by Lisa Cardiff
As soon as the last words left my mouth, my chest constricted again, and I looked away, not wanting to see his reaction.
His finger glided beneath my chin, and even with my lowered gaze, I could see him. “Ava’s choices had nothing to do with you. She…” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip like he was searching for the right words.
“She what?” I prompted. Nobody around me talked about her anymore except to compliment her talent, and I was curious how people saw her.
“She was impulsive. She made choices without thinking about the consequences.”
“You mean like swallowing a bottle of pills after a fight with my dad?”
“Well, yeah, but not only that. She caused a lot of friction within the Families by running off with your father. They were both engaged to other people. It was a mess that didn’t end with them.”
He grabbed my hands and pulled me onto his lap. I squirmed for a second, uncomfortable with the feeling of his warm hands on my legs. I gave in, though. I’d been fighting everything and everyone for so long, I wanted to let someone else take control until I figured out my next move.
“Did you like her?” I whispered into his chest.
“As much as a five-year-old can like an adult. She made cookies for me a couple of times and tried to teach me piano once or twice. I banged on the keys, and she quickly declared that I didn’t have any talent.”
The alcohol seeped into my system more and more, and each blink became longer and longer. I was taken aback by how right and wrong it felt to be held in his arms. “Maybe she would have wanted me to marry you.”
He scooped me up and came to his feet.
“What about the rest of the shots?” I asked.
“We’ll get to it another day.”
My inhalations became shallow and rickety. He pulled me into his chest, and his fingers smoothed over my hair. I inhaled his spicy cologne mixed with the hint of licorice on his breath. A rumble of something that sounded like approval rippled from me. He lay down on my bed, his body curled around my mine.
“We’re going to be fine, Emilia. I know you’re scared, and you don’t understand what’s going on, but I’m asking for your trust.” The tone of his voice webbed around me, evoking a surprising longing deep inside of my bones.
“What’s ‘fine’ look like in your opinion?” I mumbled into his chest, listening to the solid hammering of his heart.
“Come to Chicago for a year. We’ll spend time together and if either of us wants to back out, we can. No hard feelings. No marriage.”
“A year doesn’t sound unreasonable.”
He chuckled, and the smoky sound made me hold him tighter. “Glad you agree. So no running. No tricks.”
“Hmm.” I nuzzled into his neck and willingly succumbed to the siren call of his voice and the lure of his warmth. He clouded my judgment, distorting my desires, my goals, and my future.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. I promise,” I answered, needing and wanting to agree more than I’d ever wanted in my life. I felt too relaxed and too cherished to do anything except agree, all things I hadn’t experienced much of since my mom died.
A spark of hope ignited inside of me. Maybe I could do this with Marcello for real. Maybe he could be what I needed. Either way, I knew no matter where or with whom I ended up, this night, this moment, would alter the course of my life.
“You won’t regret this.” His mouth sought mine, hot and needy, devouring me in a way that robbed of me all thought, and I didn’t mind it one bit. Because in all honesty, an increasingly vocal part of me wanted Marcello.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
Marcello lifted my dress over my head. Next went my black lace bralette. My nipples hardened, and I wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to the chilly air or his heated stare. An image of the curvy Sarah from our engagement party flickered through my mind, and I covered my chest, feeling more than a little self-conscious.
“Stop.” He pushed my hands away and cupped my breast, squeezing it reverently, erotically. “There’s no reason to hide from me. You’re beautiful. Sexy.”
“What are you doing?” I murmured, my voice rickety, and my heart doing summersaults.
“We’re sealing our deal.” He trailed a warm hand up the inside of my thigh, pausing at the lacy hem of my panties. My heart thudded violently. My breaths became ragged. Waiting. Anticipating.
His eyes never breaking contact with mine, he tugged the flimsy material to the side. He glided a finger over my aching center, unhurried and confident, teasing me. Warmth spread from my core to my limbs. I arched my hips and curled my hands into his shoulders, wanting more.
Like he heard my unspoken plea, he dragged my panties down my legs and pushed a finger inside, filling me. I whimpered, and his lips crashed against mine, swallowing the sound. His tongue swept inside, mimicking the rhythm of his finger. In, out, then one finger became two. My sex clenched like it couldn’t bear the idea of him stopping. It felt good. Too good.
Marcello’s lips slid across my cheek, and he nipped my ear with his teeth. “Has Sal touched you here? Has he done this?”
I considered lying for a second, then I changed my mind. Lies didn’t have a place between us anymore. “Once.”
He pulled his hand away from me, and my body throbbed with a surprising emptiness. “What else did you let him do?”
“Nothing.” Taking in the tic in his lower jaw, I swallowed hard. “It didn’t feel right after I met you. I just couldn’t.”
A shiver of vulnerability trickled through me. Part of me regretted my confession and another part of me was relieved. First with his letters, then with his patience, Marcello wormed his way into my life, and maybe even my heart. Piece by piece, I forgot about my plans for the future, and the moments I spent with Sal felt like a figment of my imagination.
