by Bethany-Kris
Right fucking there.
Brown eyes bore into hers.
He was close enough for her to touch.
Ginevra stared up at him, words catching in her throat as that heat shot through her nerves all over again. Electric. It really was the only appropriate way to describe what she felt whenever this man was near. Like something was buzzing around them—something different and important and amazing.
He seemed willing to ignore it.
She wasn’t.
Not anymore.
“Tell me how you know, then,” he said, his head dipping lower so that she could feel the warmth of his breath whispering along her lips. “I’m waiting, Ginny.”
Her gaze dropped between them.
And then, it came back up.
She couldn’t manage to feel embarrassed about the heat staining her cheeks as she whispered, “You’re hard.”
And he was.
Under the thin, satiny fabric of the gym shorts, the ridge of his erection was plain to see pushing against the material. She didn’t think he was wearing anything else under the shorts, not that she minded. It gave her a good view.
It proved something, too.
She affected him.
Corrado blinked once, slow and considering, his stare drifting over her face, down her throat, and then back up again where his eyes lingered on her lips. The action alone was enough to make her wet her lips, and swallow hard.
“You shouldn’t poke a monster,” he murmured.
“I only see a man, Corrado.”
“It’s what’s hiding in the man that might scare you, amour.”
“Just how many languages can you speak?”
Corrado’s mouth edged higher at the corners. “That’s the question you want to ask right now.”
“Why not?”
“Surprising me again, Ginny.”
She finally figured out what he meant when he told her that, too. Everyone else would ask the obvious question, and she didn’t. She asked the things he wasn’t expecting, and it constantly kept him on his toes.
“How many?” she asked.
“I grew up speaking three,” he replied. “French and Italian from my father’s side of the family—French from the Quebecois side, and Italian from ... well, we’re a touch more Italian than French. And also English, of course.”
“Is that all?”
“I know a bit of Russian, enough to get me through a conversation. Some German, but not nearly enough. And I might take on something else, if it interests me.”
Ginevra nodded, and her gaze dropped between them again ... just to check. “And you’re still hard. Is that all it takes, just a conversation with me to get your cock up, Corrado?”
“I shouldn’t be feeling anything about you at all, but certainly not that.”
“But why?”
He inched closer, his body molding against hers all at once, taking away her breath, and making her incredibly aware of every nerve ending inside her. He smelled like leather and musk—maybe a touch of whiskey, too.
It stunned her.
“You are far too innocent to be playing that kind of game with a man like me,” he said, his tone dipping dangerously again. “I promise you that, Ginny. The things I’ve done in bed would make you run. You’re looking for something that’s going to be fun for you, and I only like to ruin things, woman. I take beautiful things, and I wreck them.”
She didn’t think so.
That only made her hotter.
And curious.
“Would you tell me those things?”
Corrado let out a dark sound, a noise that seemed like it tore right out of his fucking chest. Except, she didn’t get the chance to admire the sound, or the way his features shadowed because in the next breath, he was kissing her.
There was nothing soft about the kiss—nothing sweet. The roughness of his lips slamming against hers was enough to have her stomach clenching, and her heart racing. His tongue swept the seam of her lips, demanding. Like the rest of his kiss, and touches, too. One of his hands tangled into the waves of her hair, and the other landed hard to her hip, fisting into the thin cotton shorts she’ll pulled on for bed.
He took and took and took.
Lips that worked harshly against hers, their tongues warring, though he controlled that, too. And then his teeth slid against her lower lip before tugging. His mouth moved lower, a sharp heat following the same path when his teeth grazed her skin. Just as quickly, he came back up to claim her mouth again with another bruising kiss that felt like he wanted to suck the fucking soul right out of her.
She’d give it to him.
If he asked, he could have that.
He dragged her closer, grinding her body against his, and making that heat travel lower. Until her thighs ached from it, and she was sure her shorts were wet, too.
Then, all at once, Corrado stepped back from her. It happened so fast, that she didn’t know what to make of it, or the sudden stiffness in his body as he refused to meet her gaze. She could see the need vibrating through him, the way his jaw flexed as his tongue swept his lower lip, tasting her there.
Still, he kept that distance.
He stayed stiff.
“Corrado—”
“Don’t,” he said thickly, a shake of his head punctuating the words.
Something painful hit her in the chest.
It felt like rejection.
Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“There’ll be a box on your bed later,” he said, turning away from her. “I trust that the girl at the shop picked out something appropriate, and that you’ll like it. I know that you picked up your makeup and whatever else women like when we went shopping, so put it to use. Be ready for six—we have somewhere to be.”
Ginevra, refusing to show the hurt she felt, asked, “For what?”
“A mutual birthday party. For me, my twin, and my oldest brother, Marcus. Our birthday already happened, but Marcus’s is coming up. Our parents like to ... do a big thing for it.”
