32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maximo
Beads of sweat cascade off my body, dripping onto the belt of my treadmill.
I run every morning in my gym. It helps keep my mind clear and burn off excess energy before the day begins.
After returning from Aldo’s estate, however, I need another session. I’m more wound up than I care to admit.
I increase the incline. Then crank it up some more.
The machine obeys immediately. Unlike a certain young woman who’s hell-bent on defying me.
The frustrating part is that her willfulness should irritate me. Instead, I remember the fire in her eyes when she challenged me.
I find it intoxicating. And that’s a mistake.
A wife should bring peace, not be a distraction. Yet I keep imagining what it would take to finally make her stop fighting me, to look at me with that same fire and choose to yield to me.
God, that’s a satisfying thought.
How long would that defiance survive once she was mine?
The image of her backed against the wall outside her bedroom rises uninvited. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth was so damn tempting.
Mia had walked away from me before I was finished with her. I was never going to let that slide.
I’d been livid, but once I had her cornered, all I cared about was how badly I wanted to drag her against me and kiss her again… or bend her over my knee for her disrespect.
The fact that both options appeal equally is concerning. Neither eases the tension coiling low in my body.
Her lips would have won out, though.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have followed her upstairs.
Somehow, being that close to her had stripped away my usual restraint.
I’d told her how worried I’d been.
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That’s the problem. The words had come out before I could stop them.
For nearly an hour, nobody knew where she was, and it drove me crazy. I checked security feeds myself, had Rafa and Remo on the case. We even prepared search plans.
It was a disproportionate response to a woman I’m not even engaged to yet. That thought does nothing to improve my mood.
The treadmill hums beneath me, and I focus on the burn in my legs. I try to think about anything but dark eyes and stubborn lips.
I want progress, which means her wearing my ring and sleeping in my bed, her belly round with my child.
I lower the treadmill speed and brace my hands on the rails, dragging air into my lungs.
This is only day two of her here in Chicago.
Why the hell am I so impatient?
I will get there.