Chapter 13 Nicole #3
My stomach clenches. ‘I’m always the one in control’ is supposed to be my line.
Especially in moments like this: one-on-one, tension thick, a dangerously attractive man across from me.
That’s usually my arena. I make them sweat, stammer, surrender.
But right now, it’s the seams of my armor that are splitting, and Gaetano is pulling the strings.
I check the black hands of the clock for confirmation. If I don’t act now, I’ll lose this round, too.
I rise and circle the table. His mouth curves into a smile as I grasp his hands. The heat that surges through my fingers at the contact is startling. I shift quickly, placing his hands in his lap.
Perching on the edge of the table, right in front of him, I lift one leg to settle it over his thighs.
My robe parts, revealing the red lace of my underwear.
I don’t shy away. Instead, I plant both palms on the table behind me, arching my back just enough to make the satin-covered swell of my breasts jut forward, copying the figure on the card.
Gaetano’s gaze slides down the line of the robe between my breasts, over the exposed skin of my stomach, to the lace that conceals almost nothing, and finally, the bare stretch of my thighs.
“Do I have your attention now?” I say in a low murmur.
His fists clench atop his thighs. The chain makes a faint rattling sound. “You always have my attention, Baroness. The question is—what will you do with it?”
My pulse quickens. I tilt my head back ever so slightly, letting my hair cascade over my shoulders. The movement exposes my throat, and the satin robe slips down my arms, revealing my shoulders.
The air between us crackles, an invisible current dancing over my skin. The clock ticks. Seconds pass.
Why do I feel as though I’m the one being tested?
If he were a normal man, I might lean in close and whisper that he could touch me…if he dared. But Gaetano isn’t a normal man—and I’m not certain I want to find out what would happen if he does.
Still, I’m not ready to lose.
“Now I understand why this is your favorite card. You can’t be tempted…” I let my fingers drift along my exposed thigh. His gaze tracks the movement. “Because you don’t like women, do you?”
Amusement flickers in his expression, but it quickly vanishes as his attention shifts elsewhere.
More specifically, to my hand creeping up my thigh.
Power surges through me, tipping the scales back in my favor.
I interpret this as my signal to push forward.
My voice dips lower. “Magic is your only weapon against me, isn’t it, Gaetano? ”
His features darken in a second.
My fingers halt at the edge of my underwear just as the golden chain jingles around his wrists. Then, it vanishes into thin air. The atmosphere thickens, charged with the force of an impending storm. I swallow hard.
Before I can grasp what’s happening, he surges forward, towering over me and forcing me flat against the table, his body pinning mine down. One hand seizes my wrists, trapping them above my head; the other clamps onto my knee, fingers digging into my skin and anchoring me in place.
I try to kick out, but he’s too strong—his weight holds me fast. When he leans in, his torso presses between my thighs. A shiver coils low in my belly, unwelcome and confusing.
I hold my breath. He scans my features, causing the heat to intensify. They settle on my lips, and instinctively, I wet them with my tongue.
My heartbeat thunders between us. He’s going to kiss me.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
His scent fills my lungs. The distance between our mouths shrinks to mere inches.
His lips stop above mine. “You’re right, Baroness,” he murmurs. “Magic is my weapon. My kiss…is a reward you’ve yet to earn.”
His body presses fully against mine, making me aware of every sinewy muscle and solid line. Then, he pulls back.
It takes me a few seconds to understand what just happened.
A fire burns in my chest—part anger, part something much more menacing.
“Arrogant, self-obsessed bastard!” I shout, with no care whether my parents hear.
“The game is over,” he says. “You win.”
My lips part in startled disbelief, but the words never quite reach my tongue. The air around me quivers—rippling as if disturbed by some unseen wave—and in the blink of an eye, everything…disappears. Gaetano, the cards, the ticking clock. Even the table beneath me dissolves into nothingness.
A split second later, the ground rushes up to meet me. I land on the carpet with a sharp thud, pain spreading along my spine as the impact reverberates upward.
I barely manage to catch my breath before the door flies open with a dramatic swing and my mother bursts into the room. She hurries toward me, her silk nightdress fluttering around her ankles. “Nicole, what on earth is going on?”
My gaze darts around the room, my pulse thundering in my ears. He’s gone. No cards, no sign of the Black Joker. Just me, disheveled, in nothing but a dressing gown, sprawled in a rather undignified manner on the floor.
“Nothing…”
My mother scans the room. “Then why did you scream?”
I press my lips together, scramble to my feet, and frantically smooth out the creases in my dressing gown. “I…tripped.”
She frowns. I might have sounded more convincing if my cheeks weren’t burning crimson. With a weary sigh, she lifts a hand to her temple. “Nicole, you’ve been acting so odd these past few days. What’s going on with you?”
My heart skips. I don’t know, Mom. Maybe it’s the late-night card games with death, the casual flirting with my own nightmare, or the slow, creeping realization that I may not be as untouchable as I once believed.
But my mother is the last person I’d ever confide in. She lost my trust the moment she stepped back and left the parenting to Dad. Occasional instances of care won’t change that.
I shrug. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.”