SWNOVELS Sold to the Italian Mafia Boss: Chapter 9
That night, Luca doesn’t sleep with me. I don’t hear from him, and when I’m led to the dining room (embarrassingly wearing the nicest sweater I’ve been given, embarrassingly having done my makeup and my hair), I discover that I’ll be eating dinner alone. I do, fuming quietly to myself. I think about Arthur. About how that meeting went—how Luca grabbed me so possessively, so performatively, and kissed me…how much I liked it when I should have hated it.
Luca—the asshole—he did me a favor in there. He discovered something in the accounts that I foolishly managed to overlook. He protected me, even if it benefited him, too. When is he going to stop doing that? What if he never does? What if this marriage, this lie, this ruse of a marriage—somehow, in some twisted way, becomes a real one?
I don’t see Luca all the next day, but I do wake up to a gift—a laptop with internet. And all of my accounts and contacts loaded in. There’s a note tucked between the screen and the keyboard. Get to work, McNamara. Luca
I don’t know why it makes me smile. I get dressed and have coffee and biscuits delivered to my room. It feels better than I thought it would, to be myself, to be working. And digging into the accounts feels good, too. I keep glancing at the note, at Luca’s fine handwriting. Imagining his fingers on it. Remembering the way he touched me that night. Wanting, so deeply, so badly for him to do it again. Even though we shouldn’t. It won’t serve me at all to get any closer to him. And at the end of the day, Luca remains my enemy. He remains my captor. I should hate him, and some part of me does.
But some part of me likes him. Respects him. And wants him so badly I can barely breathe.
I work until night falls, and when I’m told Luca once again won’t be joining me for dinner, I take it in my room, cross-legged on the silk duvet in my pajamas, drinking a glass of local pinot noir. And that’s how I fall asleep, and that’s how I wake up, with him standing over me.
I wake slowly, eyelids lifting, still heavy with wine. The glass is on its side on the white duvet, a bloody stain spreading out from it. The laptop is dead, my dinner tray empty. And Luca stands over me, silk shirt open, a beautiful tie loose over his shoulder. Wordless, he reaches for me and brushes his fingertips over my lips.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, still half-asleep, disoriented. “The wine…”
“I’ll get another.” Not a hint of anger or annoyance in his voice. His fingers trace my lips slowly, his touch velvet, awakening heat between my legs as easily as flipping a switch. “I missed you.”
I missed you? My breath hitches hard. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” His voice is so soft, only a murmur. “It’s true. We agreed not to lie to one another.” Slowly, he kneels. My heart bashes into my ribs. Don’t, I beg him. But I can’t say it because it’s not real. It’s not true. I just want it to be. I just need it to be. Don’t touch me. Don’t make me melt. Don’t make me come. Don’t make me feel something for you that isn’t ice, that isn’t steel, that isn’t hate.
But he can’t hear me because I don’t say a word of this. And even if he did hear me, would he stop? Or would he know, like I know, that that’s not what I really want? Would he see through me, like he already does?
His mouth grazes the inside of my knee, and I swallow a gasp. Delicately, tenderly, he spreads my thighs, running his tongue up the inside of one. I clench my teeth, lying back on the pillows, sliding my hands into his dark curls. His breath is hot between my legs, his palms rougher than I thought they’d be as they search up and down my thighs, slow and decadent. He grips my ass, slowly pulling me closer to the edge of the bed.
I bite my cheek as he drags his tongue up higher, as he brushes my silk nightgown up over my hips. He hooks his thumbs through my panties, unfurling them easily and tugging them down over my thighs, letting them fall to circle around one of my ankles.
I brace myself, tension stacked hard in the base of my spine as his hot breath returns between my thighs. I’m shaking. Embarrassed to want him as badly as I do. Embarrassed to melt in his hands when he’s only touched me once before. He waits there, his thumbs stroking circles on my hips.
Against my skin, he murmurs, his voice barely a growl, “Tell me what you want, Kate.”
Fuck. It’s a way out. An excuse to tell him to back off, to get his hands off me. It’s an open door. It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card. “Lick me.”
He does. I shudder, clutching his hair, a gasp working through me as he drags the flat of his tongue between my legs, slowly, delicately: savoring. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He opens his mouth, his beard grazing my skin. He shifts, tongue stroking me softly, so lightly I can feel him only enough to drive me crazy; an instant later, his finger slides inside me.
I fall back against the pillows, trembling, a moan escaping me raggedly. His rhythm is slow, commanding. I lift my hips and fall into him, against him, his face, his fingers. I feel like my whole body is coming apart. Every cell burning off, disintegrating. His rhythm quickens, and another finger enters me, and with his tongue working against me, it takes only a moment before I can’t hold back my orgasm any longer. I’m not even embarrassed when I break apart, my moans rising, rising until I’m crying out his name, rocking my hips against him. He quickens his fingers, applies his tongue harder, and I shatter, coming so hard I feel myself leave the room, feel myself fall into sheer ecstasy. When I slam back into my body, my spine is arched, my hands gripping fistfuls of his hair.
I collapse, panting, sweat beading beneath my arms and on my lower back. Luca licks me again, more softly. He kisses the inside of one thigh and the other slowly, still taking his time. Still enjoying me. He kisses my knee and slides my panties back into place. He pulls my nightgown back down over my legs. All the while, I lie back, breathing hard. Spent. He shifts, lying back on the bed beside me.
