I notice she’s barefoot then. She hadn’t put her shoes on after getting up from her nap. Not sure why the sight of her bare feet has me so intrigued. Maybe it’s the vulnerability of it. I like it.
“You’re welcome.” I sip my drink and check my watch. “We have a dinner reservation in half an hour. There’s a dress and shoes for you in the closet in the master bedroom.”
She stands there, biting the inside of her cheek. She wants to be contrary. I can see it. Is this in her nature, or is it reserved just for me?
“Which one is the master?” she asks a full minute later.
Good.
I gesture to the double doors at the end of the hall.
She disappears, and I swallow the rest of my drink as I wait for her.
When she returns twenty minutes later dressed in the knee-length, strappy little black dress and high heels, it takes me a minute to mask my thoughts. She’s brushed her hair but left it hanging in loose waves to her chin, the uneven cut on her looking like it was done intentionally. She’s also wearing a little makeup, I notice. Well, lip gloss at least.
This is what she’s giving me for that hour with her cousin. Progress, even if it is a baby step.
“You look beautiful. See how easy things are when you don’t fight me?” I know it’s a dick thing to say, but I can’t help myself. I pick up her coat and hold it out for her to step into it.
“I’m just hungry and figured we’d resume the fighting after we eat.” She slips her arms into the coat and pulls away from me as soon as it’s on.
“I have no doubt.”
23
Cristina
“Why did you do that?” I ask once we’re seated and have our drinks. We’re at a high-end, swanky restaurant in the heart of the city. I sip my cosmopolitan, which technically they’re not supposed to serve me since I’m under twenty-one, but people seem to turn a blind eye when I’m with Damian.
“Don’t drink that too fast. You haven’t eaten much.”
I take another sip just because. “Tell me.”
“Why did I let you see your cousin?”
I nod.
“I’m not completely without a heart, Cristina.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you’d do anything if there isn’t something in it for you. So, what’s in it for you?”
“You don’t know me as well as you like to think you do.” He sips his drink, the usual whiskey.
“Is it that you felt bad about being a dick earlier?”
He snorts, then takes another sip of his drink. “Don’t read too much into it. It was a test for your cousin.”
“And how did he do?”
“Passed with flying colors. He’s more a man than your uncle.”
The waiter arrives with our dishes before I can ask what he means.
I sit up, my mouth watering. I’m hungry, and the steak smells delicious. I pick up my knife and fork, aware Damian’s watching me without even picking up his utensils yet. He watches me a lot.
“It’s ruined like that,” he says when I slice into the meat.
I pop a bite of butterflied, well-done to the point of being burnt filet mignon into my mouth. “It’s delicious like this,” I say around my mouthful. I point my knife at his bloody steak. “Is that even warm?”
He shakes his head but smiles and slices through a piece to place it on his tongue. “Tender and delicious.”
“You would like the taste of blood.”
“The hairdresser will fix your hair tomorrow afternoon.”
“My hair’s fine.”
“It’s literally crooked.”
“What happened?” I ask, gesturing to the bruised knuckles of his hand with a nod of my head.
He glances at it. “Nothing.”
“Was it your business meeting? The thing you were in such a rush to get to?”
“You’re feeling better after your nap,” he says instead of answering my question. “Refreshed and contrary.”
“I’m feeling better after seeing Liam, and I’ll always be contrary when it comes to you.”
“Lucky me.”
It’s quiet, and I look around at the other diners, at the couples on dates. Smiling, chatting, drinking their drinks.
“What are we doing, Damian?”
“What do you mean?”
“Here. What are we doing here?”
“I told you, we have papers to sign.”
“This. My cousin. Dinner. You attempting not to be a complete jerk.”
“We’ll be together for the foreseeable future. Do you prefer I keep you locked up in a cage?”
“You brought me to get me out of the house and away from your father.”
“That’s a happy coincidence My reasons are more selfish.”
I remember what he said this morning at breakfast. That we’d finish what he started last night. The thought sends a flutter of emotion I’d like to label as anxiety through me but that’s not what it is.
It’s anticipation.
He grins.
I’m a freaking open book.
“Eat,” he says when I put my fork down.
Looking up, I consider him. As easily as he seems to read me, I can’t make out heads or tails with him.
“Why do you want me?” I finally ask.
“Pardon?”
“What you said earlier.” I lower my lashes, shifting my gaze sideways when I continue so I don’t have to look at him. “Finishing what we started.”
“Ah.”
“I can’t imagine you’re hard up for women.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “No, I’m not hard up.”
“Then why?”
He studies me as he finishes his meal and, after wiping his mouth, sits back and raises a finger for another drink.
Once the waiter delivers it and leaves, we resume our conversation. “I’ll answer your question if you promise to answer mine.”
“What’s your question?”
“Agree?”
“I have to hear your question first.”
