Isabella
I step back from Alessandro's embrace as the music fades. His confidence infuriates me, mostly because he's right. My body betrays me at every turn, responding to his touch like it was made for him.
"It's getting late." I work to keep my voice disinterested, despite the desire coursing through me.
The walk back to our villa passes in silence. I keep a careful distance between us, afraid of what might happen if I allow myself to fall under his spell again.
I linger on the terrace, unwilling to face what waits in the bedroom. I’m not a virgin, so that’s not what scares me. It's the waning control I have when he’s attentive that bothers me.
The day has left me confused. Alessandro has been generous. Kind. Human. Combined with soft touches, the way he held me dancing, I felt like I did on the rooftop. Like he hungered for me. But I don’t want to be made a fool again.
"What are you thinking?" Alessandro's voice startles me. He stands in the doorway, jacket discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms.
"That this doesn't make sense," I admit. "One moment ,you're cold as ice, the next..."
He moves beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth. "The next?"
"The next, you make me forget all the reasons I shouldn't trust you."
His fingers brush mine on the railing. "Perhaps there are fewer reasons than you think."
I want to believe him. God help me, I want to fall into whatever this is between us. But the daughter of Marco Vitale knows better than to trust beautiful things offered without the promise of something in return. What does he want from me?
His hand covers mine on the railing. "Isabella—"
"I think I'll turn in." I pull my hand away. "It's been a long day."
Alessandro nods once, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I'll join you shortly."
My stomach flips at the implications. The bedroom. Our wedding night. The bed we're meant to share as husband and wife.
I grab my suitcase and take it into the large bathroom. I close the door and take a breath. It’s only day one of this marriage and I’m already feeling like I’m losing myself.
I open my suitcase and rifle through looking for something frumpy to wear to bed. Soon, I’m taking out every item as I realize my servant didn’t pack pajamas. Instead, there's only sheer fabric and delicate lace in various shades of bridal white.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, holding up a nearly transparent camisole that would barely cover the essentials.
The deeper I dig into my bag, the more lingerie I find.
I consider sleeping in my dress but quickly dismiss the idea as impractical. With a defeated sigh, I select the least revealing option, a white silk chemise with thin straps and a hem that hits mid-thigh. It's still more revealing than I'd like, but at least it covers the important parts.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Alessandro is already waiting by the bed, his back to me. I dash across the room and slide beneath the covers, pulling them up to my chin.
"I hope you don't mind the right side," I say stiffly. I roll away from him and shut my eyes, willing sleep to come.
It doesn’t. Instead, my hearing is now hyperaware of every sound in the room. Alessandro rustling about. The sound of fabric being shed.
My imagination fills in what I refuse to look at. Broad shoulders and chest emerging from his shirt. His large, strong hands unfastening his belt.
"Are you really pretending to sleep?" His voice cuts through my thoughts.
I keep my eyes firmly closed. "I'm trying. You sure are loud."
“And you’re a coward.”
Incensed, I open my eyes and turn over. Big mistake. Alessandro stands by the bed, completely naked. The moon shines through the window, casting its light over every sculpted muscle. He’s like a freaking Adonis.
My mouth goes dry. "What are you doing?" I clutch the sheets tighter, not to keep him out but to keep me from reaching for him.
"Getting ready for bed." His smile is infuriatingly smug. "This is how I sleep."
I scoff, forcing my gaze away from his body. "Well, find something to wear. This isn't your bachelor pad."
"It's my honeymoon suite." He slides under the covers beside me, and I press myself against the edge of the mattress. "With my wife."
"A wife you've barely spoken to for days," I snap. "A wife you treated like a stranger."
Alessandro turns toward me, propping himself up on one elbow. “I’ve been nothing but attentive today.”
Ugh. The gall of him. “You don’t get to ignore me and then expect me to warm your bed."
"And what about when I'm not ignoring you?" His voice drops to a deep, sexy timbre. "Like tonight?"
I swallow hard. "No manipulation either. No using this chemistry between us when it suits you."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" His fingers ghost over my bare shoulder, and I fight not to shiver.
"What else would it be?"
"Perhaps I simply want my wife."
It’s hard to fight against those words. What woman wouldn’t want to be desired, especially by a man like Alessandro?
But I do my best, turning away from him. "I'm trying to sleep. If you're so desperate for sex, there's the door. I'm sure you can find someone willing."
The minute I say the words, I regret them. Infidelity runs rampant in my world. I’ve just given him permission to start on our wedding night.
"Is that what you want?" His voice is calm, as if it’s a solution he’ll consider if that’s what I want. "For me to find another woman on our wedding night?"