After a moment of lying there, of slowly touching back to earth, I start to get sheepish. I feel my face flush, and as if reading my mind, Luca reaches over and tugs the throw from the foot of the bed over me. What the hell is this? Taking care of me? But fuck it—why fight it right now, in the middle of the night? Why not just admit that I missed him, and enjoy this, crazy as it might be?
“Where have you been?” I ask him softly, looking at him sideways. He tips his head to look at me, too, our eyes meeting in the dark. Something about it feels sweet, almost innocent. Like children at a sleepover. His hand falls to my thigh, stroking idly. Not even sexually. The gesture is warm, possessive. Like a boyfriend. “I missed you.”
He smiles sharply. “Did you, now?”
I nod. “I don’t know why.”
“I’m spoiling you. That’s why.”
I flush more deeply but don’t bother hiding my smile. “I guess you are.”
He brushes his knuckles over my cheekbone. “I was checking up on some things. Making sure Arthur is doing as he’s told.”
“And? Is he?”
“So far.” His eyes glitter. “I think you really scared him.”
“Me? You’re the one who brought him there without me knowing. You’re the one who kidnapped and married me.” I cock a brow. “You’re the one he should be afraid of.”
His hand pauses on my face. “Am I, Kate? Are you certain of that?”
I bite my cheek. At the restaurant, when I snapped at Arthur, I meant it. Some of the reaction was genuine; a lot of it was a put-on. Luca seems to forget, as I do about him, just how alike we are. Just how much we’ve lived and operated in the same dangerous world. We both know how to play this game, as much as we’re betting the other isn’t outplaying us.
“I don’t want to be locked up in here,” I say. “I don’t like it.”
Luca sighs, dropping his hand from my face and relaxing onto his back, staring hard up at the ceiling. “Even with the laptop?”
“Yes. Even with the laptop.” I hesitate. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the internet access was partially restricted.”
“I can’t have you putting out a distress call. Though,” he adds, turning to look at me, “I suppose the world already knows where you are. The Russians came. Others might. It’s less likely, now word of our marriage is spreading. But your father has failed to send anyone. Why do you think that is, Kate?”
“Honestly?”
He nods.
“I think it could be one of a few things. One,” I tick off a finger. “He thinks I know what I’m doing and can get myself out of it. Two—you’re right. And he thinks I’m most valuable here as your wife, a lifelong hostage, and potential mother of your children. Or three…” I hesitate, and Luca’s hand slides over my thigh again, thumb stroking a soothing circle. This time the gesture isn’t idle at all but calculated. Askance. OK, you really wanna know? I drop my hand and look at him squarely, unblinking. “Three: he’s planning a much larger scale attack and is taking time to get it together properly.”
“And four?” His thumb strokes more roughly, more pointedly. Heat awakens in me again. Pours across every inch of my skin, slowly, deliciously. I try my best to ignore it. “He doesn’t come at all. The cost is sunk.”
I feel the blood drain out of my face. “Yeah,” I admit. “That’s a possibility.”
“Would it trouble you?”
“My father did everything he could to keep me out of his world. He did everything he could to protect me.” I bite my cheek, sighing and turning to gaze up at the ceiling. “And when he couldn’t protect me, he did everything he could to save me, to make it up to me. Always. There was never a time I thought he wouldn’t come for me.”
“Perhaps,” says Luca, “he should not have put you in danger in the first place.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know him.”
I sit up, stung, looking at Luca hard. “You don’t. You know your own father but not mine. Everything he’s done, he’s done for me. For my family. Everything he’s done, he’s done to protect me, to make my future better—”
“Bullshit.” Luca sighs, sitting up, then standing. He grimaces as he pulls off his shirt, not bothering to fold it tonight. I watch moonlight glance off his chest, off the curve of each bicep, his hard rigid abs. Don’t. Don’t look at him like that, I command myself. It’s not an easy order to follow. “Your father is a gangster, Kate. A dog, like all the rest.”
I blanch, stunned. “And your father? What was he, some saint?”
“He was a dog, too. As am I.” He turns to me sharply, anger snapping across his face. His eyes darken to twin storms, his brows low. “As is every man in this building, every man who carries a gun and calls himself a mobster. You’re naïve to think any differently.”
“You’re jaded not to,” I snap back, standing. “I’m a good person. My father is a good person. And you—”
“Me?” He turns again, this time stepping close enough to make me step back. He catches me by both wrists, roughly enough to make me gasp, and yanks me against him, our eyes locked. “You don’t know me, Kate. You know that you want me. You know that you shouldn’t trust me. You know that you like when I make you come. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let your judgment be clouded. At the end of the day, you’re as much a bartering chip to me as anything else.”
“Fuck you,” I say through my teeth. “I’ve known you for a week. I’ve fucked you once. Do you think I’m some stupid little schoolgirl who’s going to fall in love with you?” I jerk both hands free but hold my ground, stepping even closer, looking hard up into his face. “I told you. You’re a good salesman, that’s all. And I’ve listened to your pitch. I’ve bought into it. So don’t talk down to me like you’re my superior—you’re not. You’ll never have me believe that you are.”
He stares down at me, expression almost blank. I realize I’ve shocked him. Good. It makes my heart race. And I don’t know if he’s going to grab me or kiss me or fuck me or lock me up, and that makes my heart race even faster. I wait, but as soon as I realize I’m waiting, I realize I’m also giving him the power here. And haven’t I done enough of that?
“Get in the bathroom,” I say, more softly but still sternly. “We need to change your bandages.” And without waiting for his answer, I stalk away and expect him to follow.
After a moment, he does.