Chapter 6 #2
The laughter around her dimmed, fading beneath the weight of his stare.
The warmth she had allowed herself drained away, replaced by the reminder of who truly held her fate.
He was not like his brother, whose laughter and easy banter could disarm anyone; nor was his mother’s serene warmth like Mia’s quiet acceptance; nor was Gabriella’s effervescent joy.
Luc was something colder. Something dangerous.
Mia lowered her eyes to her plate and silently prayed she would survive Luc Valachi for a year.
A couple of hours later, Mia stood on the balcony, her face tilted to the heavens.
Moonlight silvered the waves below, the ocean’s restless call whispering for her to run outside to surrender and lose herself in its depths.
Mia smiled at her fancy, and then she sensed Luc before she saw him—his scent, a heady blend of his cologne and something dangerous, curling around her like smoke.
She did not turn when his voice came, smooth and low, purring through the shadows.
“Are you unable to sleep?”
His voice drifted across from the balcony beside hers. Only then did Mia realize that the connecting door in her chamber must lead directly into his rooms.
“No,” she said softly, her throat tightening. “I just wanted to see the stars and the ocean. I realized I have never felt the sand beneath my feet or the ocean breeze on my face.”
“You’ve never left the convent?”
Mia was almost startled at his interest. “Only a few times, and always for practical matters. I don’t even know how to swim or roller skate.” A soft, embarrassed chuckle slipped out. “I suppose I’m being silly.”
“No,” he said. “Life is meant to be lived, savored. It’s already too short to be endured with empty hopes that will never come true. As my wife, you can do whatever you want.”
She gave a startled laugh. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” His gaze held hers, steady and unyielding.
“What if I wanted a tour through the White House?”
“I will have it arranged.”
Mia blinked, uncertain if he jested. The dangerous glimmer in his eyes made her wonder if he truly could.
A surge of longing ached in her chest for all she had missed—simple, ordinary things that felt like distant dreams. She shoved the thought away, clinging instead to the gratitude she owed the sisters for their love and care.
Yet a small part of her couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like to live, really live, beyond those walls.
“We’ll be married in a few days,” Luc abruptly said.
Mia’s breath tangled in her throat. “So soon?”
“Is there any reason to wait?”
“I suppose not.”
Her fingers tightened on the railing, her pulse fluttering. “Are we… are we to have a… wedding night, or will you give me time?”
He chuckled, low and indulgent. “You sound like one of those heroines Gabriella loves in her Gothic romances. Almost prudish.”
“That is not an answer.”
“There will be no waiting. I’ll enjoy turning you out.”
Heat flared low in Mia’s belly, unbidden and betraying.
She had read enough books to understand his provocative words—the allusion that he meant to corrupt her carnally, to strip her of every trace of prudishness until she was left trembling in shambles beneath his touch.
Shame curled through her chest, tangled with something darker, more dangerous—a spark of want she despised herself for feeling. “I… I think I need some time.”
To Mia’s shock, he vaulted over the railing to stand on her balcony. She backed up until she flushed against the wall, and he followed. He lifted his hand, and his thumb traced the frantic flutter in her throat, his touch deceptively tender.
“There will be no waiting.” A dark chuckle. “I’ll have you under me on our wedding night, mia colombina.”
Luc’s gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering.
Then his hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back with a sharp tug.
A reminder, even here, of who controlled the angle of her breath, the pace of her pulse.
Mia’s body was a traitor—skin flushing where he’d touched her, muscles tensing not to flee but to press closer.
She pressed trembling palms to his chest, nails biting into the fine fabric of his shirt—half-shove, half-clutch—as if her body hadn’t yet decided whether to fight or beg.
He kissed her, his mouth hard, his tongue sliding hotly inside to claim hers. The shock of it stole her breath, but then the heat surged, pulling her under. His tongue tangled with hers, coaxing, demanding, until she had no choice but to yield.
Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, desperate for balance as the world tilted. He tasted of smoke and whiskey, dark and forbidden, yet devastatingly addictive. Every stroke of his mouth sent shivers racing down her spine, until her body arched helplessly closer.
When his knee pressed between her thighs and pushed upward, friction sparked like fire at her core, a sudden, scorching burst that made her gasp into his mouth. The sound only made him kiss her harder, deeper, as though he could devour every protest she tried to hold.
God, I hate how much I want this.
When he tore his mouth from hers, she swayed, knees buckling beneath the weight of her own traitorous need. Luc caught her waist, his grip iron beneath velvet.
His knuckles grazed her collarbone, following the frantic jump of her pulse.
Luc bent, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear—a lover’s caress, a blade’s edge.
“I want to feel your pussy on my tongue.” His teeth scraped her earlobe, just shy of pain.
“Open up, mia colombina, and let me eat you.”
Mia didn’t know where the strength came from, only that suddenly she tore free of his arms and fled into her bedroom, his mocking laugh chasing her like a shadow.