23. Psychological Warfare #3
“I have only one rule for you. You always tell me where you are and who you are with. If you plan to leave this apartment, it’s with me or at least one of my men every time. You never go anywhere alone.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. “Actually…two rules. You attempt to get to know me.”
I wasn’t expecting that, and I hated how my heart fluttered a little at the thought of getting to know this man better.
That felt… detrimental to my mission. I’d just have to keep my questions light and superficial.
He’d want out of this marriage soon enough when he realised what a headache he’d married.
“Fine,” I agreed. “But I want two rules as well.”
“I’m a fair man.”
My mind worked frantically to think of things men would hate. “When you’re not with me, I also want to know where you are and what you’re doing.”
He chuckled, leaning his arms on the table. “Okay. And the second?”
“We’re married, and you’re super rich. So I get to buy pretty things, right?”
He smiled, but I could tell from the slight twitch of his left eye that it surprised him. He didn’t have me down as a gold digger because I wasn’t. I worked hard to earn my money, and I couldn’t give a crap about material things, but I wasn’t trying to be me. Quite the opposite.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black credit card, sliding it towards me. “Already had this for you. What’s mine is yours, wife.”
“Grazie,” I said with a wide smile, twisting the card between my fingers. Agenda for today: an online shopping spree for the girliest shit he’s ever seen.
“So, ask me anything.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“I didn’t,” he answered, which made me frown.
“I had work to do. Being in Verona for the past four days and focusing on ruining your sham of a wedding and planning our real one meant I’d neglected a lot of my responsibilities.
Why?” One side of his lip curled into a teasing smirk. “Did you miss me?”
I was about to roll my eyes, but then I remembered that’s how the real Aria would react.
“Actually, you really hurt my feelings. It was our wedding night, and you didn’t even cuddle me,” I whined and pouted.
He caught himself before he laughed. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I like being cuddled to sleep, especially after an orgasm.”
A flicker of possessiveness crossed his features as he realised we’d never done that, so I'd just suggested that’s what I liked with past lovers.
“Noted,” he husked.
“Why do I need a bodyguard? You were the person my father was trying to protect me from, and my last one had a rather grim track record. I think I’d be better off fending for myself.”
He frowned. “These questions aren’t about me.”
“But they are questions. And believe it or not, Signor Buccini, the world does not revolve around you.”
“Really? It doesn’t?” he teased. “My name carries a lot of weight in Italy. Mostly, it means no one will dare to fuck with you. But enemies lurk everywhere. You’re important to me, so I need to keep you safe. Think of the bodyguard as an extension of me when I can’t be there to do it myself.”
“An extension of you?”
“Si,” he answered slowly, drawing out the word. “Not me as your husband, but me as your protector. My turn. How did marrying D'Ardenzi come about?”
I froze and gulped at the serious look on his face. Licking my lips, I tried to keep my answer brief and factual.
“He’s been interested in me for a while. My father wanted me to date someone who could take care of me, and then… you happened. Callum proposed marriage as a way to keep me safe from you, because, apparently, Buccini men never mess with married women.”
I glanced up at him when he hadn’t responded, and tingles shot between my legs at the intensity in his eyes.
“It wouldn’t have stopped me,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, and hot. I instinctively pulled at the hem of the T-shirt, feeling too exposed. “Even if you’d married him.”
We held each other’s gaze, and I felt myself falling into that black abyss of temptation again. I shook my head slightly and broke eye contact.
“Ask me something else,” I said, changing the topic.
He hooked his foot around my chair leg and dragged it towards him.
I squealed, then sucked in a breath as his knees bracketed mine and his hands trailed up my thighs, his fingers teasing beneath the hem.
I stared into his eyes, forgetting everything as he inched closer, his breath ghosting across my lips.
“Do you want me to kiss you, wife?” he whispered, his lips so close to mine I could almost feel them.
My whole body set alight with need, and I tried to focus on breathing normally rather than falling further under his spell.
“No,” I said, sounding utterly unconvinced.
We stared. The magnetism grew.
“Okay,” he replied, then stood up as if nothing had happened, placing his hands on his hips and practically forcing me to be eye-level with his delicious abs.
I touched them before I could stop myself, running fingers across the hard ridges that made my mouth water.
Damn. Our eyes met as I yanked my hand away, wanting to chop it off for being so traitorous.
“Just checking you’re not contouring those things.”
“All natural, baby. Any other parts of me you want to check?”
“No. I’m good.”
He chuckled. “I need to make a few calls. I’ll be in my office if you need me. Why don’t you take a warm bath and get familiar with the place?”
My gaze slid down his rippling back muscles and firm ass as he walked away. I groaned, slapping both hands against my face repeatedly to get my head back in the game.
Time to become the most annoying wife possible.