“That’s because since the minute I caught you in the hallway outside your dad’s office, you were mine, and you knew it in here.” He pressed his palm to the center of my chest.
Not giving me the opportunity to refute him, he consumed my words with his lips like he could taste them and his fingers started moving again. Heavy breaths and muted noises filled my room. Every swipe and curl of his finger sent me higher and higher.
I pushed off his jacket and fumbled with a few buttons on his shirt before he took charge and did it himself.
His lips traveled down my neck to the slope of my breast, sucking, nibbling. A groan tumbled from somewhere deep inside of me. In another time or place, my reaction would have embarrassed me, but I lacked the wherewithal to think about it. We were merely two humans cloaked in the shadows, burning up with desire.
I cupped the back of his head, his hair like silk between my fingers, and his stubble like an aphrodisiac against my already tingling skin. I lost track of time, where we were, everything except him and the rollercoaster of sensations rushing through me.
The hiss of his leather belt and the buzz of his zipper followed by the swish of his pants as they swept down his legs echoed through the room. My heart frantic and my mind whirling with the consequences of going any further, I wavered for a second. Something egged me on, though, and I wedged my hand between our bodies, gripping his hard length timidly. He was big. Bigger than I would have imagined if I had thought about it prior to this second.
I rubbed my index finger over the tip in unhurried loops, and I felt him pulse. A hushed growl broke from his lips and he buried his face next to my neck, batting my hand away. Seconds later, the thick, blunt head of his erection was against my entrance.
“Wait,” I mumbled, reservations and fears hitting me square in the chest. It would hurt, but even worse, there would be no going back. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea. I mean how…”
“Shh, little Emilia.” His thumb circled my clit over and over. The corners of my eyes watered and greedy tremors vibrated my sex. My hips arched off the bed, and my hands clawed at the sheets, seeking the infur
iatingly elusive orgasm shimmering right outside of my reach.
He cupped my backside, and his hips flexed forward, nudging his tip inside me. “Still want me to wait?”
“No. Please. I want to do this.” The throaty sound of my voice, the conviction in my words, stunned me, but I didn’t have long to ponder it.
Marcello’s teeth grazed my bottom lip, and he raised my hands next to the headboard with one hand, entering me inch by inch, my softness yielding to his rigidity. His ocean blue eyes clouded with pleasure or lust. I didn’t know which. His lowered lashes cast shadows on the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
I tucked my face against the firm muscles of his chest, concentrating on the mini ripples of pleasure instead of the burn. When he was fully seated, he lifted my knees and spread my legs wider. Beat after beat passed without either of us moving.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his words fuzzy like the Sambuca had gone to his head.
Grinning, I whispered into his ear. “Better than okay. What about you? Does it feel good?”
He raised his head, and our gazes locked in a raw, primal dance that made my heart race double time.
“Good doesn’t cover how this feels, little Emilia.”
I hummed in agreement, all my fears slipping away like they never existed in the first place.
In and out, he rocked in a steady rhythm, slowly at first, then picking up speed when I started to move in unison with him. He angled his hips with premeditated precision, and I pawed at his shoulders, so damn greedy for more. For everything.
A warm ache fanned out inside of me, and I tumbled into oblivion, a kaleidoscope of colors exploding behind my eyelids. I contracted around his hard length over and over, my mind erased of everything other than the pleasure spiraling through me. My neck bowed, my teeth clicked together, my toes curled, and a slow, needy moan spilled from my lips.
He mumbled a few words in Italian, and his hands dug into my thighs with enough force to leave an imprint of his fingers. I opened my eyes, needing to see him. I was glad I did. His features were screwed up, his eyes pinned shut. His nostrils were flared, and his body trembled.
He collapsed on top of me for a few moments, our heavy breaths loud in the deafening hush of the room. “God, Emilia. What are you doing to me?”
Bewildered, I licked my lips, terrified the wrong words would come out of my mouth. All of the times I imagined being with Sal, it didn’t even compare to the unsettling emotions and sensations unfurling in my chest. I wanted to simultaneously beg him not to leave and rage at him for finding all the chinks in my armor and embedding himself into my life, my thoughts.
He rolled off of me and draped my naked and limp body over his torso. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the achy loneliness within me as if I were no longer whole without him.
I counted the steady thumps of his heart. I inhaled his spicy scent mixed with my vanilla perfume and the unmistakable smell of sex. I took note of the way our sweat-slickened bodies clung together. I felt dampness trickling down my thighs.
So many words were on the tip of my tongue I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to tell Marcello I trusted him. I needed to let him know I wouldn’t back out on my promise to go with him. That I’d give him, us, a chance. That maybe fate came in unusual packages. Instead, I trailed the pads of my fingers over his chest, committing every detail to memory.
“I have to go. Your father won’t be happy if he comes home and I’m still here.” He scooted out from under me and crawled out of the bed.
With methodical precision, he put back on his clothes, never looking at me, never reassuring me. Nothing. Every second that elapsed, my chest squeezed tighter and tighter, and I suspected I was about to experience a full-blown hyperventilation.
