a bass drum. Slowly, I backed away, keeping an eye on his predatory stance. “I’ll do it.”
My back burned with his heated stare. It carried me all the way to the bedroom. When I returned dressed from top to toe in fuchsia, he still stood where I’d left him.
When he caught my movement, his eyes swung my way.
For a few seconds, his iron-clad control melted away.
Exhaling slowly, he ran his gaze over me.
Taking in the dress, the slit, my hair running loose down to my spine.
Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip.
Pressed, a muttered curse between them. The sound was rough.
Raw. His fingers tapped on the banister, and his half-lidded gaze dropped to the steps.
Everything else escaped my hearing. The only thing I heard was the beat of my heart.
Thump. Thump. Then he looked up again, and it was as if it were all in my imagination. His face was erased of all emotion.
My nerves vibrated with every step I took closer to him. His gaze was magnetic. A heat that rustled against my skin. When I was three steps away, he stopped me with his words. “I have a condition.”
“What?” I croaked.
His voice was calm. His words detonating. “Wear this to my funeral.”
For three days, he’d kept his distance, but the instant we entered the party, he grabbed my hand so tightly I feared a fracture
His games made my blood run cold. There was more menace in him than certainty.
He was reeling me in. Inch by inch, I was being tugged and pulled.
The way he held my hand, his words, his touch, Dios mío, the way he’d come in my mouth or made me come in his.
Then he crushed it all by asking me to wear a fuchsia dress to his funeral.
Unrest bubbled in my veins. His words still pounded in my chest. I tugged at my hand. His grip tightened. Spite seeped at my edges, and I wanted him defeated at his own games.
I leaned closer to him. He stiffened instantly. “Is my Mafia husband a scaredy cat?” I whispered in his ear.
He turned to look at me.
“Aww…” I taunted. “Are you scared I’ll run off?”
He looked me dead in the eye. “Sono terrorizzato, la mia stella.”
I frowned. “English or Spanish. Don’t go all Italian on me.”
An amused smile curled on his lips. I wanted to slap it off his face. “So terrified you give me nightmares.”
I opened my mouth to spill spiteful words when the sound of a commotion reached us. We both turned to the front door. Stefano passed us.
“What’s going on?” Nico grabbed his shoulder and asked.
“Some idiots, trying to crash the party.”
What idiot would try to get into a Mafia party? Someone who realized their mistake because the moment Stefano arrived at the door, the commotion died down.
Nico turned back to me.
“I have a solution for your nightmares,” I told him.
“Let me guess. It has something to do with my heart stopping.”
“So smart,” I murmured. “Pity it will all go to waste.”
His eyes sparked. “Don’t tell me you want to keep me.”
“Not even if hell freezes over.”
His eyes dimmed. “That’s what I thought.”
He started to move from the hall.
“Where do you sleep, anyway?”
He stopped. “In my office.”
In his office? I stared at him and made a face. “What? You have bedbugs on all the mattresses?”
“Something like that.”
“You know I could move to the basement or out of your house.”
“No.”
“Fine. The guest bedroom.”
“No. You’re my wife. You sleep in my fucking bed.”
I sighed. “I don’t know why you insist on making your life difficult. Marrying me, keeping secrets, killing people… and now giving up your bed.”
He didn’t answer me. He moved. I followed as I was attached to him.
“No wonder you have nightmares.”
People greeted him in Italian. He ignored them all and made for the enormous living room at the end of the hall.
Daria and Lorenzo’s home must have been pretty.
I couldn’t see it through the bubble of my bitterness.
“You know I’ll run.” He stopped and stared at me.
“If you won’t give me answers and if you won’t let me kill you, I have no use for you. ”
He tugged me closer. “That’s why I’ll keep you close. Rest your feet. You can run after I’m dead.”
“I can’t wait,” I bit out.
Something bittersweet flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped whatever he was going to say when Stefano squeezed his shoulder. “How’s marriage treating you, Fratello?”
He ignored the question and asked what the commotion had been about. Stefano said something about some small investors trying to meet with the big fish.
Daria stood across the room. The moment our eyes met, she made her way to us.
“Oh…” A slow smile spread across her face.
“No wonder he wanted you to wear this for your wedding.” Her words played with my heartbeat.
She pulled me in for a hug, which became awkward since I was still plastered to his side.
“At least you got to wear it to your party.” She eyed my other hand, captured in her brother-in-law's.
When her gaze came to me, it was filled with a question.
I answered it with an awkward smile, still caught up on what she’d said.
I was wearing my wedding dress? The silk suddenly felt suffocating on my skin.
He had gotten me a fuchsia dress? For our wedding?
I shook my head. I was reading too much into this.
There was no way he would know about my past obsession with the color.
I looked up to confirm it. He was talking to Stefano, but his gaze was on me.
Hunger and need zapped me. I took a shaky step back. He pulled me in effortlessly.
“You know you can tell me anything right?” Daria whispered next to me.
I took her in. She looked like pink cotton candy. Pretty pink cotton candy. A dress that looked so soft on her, I wondered if it would melt if it touched the darkness of heat.
“I know.” But what could she do about it?
She threw a nervous glance at my husband.
“Really.” She pressed my hand. She only wanted to help, and maybe she could clear up a few questions of mine.
Not anything involving Papá. I didn’t know much about the Mafia business, but I knew nothing of importance would have reached the women.
But maybe some of those chaste questions.
“I’d like to touch up my makeup,” I told her.
She was quick to take the hint. “Oh, I’ll join you.”
I tugged at my hand. He didn’t release it. “You don’t need to touch up anything,” he growled.
We stared at him.
“I also need to pee.” He glared at me. “Or would you like me to lift my dress up and do it here?”