Oh.
“When was your birthday?”
Corrado looked at her, then, something unknown flashing across his face. “Huh.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I just ... wish you would quit doing that. Surprising me, I mean. You should tell me to fuck off right now, not ask when my birthday was. Don’t care about me, Ginny.”
“Why not? Is that such a bad thing?”
“Because I’m only going to hurt you.”
She shrugged.
“But will you really, though?”
Corrado’s jaw tensed, and he let out a hard breath that almost sounded like defeat. “Girl, you have no idea the mess you just walked into here. No fucking idea at all.”
Probably not.
A part of her still didn’t care, either.
“Now, go,” he uttered.
Ginevra did, but not because he told her to. No, she spun around and left the gym because the ache between her thighs was so deep now that if she didn’t do something, then there was no telling what might happen. She was positive Corrado had been able to see the heat climbing in her cheeks, and the way she clenched her legs together in an effort to soothe that ache.
She didn’t need to be more humiliated.
This was enough.
And yet, even as she put distance between her and Corrado—one step after another until she was inside her bedroom, and slamming the door behind her—it did nothing. Nothing to help the heat curling around her throat like it was his hand there, squeezing tight. Nothing to make the need coursing through her bloodstream go away. Nothing to help the clenching of her muscles, or the fact she couldn’t catch her breath. Nothing to make that fucking stupid ache better.
How did a kiss make her that crazy?
That stupid?
That high?
God.
It was unfair.
And she just needed to feel better.
Ginevra’s back hit the door, and she ac
ted on her need, and nothing else. Slipping a hand under the waistband of her cotton sleep shorts, she found her pussy wet already. Not that she was surprised, she’d felt the fucking wetness back there with him. It’d been far too long since she’d had release, or even thought about it, really.
Life was more important.
Everything else came first.
She came last.
But not right now.
Ginevra’s fingers worked that wetness she found at her slit higher, rubbing it into her throbbing clit with small, tight circles that had her whining, and grinding into her own hand. More, that’s what she needed.
So much fucking more.
She thought about him, then, and the way he watched her when he thought she didn’t see. The way his mouth felt as it worked against hers. How his hands felt splayed along her skin, or grabbing tight like he didn’t want to let her go.
Those circles at her clit came faster.
Her noises became louder.
She could have tried to hide it ...
She should have tried to be quiet.
Ginevra couldn’t.
And when that orgasm finally came, it felt as punishing as it did good. Like ice water down her spine, numbing her entirely as a broken cry fell from her lips, and a heat shooting straight down to her pussy to remind her she was still empty.
It had been entirely hollow.
Fuck.
Ginevra stared at the bed, and the mussed sheets where she had been sleeping not too long ago. Or rather, the comforter that had been pulled back a bit because she tended to sleep on top of the blankets instead of underneath.
Beds were always cold with only one person.
Too cold, maybe.
This whole place felt cold right now.
She didn’t want to think about that, or what she had just done. Feeling sticky, and sweaty, she just wanted a shower, and to go back to bed.
Pushing away from the door, she turned to grab the handle, pulled it open, and froze right where she stood. Across the hall, leaning in the doorway of his master bedroom, was Corrado. He didn’t look up at her; he didn’t move at all.
But she could see it.
That tightness in his jaw, and the way his tongue peeked out to snake across his lips like he might still be tasting her there. The shadows on his face, and how his next exhale came out harder than the last. His eyes, lowered but dark, when he dared to look up just a bit, although still not enough to look her in the face.
And his erection, still straining against the line of his shorts.
He’d heard her.
He’d listened.
And she didn’t know how to feel about that at all.
What did this man want with her?
Ginevra slipped down the hall toward the main bathroom. Corrado turned, and went into his bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Apparently, this was what they were going to do.
Say nothing, acknowledge nothing.
Perfect.
23.
Corrado
The sky, streaked with colors as it began to darken from the evening, was the backdrop to Corrado’s thoughts as he waited for Ginevra to meet him at the front of the penthouse. He didn’t quite know what to expect for her outfit, but for the fact he told the lady who sent it over from the private boutique what kind of party it would be.
A Guzzi event.
That meant something spectacular.
If he had needed Ginevra in a ballgown or something like that, then he would have let the woman know that, as well. Really, she just needed to look good, and as though she belonged on his arm for the evening. The rest, he was sure she could handle without help.
Still, as his thoughts drifted to Ginevra and the upcoming evening, he also thought about someone else. Or rather, the fact that his cell phone was quiet, and had been for several days. Other than calls from his family, and one to confirm yes, he wanted the white Maserati removed from storage for the night, his phone was silent.
Completely abnormal.
Alessio called often.
It could be possible that Alessio took on a last-minute assignment from The League that took him out of the country, or required him to drop off the radar for a while. Even then, though, he would always let Corrado know.
