by Bethany-Kris
His black heart, incrusted with years of layered ice, cracked.
Calisto tried to ignore it.
He wanted to …
“Now,” he heard her mumble. “I want this off right now.”
Closing the last couple of feet between him and Emma, Calisto’s hands landed on her bare shoulders. He felt every muscle in her body jump under his touch, but he didn’t let her go.
“Hey, it’s all right, Emmy,” he said softly.
Emma straightened fast before spinning around. Calisto’s hands went with her, moving from her shoulders to her neck in a flash. He tried hard to ignore the softness of her peaches and cream skin under his palms, or how the heat of her body seemed to fuse straight into his bloodstream.
Wiping at her eyes, Emma mumbled, “Go away. I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
She was so far from fine that it wasn’t even funny.
Emma’s breath caught on another sob.
Calisto flinched. “Turn around. You want this awful thing off, right? That’s what you said when I came in here. Let me take it off, Emmy. I’ll help.”
At first, it seemed like she was going to argue with him. Her green eyes welled with tears all over again, and her bottom lip quivered just enough to shake what resolve Calisto might have had left.
“It makes me feel like I can’t breathe,” she said.
“Turn around and I’ll help, Emmy.”
Calisto didn’t wait for her to do as he asked. He spun her around, fisted the ties keeping the corset tight, and yanked. Over and over, he pulled the silk bands out until the bodice of the dress was falling apart and away from Emma’s body.
It also did something else he hadn’t thought about.
From the swell of her ass to the middle of her back, Emma’s skin peeked through the breaks in the ties. Smooth, unblemished, pale skin. It didn’t help that Calisto was still touching her. He could feel her shivers under his hands, and if he just moved his palms down a little lower, the dress would slide right off and leave her naked and bare.
His teeth clenched. A heat bloomed deep in his gut, shooting straight down to his cock and balls. Inside his head, he knew it was bad. To look at Emma Sorrento in a less than innocent way would surely earn him a few bullets. To act on the dark lust spinning around in his blood would be a nail in the coffin.
If he even got a funeral.
Despite what Calisto knew, it didn’t stop his erection from straining against the zipper of his jeans. It didn’t help the hunger, never mind the confusion.
Space, his mind said. Take some space.
Calisto dropped his hands and stepped back, putting a foot between him and Emma. It didn’t make much of a difference to the mind his cock now seemed to have. Emma didn’t care that Calisto had stepped back either, considering she was pulling the dress down and shimmying her hips to free the skirt.
“Uh, Emma … let me get out of here before you—”
Calisto’s words and thought process stopped as the mountain of silk and crinoline fell to the floor. Emma stood in the middle of the pile, her shoulders heaving and her back bare, as she sucked in a deep breath.
Black lace covered her backside, drawing Calisto’s gaze straight down to Emma’s ass. His fingers itched to reach out and run over the swell of her ass, just to see what she would do.
Would she shiver?
Shake?
Ask for more?
Calisto swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say. Emma wore no bra, so when she turned with her arms covering her chest, he could see the sides of her breasts peeking out to give a hint of her beauty.
Wary eyes found him still as a stone. Emma chewed on her bottom lip and avoided his stare.
She was all skin, curves, and sin, standing there like that. A body that looked fit to be touched, tasted, and explored. He bet his hands would fit perfectly in the dip of her waist while his other disappeared down her panties. The kind of lace covering her sex and ass was just the right material to grab on, pull hard, and rip right off when he had her bent over a flat, sturdy surface.
This wasn’t good at all.
“Thank you,” Emma said.
Calisto nodded tightly. “No problem.”
“I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”
How was she being normal right now?
Couldn’t she see he was fucking struggling?
“You should put something on,” Calisto said, hoarse and husky at the same time.
Emma didn’t act like she heard him. “It just caught up to me really fast.”
“Did your mother leave because you were having a fit?”
“No, my father called. I panicked after she left.”
Calisto shouldn’t care; he shouldn’t ask. “About what?”
“Wearing a dress. Walking down an aisle. It felt real all of the sudden and then I couldn’t breathe, or get the dress off. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Emma glanced down at the dress. “God, that’s a lot of material for something so ugly.”
Calisto somehow managed a laugh. Considering the majority of the blood in his body was still owned by his cock, it was the best he could do.
“Get dressed,” he said again.
“Haven’t you seen a naked woman before?”
“Yes.”
Not you.
The longer you stand there, the more I want to.
“Keep your eyes up above the neckline and you’ll do okay,” Emma told him.
“Funny,” he replied. “You’re fucking hilarious.”
“Calm down. I’ll get dressed. My clothes are in the changing room.”
She stepped out of the pile, and moved toward the changing room. Calisto tried not to watch the way Emma’s hips swayed as she walked. For most women, they learned how to move just the right way to draw a man’s eye.
Emma’s sway wasn’t learned—it was all natural.
Once she was safely hidden behind the dressing room door, Calisto took a much needed breath. He ran through the alphabet, times tables, the American anthem, his Cosa Nostra oath, and anything else he could think of to get his erection down.