“Is that more important than an honest answer to yours?”
“Does that mean you’ll be honest?”
“I don’t lie, Cristina. Do you agree to answer my question?”
“Fine. I agree.”
He leans in close, and I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking. “It’s all very simple actually. There’s something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something that makes me want you. That makes me wonder what you’ll feel like when I sink my cock inside you.”
My throat goes dry, and I can’t look at him. I turn my gaze all around the room, sure everyone just heard that, but they all seem to be going on with their conversations. Their lives.
It takes me a full minute to compose myself and file away what he said somewhere I hope to never have to see it again.
When I finally look back up at him, he’s still watching me.
“You asked, remember.”
I pick up my glass to busy myself.
“Ready for your question?” he asks.
I don’t answer him. Instead, I take a sip of my drink.
“Why are you still a virgin?” he asks.
I nearly choke on that mouthful. “What?”
He laughs outright at my expense.
“I take back what I said earlier, Damian. You’re still a jerk.” I search for the waiter, raise my hand like Damian did when I catch his eye, but I’m ignored.
The instant Damian casually raises his, though, the waiter rushes over like he can’t get there fast enough, and within minutes, I have a new drink.
“It’s a man’s world,” Damian says when he sees my look of irritation.
He’s fucking with me. He wants to get a rise out of me.
I swallow a big sip. The vodka makes me reckless, and I want to wipe that smug grin off his face. I want to punch it off, actually.
“Don’t you m
ean your father’s world?” I ask, watching his reaction closely. “Or maybe your brother’s?”
His jaw tightens, and my grin widens because Liam told me a few things earlier.
“I know a little something about you, Damian Di Santo. I know what your family deals in. I know Benedict Di Santo was head of your family until he had his stroke. And I know your brother was meant to be his successor. He was the chosen one. Not you. You were never meant to be in the position you’re in. So, whose world do you mean exactly?”
He studies me for an endless, dark moment.
“Is this what you and your cousin got up to? Maybe I need to rethink future visits.”
I open my mouth to argue but something in his eyes warns me not to.
When he stands, the muted conversations of the other diners fade away entirely. It’s as if he and I are the only two left in the restaurant, the world. He steps to my side of the table, looming over me.
I cringe backward, trying to disappear into my seat because I know I’ve gone too far.
Damian pulls out my chair, turns it so I’m facing him. He leans toward me, hands on the arms of the seat, trapping me. His face is inches from mine.
“I thought you were smart,” he says.
I swallow.
“There’s only one thing you need to know about me. Only one thing that has anything to do with you. I make the rules. I make all the rules. And my world is the one you live in. Wrap your brain around that fast because the next time I punish you, I won’t go as easy as the last time.”
I’m trembling, the tiny hairs on every exposed part of me standing on end. Damian is too close for comfort; so close, I smell aftershave and whiskey and fury.
“Get up,” he says, straightening, cracking his neck. “I’ve got a lesson to teach and you’ve got one to learn.”
24
Cristina
The drive to the penthouse is silent as I sit alone in the back of one of the SUVs. Damian is riding with a man named Tobias, a big brute with a scar along his face. One of the men who was at my Uncle’s apartment the night he came for me.
I consider what Liam told me during his visit. Details on who the Di Santo family are. On what they do.
The family goes back generations, more than four hundred years. The one in Upstate New York is the seat of the family, but they have several more homes all over the world.
I learned about Damian’s mother, the young wife of Benedict Di Santo. I try to imagine him with a wife and can’t. All I can think is that he probably forced her to marry him.
Damian has a twin brother, Lucas. He was also in the accident that night, and his injuries were far worse than Damian’s, apparently. No one knows if, after being moved home, he even survived because there’s been no word of him outside the family in several years.
But the most troubling piece of information is the work they do. They own a large fleet of ships. And the bulk of their income comes from their involvement in trafficking arms and other illegal goods with links to various mafia families using those ships for transport.
I asked Liam about my father and the foundation, but he didn’t know much about that. Apparently, my uncle is being pretty tight-lipped, which makes me tend to believe Damian is telling the truth. Because what reason would he have to lie to me now?
I think about Damian paying my uncle to essentially raise me. I guess he couldn’t be bothered with a child. Only wants me now that I’m a woman.
But those thoughts all dissipate as one of Damian’s men walks me into the apartment building. The SUV Damian was riding in must have split off from our entourage at some point because there are only two when we arrive.
Once inside the apartment, the man who escorts me up stands guard at the door, hands folded one over the other trying to give the impression he’s not watching me. I take off my coat, drape it over the back of a chair and take in a deep breath.
What am I supposed to do? Wait for him here? Is he even coming back? Does he expect me in his bed when he gets back?
Does he expect me to spread my legs for him?
I won’t. I’ll fight him. I will.