The silence bothered him.
Something felt wrong.
Corrado couldn’t think on it for long. The click of heels coming down the hallway toward the penthouse’s entrance had him turning his head away from the view at the window in just enough time to see Ginevra come around the corner.
And damn.
What a sight.
It would have been a shame to miss that.
The gray, silk dress with thin straps over her shoulders was tight around the bodice, and cut low. Showing off just a peek of the beige lace bra cups underneath that made her chest look fucking fantastic. His gaze traveled lower, taking in the tightly cinched waist of the dress, and the way it fell over her hips and came to a stop quite a few inches above the knees.
It was short as hell.
She showed off all kinds of leg, and he loved it. He really did. She held tight to a matching clutch in her hand. The strappy, five-inch heels put her at damn near eye-level with him, and every step she took showed off a little more of the olive-toned skin of her thighs. And apparently, a diamond garter around her right thigh that only peeked out when the slit in the skirt of the dress opened with her steps.
It matched the choker at her throat.
And the studs in her ears.
Christ.
Which took his gaze right back up to her face. There, he found her lips were a stark red, and she had somehow managed to paint her innocence away with dark strokes of kohl that smoked her eyes, and mascara that fanned her lashes.
“Beautiful,” Corrado murmured.
Entirely unable to stop himself, too.
He just said it.
It needed to be said.
Like he needed more reminders of just how fucking attractive this woman was because apparently, his body didn’t let him know enough on a daily basis. Like their little moment that morning in the gym wasn’t a huge fucking mistake that he suddenly wanted to make again. Or the fact that as he stood across the hall from her bedroom doorway, listening to her as she got herself off, that he considered breaking her door down because he wanted to be the one doing that.
Guilt.
Lust.
It warred inside him.
He was so fucked.
Not that it mattered.
He was determined to do nothing—say nothing.
It was better this way.
“You think so?” Ginevra asked, coming to stand in front of him. “I didn’t know if this was going to be appropriate for whatever—”
“It’s perfect, and so are you.”
Her stare lifted then to meet his, and he didn’t quite know what to make of what he found there. Confusion, mostly, but desire, too. That was his fault—he pulled her in only to push her away, and she probably felt like a fucking ping pong ball, now.
He’d been wrong.
Ginevra was not a mess.
He was.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Corrado had to physically hold himself back from reaching out to touch her. Because if he did that, there was no telling what might happen next. He couldn’t trust himself around this woman, and as it was, he had already crossed a big line.
Jumped it, really.
“And you look quite handsome,” she said, her hand coming up to flatten the edge of the lapel on his suit. “Your vest and tie matches my dress ... was that planned?”
“Probably. I had it sent up by the same woman who picked out your dress.”
Ginevra made an appreciative noise. “Just how much money do you have, Corrado?”
He laughed, grateful for the change in topic. “Me, specifically? Or my Guzzi money?”
“Is there a difference?”
Corrado
smirked. “A little, yeah.”
“Which has more?”
“The Guzzi side of me. Saying the Guzzi family is vastly wealthy does not even come close to describing how much money we have.” Corrado tipped his head toward the door, saying, “Come on, then, and we’ll get going.”
Corrado couldn’t help but put his hand to her lower back, all the while becoming painfully aware of the crisscrossed opened back of the dress she wore at the same time. Doing his best to control the darker urges climbing through his body, he directed them out of the penthouse, and toward the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.
Ginevra said nothing as the elevator dropped lower. He figured he should probably give her a heads up about what to expect for the night, or rather ... the rules he needed for her to follow so that she was safe, and so was her identity.
“If anyone asks, you give your nickname or first name,” he said, “but absolutely not your surname, do you understand?”
Ginevra nodded. “Sure.”
“Say you come from New Jersey, they won’t know the difference. We’re old friends. That’s all you need to say. I will handle my family, if they ask, and I’m sure they will. Nosy bast—”
“Be nice.”
His gaze cut to her.
She winked.
Corrado chuckled. “You say that now.”
“Actually, I say it because I think you must have an amazing family that they’re willing to throw you a birthday party when you’re ... how old are you again?”
“I turned twenty-three twelve days ago.”
Ginevra nibbled on her bottom lip.
Corrado’s cock felt that.
Fuck.
Tonight was going to be hell.
Absolute hell.
He could see it already. Stuck between his fucking guilt, and the constant want he felt for this woman who had no clue what he had done here. Even as he conversed with her, or spent day in and day out with her, his mind was on constant loop of thoughts revolving around Alessio.
Back and forth.
Ginny.
Les.
One he missed desperately, and knew something wasn’t right because Alessio hadn’t called in days. And the other, he was desperate to know, and who he thought Alessio should know, too, but the way this had happened would be enough to end it before that could begin. Corrado was most sure of that.