Anything to get the woman out of his head.
It didn’t work.
Cazzo.
“What did you come in for?” Emma asked behind the door.
“Affonso called.”
Emma groaned. “Weren’t his letter and gift this morning enough? He can’t leave me alone for a day?”
“Sorry, Emmy. Don’t kill the messenger. Didn’t you like the gift?”
“No,” she said sharply. “It’s another attempt to buy my loyalty and good behavior.”
Smart girl, he praised silently.
“He wanted me to check on your shopping,” Calisto settled on saying.
Honesty was the best policy.
Emma yanked open the door and glared at him. Her dress hung off one shoulder, barely covering her breasts. She hadn’t gotten the other arm in, obviously.
Calisto averted his eyes.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
“Sì. By the way, the one on the floor is in no way acceptable for his standards.”
Emma’s lips drew thin. “I should wear it even though I hate it, too, just to piss him off.”
Calisto was inclined to urge her on, but he didn’t. “Don’t you want to pick your dress?”
“Not really.”
“But it is your dress, Emmy, and despite what Affonso doesn’t want you to wear … well, you do have a choice in the matter. Some women like to keep their dresses and have them made into things for their children. Christening gowns or whatever.”
Emma blinked, her features softening. “My mom did that with hers. I still have the miniature gown.”
“You could do the same thing. Instead of seeing this as something awful, turn it into something to look forward to.”
Because children with Affonso was sure to be wonderful. Calisto hated himself t
he more he spoke. He shouldn’t be encouraging her to pick a wedding dress so she could marry a man he hated.
“I could,” Emma mused. “But that means I expect to have his children.”
“Caught onto that, did you?”
“I don’t think it’s really optional with him.”
“Probably not,” Calisto admitted.
“Is he making you ensure I pick the right dress?” she asked.
“Essentially.”
“Sucks to be you.”
“You don’t even know how much.”
Emma smirked bitterly. “I think I do.”
Calisto
“My apologies,” Calisto said, chuckling. “I can only guess how you’re feeling right now, and it’s probably a lot worse than me.”
“Probably,” Emma echoed.
She shifted on her feet, and the swell of her breast peeked out from the side. Calisto’s jeans tightened all over again.
“Would you please get dressed or fix your dress?”
She quickly corrected her dress, sliding her other arm in and letting the fabric fall down her toned figure. The dress clung to her curves and the skirt swayed when she moved.
Calisto had to look away.
Naked or clothed, it didn’t really matter. The woman was still gorgeous. Calisto was beginning to wish he didn’t notice these kinds of things about Emma. It wasn’t helping his dangerous attraction.
“Well, the good news for you is that I’m done shopping for today. No need to babysit what dress I’m picking out.”
“Oh?” he asked.
Emma shrugged. “One panic attack is enough. I’m not interested in shooting for a second.”
“I don’t blame you.”
But she would need to pick one. She was getting married, the girl would need a dress to wear for the day. Affonso wouldn’t accept Emma walking down in her jeans, or God forbid, a black dress that showcased how she truly felt about the day.
Calisto’s stomach turned at the thought.
“I guess our deal is off, huh?” Emma asked.
“Pardon?”
“I had a ‘fit,’ as you put it. You said if I didn’t, we could have some fun tonight and I could empty your pockets at the casino. I lost the bet. Hence, no fun.”
Calisto frowned. “There was no bet. I was trying to get you to do what you were told. We’ll still go. I might have to limit your time at the poker table, seeing as how I like my cash, but we’ll go.”
Emma’s smile came off brilliant and bright. “Yeah?”
“Why not?”
You know why not, idiot, his mind growled.
Calisto ignored it.
He’d never pushed aside his gut feeling before. It had never failed him, not once. When something felt like it was off, then it probably was. If someone gave him a bad vibe, they were probably hiding something.
That was how he lived.
By his gut.
It kept Calisto alive.
The problem with his gut instinct was that it didn’t seem to be giving him anything useable where Emma Sorrento was concerned. It felt both good and bad—a should and shouldn’t kind of feeling that left him nowhere but confused.
“Okay,” Emma said quietly. “I have a dinner with my mom and dad later first.”
“I’ll be around.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Despite her teasing laugh that followed, there was a sadness in her eyes that she hid well. Calisto still saw it. He knew Emma hated that he was constantly following her. To her, it probably seemed as though he was keeping tabs and reporting back to his uncle on her whereabouts and doings.
Mostly, Calisto gave Affonso the same info: nothing to see here. There wasn’t anything to report. Emma was, for the most part, keeping a clean nose. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, she hadn’t been out living up the Vegas nightlife since the engagement, and she kept quiet. But even if she did …
Calisto wasn’t sure he would tell.
“Miss Sorrento, I’m so sorry that took so—Oh!”
Spinning on his heel, Calisto found the heavier set, dark-haired woman standing in the entrance to the private sitting room. He had noticed her earlier talking on the phone.
“Hello,” the woman said, looking him up and down.