After standing there for a minute feeling like a fool, I walk down the hall toward the master bedroom where I’d left my clothes earlier. I’ll at least change out of this dress and maybe then just go into the other room he’d let me sleep in earlier and lock myself in.
That’s when it registers, though, that Damian had been inside the room when I’d woken up. I’d locked the door.
He must have a key.
Bastard.
Really, though, did I expect he wouldn’t? Did I expect I could lock him out?
I walk into the spacious closet in the master. I smell him in here. His scent is all around me.
I wonder if he stays here often because he keeps a lot of clothes here. I walk past the row of suits. There must be a dozen of them all by the same designer. It’s an exclusive Italian brand I’ve heard of.
My clothes are stacked where I’d left them earlier. I reach back and unzip the dress. I have to shimmy out of it because it’s pretty tight, but I manage to pull it off without tearing it.
I step out of my shoes as I reach up for the hanger and jump when I hear the bedroom door open, then close.
Holding the dress up against myself, I turn to face the closet door, and not a moment later, Damian comes into view.
My heart rate kicks up.
He slides his gaze over me, and I’m rooted to the spot.
He steps inside then. His jacket and tie are gone, the top two buttons on his shirt undone. He’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I wonder what he was doing as I take in his powerful forearms dusted with dark hair. Another business meeting? And what exactly had he done earlier? Beat someone up? Seems a little vulgar even for him. He has soldiers and I wouldn’t peg him to be one to get his hands dirty, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he likes getting his hands dirty.
Barefoot, I don’t reach his chin, and I don’t move when he takes both the dress and the hanger from me. He hangs the dress up and returns his attention to me as I stand before him in just my panties. I hadn’t worn a bra with the dress because of the straps.
Why am I always almost naked in front of him? Why am I always at a disadvantage?
“Come with me,” he says and turns to walk back into the bedroom.
I follow because what else am I going to do?
Once in the bedroom, he pours himself a whiskey. He doesn’t offer me one, not that I want one.
He takes a sip as he turns back to me. I have my hands over my breasts and am trying not to fidget from foot to foot. The way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me.
Or to me.
I swallow, my body again anticipating, not dreading, what’s surely coming.
His gaze drops to my hands. He walks toward me, taking another sip. He’s so close I can feel the heat coming off him.
He takes one wrist, and I don’t fight him when he pulls my hand off and sets it at my side. He does the same with the other.
I don’t need to look down to know my nipples are hardening as he stands back to look me over.
Without comment, he returns his gaze to mine, and with his whiskey hand, he brushes the hair away from my face.
It takes all I have to stand still and not back away.
His gaze then travels down to my mouth, and I think he’s looking at that scar and some part of me, some ridiculous, stupid part of me, wishes it wasn’t there.
My hand moves of its own accord as if wiping something from my mouth, but it’s to hide the flaw. Habit.
“Don’t do that.”
I drop my arm.
He cups the back of my head, the bandage a barrier between us. His eyes never leave mine as he swallows the last of his whiskey and sets his glass down on the nearest surface. I notice how dark they’ve gone. Note that subtle scent of aftershave and hate myself for inhaling deeply.
I move my hands
to his chest, but it’s not to ward him off. I like the feel of him, the hard muscle and strength and danger. I like it.
He brushes his bruised knuckles over my cheekbone. My head presses into the fingers of his other hand, and I lick my lips. It’s all I can do because I feel him, feel his erection against my belly.
“Don’t bite,” he whispers just before kissing me.
I’m expecting this, aren’t I? So why am I so unprepared, my heart skipping a beat? Why does his kiss steal my breath, and why, when his tongue prods, do my lips part for him?
His free hand leaves a trail of goose bumps as it skims over my spine before cupping my ass, squeezing it as he presses his hardness against my belly, and I can’t think.
I can’t want to want this.
I can’t want to want him.
But when he breaks the kiss and draws back to look at me, I know he sees it. Sees the desire in my eyes. And something in his feels off.
“Turn around,” he says.
“What?” my voice is a breathy whisper.
“Turn around. Put your hands on the bed.”
I shake my head because this is payback. My punishment for the restaurant.
“Do it, Cristina. Don’t make me make you.”
I try to gauge where his head is. He appears so calm, but he’s not. He’s dangerous. I know this.
“I said do it.”
I turn, bend to put my hands on the bed. Is this how he’s going to do it? Is this how my first time will be? I’m aroused and afraid at once, that fear fuel to the heat between my legs.
His hands are on me then, gentle at first, drawing my hips back. Pressing on my lower back so I arch it, which makes my butt stick out. He’s positioning me the way he wants me. He takes hold of my panties and drags them over my hips. They slip down my legs and to the floor.
“Step out.”
I do.
“Legs wider. And down on your elbows.”
“Damian—”
He puts one hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me down using his knee to wedge my legs wider.
Unholy Union: Unholy Union Duet Book 1 Page 17