“I’ll be here around noon tomorrow.” His metal belt clanked together. “That should give you plenty of time to pack enough clothes for a couple of weeks. Your dad can ship anything else you want, and I’ll buy whatever you need in the meantime.”
“Oh, okay?” I had no clue why my answer came out as a question. “And I’ll be staying with your sister.”
“No.” He stuffed his arms into his suit jacket and tugged on the cuffs of his shirt so they peeked out of the sleeves. “You’ll stay with me. We’ll get married within the next week or two, something small. We’ll have a big reception this summer when everything settles down.”
I pulled the sheet up to my neck, feeling exposed, vulnerable, and a little sick to my stomach. “You said we could take it slow.”
“That won’t work. You could be pregnant, and after I explain what happened between us, getting married will be a foregone conclusion.”
The blood rushed out of my face, and I folded my arms around my waist, confused how we got here. Confused where the caring understanding man went, then it hit me. “You planned this. You tricked me. The shots of Sambuca, carrying me to my room, sympathizing with me, promising me the trial period. All of it was a lie so you could trap me.”
He sized me up for an excruciating, drawn out beat, his demeanor and lack of expression rendering my attempts to read his thoughts futile. “You and I marrying has been a foregone conclusion since the second I saw you standing in the hallway outside your dad’s office, all sleepy-eyed and clueless to the chaos building around the both of us. Until then, I was pissed off that we were the sacrificial lambs for other people’s sins, but when I saw you, something clicked, and I knew we could ride out this storm together. You weren’t my enemy. You weren’t my punishment. We were going to be each other’s salvation.”
My mouth opened and closed three or four times in quick succession like a fish out of water. My heart fluttered at his words, and I quickly shoved the little girl inside of me who still believed in fairytales back into the corner. Fairytales and whimsical castles-in-the-air thinking had no place in the conversation. In my life.
“That’s crazy talk, Marcello. I don’t even know what that means. We hardly know each other.”
He brushed his knuckles across my face. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“What’s this?” I grabbed his wrist and pointed at his scraped knuckles.
One corner of his mouth hitched up. “Sal and I had a…discussion the other night. Didn’t he tell you?”
My eyes widened. Somehow over the last forty-eight hours, I forgot all about their fight. “What the hell did you do?”
“I made it clear I didn’t want him sniffing around my girl anymore.”
“Your girl? Are you serious? When did I become your property?”
“You’ve been my property since the day you were born, and tonight we made it official.”
I pointed to the door. “Get out. I can’t talk to you right now. You’re a lunatic.”
Marcello palmed the back of my neck, pulled me in close, and kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He scooped up my engagement ring from a glass dish on my nightstand. “And make sure you wear this from now on.”
I flopped back onto my back when the door closed behind him, giving the tears beading my lashes permission to fall.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
I woke up two hours later naked and alone in my bed with rain pelting against the house. A burst of lightning illuminated my room and thunder rattled my windows. I inched up my headboard, drawing attention to the dull ache between my legs.
My inhalations and exhalations blurred together as the events of the night clawed through at brain. Shots of Sambuca. Kissing Marcello. Peeling off our clothes. Begging him for more. Losing my virginity. His sudden coldness. The declaration that I was nothing more than property. His property.
My whole body tensed, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Please be a dream. Please don’t be real.
I peeled open my eyes, hoping to wake up to a new reality. I didn’t. With a trembling hand, I cupped my mouth, struggling to contain the sobs inching up my throat.
I couldn’t come to terms with what
happened or how I threw away my dreams for him in a moment of weakness. After months of exchanging notes and a week of spending time together, I realized I’d made him into a monster for selfish reasons. Painting him in a bad light justified my decision to flee. None of that explained why I practically begged him to touch me, though.
And Madone…Sal. My throat clogged mid-swallow, and I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets to block out the image of his smiling face and trusting hazel eyes. What the hell would I tell him? Merely thinking about him with the evidence of my behavior all over me made my throat convulse. I scrambled to my feet, afraid I’d lose the meager contents of my stomach on my sheets. I paced, tugging at the roots of my hair, my thoughts a jumbled blur, and the only solution I came up with was finding Sal.
Maybe if I confessed everything, he would forgive me. We made promises. He was my friend, my confidant. The conflicting emotions I felt around Marcello had to stem from the stress of my situation. I was confused. That was it. Nothing more. It couldn’t be anything else. I wouldn’t let it be, especially knowing he’d tricked me.
No matter how charming, sexy, or alluring Marcello was, I refused to be my father’s puppet, which meant I needed to do something right now or I could kiss my hopes of shaping my future goodbye. I’d be on a plane for Chicago tomorrow and married shortly after that.
With urgency, I rushed to my closet. Within ten minutes, I was dressed in my getaway outfit, tied the rope ladder to the radiator, and flung it out the window, ignoring the steady rainfall and booming thunder.
I had one leg out the window when I changed my mind and ran back to my desk. I slipped on the bracelet Marcello gave me and jammed the letters from him into my duffel bag. Guilt eating at me, I jotted down a few sentences on a piece of paper.