Calisto offered a smooth smile. “Hello.”
“Calisto, this is Marian. She’s the owner and a friend to my mother.”
Glancing over his shoulder at Emma, he took note of her unhappiness.
Ah.
Well, that explained the half-hidden frown Emma was sporting.
“I didn’t see Minnie leave,” Marian said.
“She rushed out after my father called, needing something. I’m finishing up, anyway. Next time, okay?”
Marian scowled. “But … well, I found a dress for you, dear.”
Calisto could practically hear Emma’s teeth grind behind him. “I think Emmy wants to head out and finish this up at another time.”
“One more, please?” the woman asked, brushing Calisto’s comment off. “I promise you’ll love it. Those dresses your mother demanded were not suitable for you, Emma. It’s what she wanted to see you in, not what you wanted to be seen in. This one is perfect, I know it.”
Emma sighed heavily.
Calisto passed her another look. “You don’t have to, if you’re not in the mood. We can go. Do this another day, Emmy.”
“You want her to look beautiful when she walks down the aisle to meet you, right?” the woman asked.
He damn near choked on his answer.
“I’m … uh, not—”
“Get the dress,” Emma said, interrupting Calisto’s stumbling words.
“Jesus,” he mumbled when the woman was gone. Turning back to Emma, he found her shaking her head and giggling. “I thought you said she was a friend of your mother’s? Doesn’t she know who you’re marrying?”
Emma scoffed. “Arranged marriage is only acceptable in certain cultures and the mafia. Just because my mother supports my marriage to Affonso doesn’t mean her arrogant, superficial friends won’t stick their noses up at her. She has to save some kind of face. That doesn’t include explaining that my future husband is thirty years older than me.”
“Damn.”
“I have to say, I really enjoyed watching my mother fumble for a response when Marian asked earlier where her invitation was.”
Calisto grinned. “Lost in the mail?”
“Apparently, it’s not sent out yet.”
“Smooth.”
Emma lifted a single shoulder like it didn’t make a difference to her either way. “My mother has always been a good liar. And she knows that if she explains the wedding is happening in New York, the mouths will run that it’s a connected wedding. If you know what I mean.”
“A mafia wedding.”
“Mmhmm. She doesn’t want more people talking than what already do. That, or George doesn’t want people talking and making rumors. Dad wants this all to happen as quietly as possible. Mom isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to hear people’s opinions over the fact that he’s marrying his daughter off to someone thirty years older than her.”
“Doesn’t she read the socialite magazines?” he asked.
“Probably. It’s like an addiction. She knows better, but she runs to the store every week for the new issues.”
Strange.
Calisto dropped the topic when Marian strolled back into the sitting room with a garment bag slung over her arm. It was a much smaller, thinner bag than he expected to see for a wedding gown. Pointing at Calisto with her free hand, the woman barked, “You, out.”
“He stays,” Emma said quickly.
Marian’s mouth opened to argue, but she didn’t get a chance.
“I want him to stay,” she clarified.
Calisto cocked a brow at Emma. “You’re sure?”
“Lots of men see their brides in dresses before the wedding. I want his opinion.”
Calisto clenched his
jaw in an attempt to keep quiet. He didn’t want to sit through Emma putting on another dress, but he knew what she was doing. She was likely giving him the chance to see what the dress looked like and tell her if it was appropriate for Affonso’s tastes and demands.
“Fine,” the shop keeper muttered. “But it’s her dress, mister.”
“Hers,” he agreed.
Calisto found the closest chair and sat down. The seat was so plush that the butternut colored leather practically swallowed his lower half. He admired the stitching design on the arm of the chair as the women chatted inside the dressing room. Safe conversation, he noticed. Marian asked about wedding details, and Emma answered vaguely.
Smart girl.
The shuffling of a garment bag echoed out to his spot, drawing his gaze up from the leather toward the closed door. He found his reflection in a mirror hanging off the door. Instead of a woman coming out in her wedding gown, he found himself. His impassive, unfeeling self—except he was neither impassive, nor unfeeling in the reflection.
A curious excitement buzzed in his gut. His gaze burned brightly with interest. He would usually sit in such a way that his side was turned to the room, keeping his posture unavailable for conversation with others. Now, he was sitting forward, ready to be involved.
This was all wrong.
How many times had he thought that very thing just today alone? Calisto could hear his mind screaming at him, warning him and taunting him all at the same time.
What are you doing here? You know better than this. Step back before you fuck this up. There’s a bullet waiting for you. And a seat in hell.
He pushed his thoughts away. He indulged the bit of attraction thickening in his blood for a woman he didn’t know all that well, but was still unobtainable. He forced back the little voice warning him that he was toeing a very fragile line of acceptable conduct with Emma.
Calisto had control of this shit. He knew what was right and what was wrong where his uncle’s fiancée was concerned. He didn’t have to give in to the lust still keeping his cock semi-hard, or focus on the image of Emma’s bare back under his palms.
He wouldn’t feed into this.
Whatever it was.