I clench my jaw, refusing to answer.
His fingertips trail along my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. "Because I think we both know that's not what either of us wants."
I hate how my body responds to his touch. I hate even more that I do want him. "What I want is not to be toyed with. You act nice when you want something, but once you have it, you’re cold and cruel."
His lips brush against my shoulder, and it’s all I can do not to moan. I fight the instinct to melt into his touch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my response.
"Stop it.”
Alessandro pauses, his breath warm against my skin. "Do you really want me to?"
"What I want doesn't matter. This is just another game to you."
Alessandro's hand catches my chin, turning my face toward him with authority. His touch isn't painful, but it's firm enough that I can't look away. A darkness flashes in his eyes.
"I can take whatever I want from you," Alessandro growls. "You're mine now."
The possessiveness in his words should repulse me, but something primal inside me responds to it. Still, I refuse to yield. What my body wants and what is best for my sanity in this marriage are two different things.
“You don’t own me.”
His thumb traces my lower lip. "The certificate says you're my wife. The law says you're mine. Your father signed you over to me like property."
I try to jerk my face away, but he holds firm. "Then you're no better than him."
Something flickers in his eyes that I think might be regret. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go. "No. I'm much worse. I won’t be denied, Isabella."
My breath catches. Fear prickles along my skin. Would he force himself on me if I refused? The thought sends conflicting waves of terror and arousal through me. I realize I've backed myself into a corner with this dangerous man, a man who is my husband.
"Fine." I lie back against the pillows. "Do whatever you want. That's what this marriage is about, isn't it? Taking what you want?"
I stare at the ceiling, trying to detach myself from what's about to happen. My body goes rigid, arms flat at my sides.
Alessandro's expression darkens. He pulls back, something like disgust crossing his features.
"Is that what you think of me?" His voice drops low. "That I would force myself on an unwilling woman?"
“You said yourself that you won’t be denied.”
He shakes his head. "I don't need to force you, Isabella." His fingers trace the curve of my collarbone, leaving fire in their wake. "Remember how it was on the rooftop? How you trembled under my hands? How you begged me to take you?"
The memory floods back and my body betrays me, nipples hardening, breath catching.
"I could make you feel that way again.” His hand hovers over my stomach, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palm. "Better, even."
I swallow hard, desire pooling between my thighs even as I will my mind to resist him.
"I intend to touch you tonight, Wife," Alessandro says. "And by the time I'm done, you'll be begging me to fuck you, just like you did on that rooftop."
My traitorous body responds with a shiver of anticipation, and I hate myself for wanting him.
"I barely touched you before you were wet for me." His words are deliberately crude, and they work. I’m wet and hot, my body humming with need.
“You were already hard… that doesn’t prove—”
“It proves that we’re good together in bed.” His hand drifts lower. "Tell me to stop and I will."
The heat pulsing between my legs makes it impossible to think clearly.
"Nothing to say? Then perhaps you want me to continue." Alessandro's hand disappears beneath the sheets. I should stop him. I should scream or fight. Instead, I lie paralyzed between a growing need I can’t control and hating myself for my weakness.
"Do you trust me?" he asks, his eyes never leaving mine, his fingers teasing the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner thigh.
The question catches me off guard. "No.”
A slow smile curves his lips. "Good. You shouldn't."
Before I can process his words, he's reaching for his discarded belt. In one fluid motion, he captures both my wrists, pulling them above my head.
"What are you—"
"Showing you who's in control." He loops the leather around my wrists and secures them to the ornate headboard.
Panic flares through me. I tug against the restraint. "Alessandro—"
"Shh," he soothes, his palm sliding down my arm, over my shoulder, across my collarbone. "I won't hurt you, Isabella."
His fingers trace the neckline of my negligee. Then he hooks one finger beneath the strap, sliding it down my shoulder.
"You have two choices. Tell me to stop, and I'll untie you. We'll sleep on opposite sides of this bed like strangers. If that’s your choice, remember, you’re the one icing me out."
His finger traces the other strap, sliding it down too. "Or surrender to me tonight, and I'll make you feel things you've only imagined."
With one sharp movement, he tears the delicate fabric down the middle. My negligee falls open, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
I should be outraged, but instead, liquid heat pools between my thighs, my nipples hardening even more.
"Which will it be, Wife?" Alessandro asks, his palm hovering just above my bare breast, not quite touching.
The word Stop sits on my tongue. Yet it refuses to come.
Instead, my body arches, wanting to feel his palm on my breasts. "I..." How can I want this man who's shown me nothing but indifference until tonight?
Alessandro's eyes darken. "There she is.” His voice is triumphant. "My wife. Mine."