Chapter 66

CESARE

Seeing how desperately Rosalind clings to her daughter has restored my faith in women. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glisten with tears, and her beautiful features glow with rapture.

I want that unwavering love for myself, and I'm going to get it.

It's only a matter of time.

I press my nose in Rosalind's hair, inhaling the sweet scent of magnolia. It's a flower I used to associate with maternal betrayal, but now it only reminds me of my pretty pet.

She stiffens in my embrace and adjusts her stance like she's readying herself to toss me over her shoulder. I tighten my grip around her waist and anchor her weight to mine.

"What are you doing?" she hisses.

"Come to bed." I grind my hard cock into her ass, enjoying her sharp intake of breath. It could be surprise, or maybe even a little anger, but I can almost guarantee she's aroused.

"You've got some nerve," she snaps, in a low whisper. "I'd rather sleep in the fireplace than share a bed with you."

"I prefer your skin unmarked, but if that's what it takes?—"

She slams an elbow into my ribs, knocking all the air from my lungs. Pain splinters across my chest, and my grip releases for the fraction of a second she needs to break free.

My nostrils flare. "Control yourself or I'll keep you tethered."

"Get fucked." She turns on her heel and storms toward the closed door.

I follow her. "Where are you going?"

"To sleep on the couch."

"How will you explain that to Miranda?" I place both palms on the door and cage her with my arms. "You heard her. She's always wanted a big brother."

Rosalind whirls around, her eyes flashing. "She doesn't know you're a psychopath."

"I don't know about that."

Her eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"She said I was perfect for you, the woman who killed her parents."

Rosalind's lips part with a protest, but I add, "She knows I'm a villain because she read about me online. Whatever she found made her think I'm a match for her murderous big sister."

Her ferocious scowl is proof that I've broken through her stoic barrier. "There it is," I say, my voice breathy with awe. "You only show your true emotions with people you love, like Miranda. And me."

"You're delusional." She ducks out from under my arms and walks around the bed to the shag pile rug. "If you insist on keeping me in the room, I'll sleep in front of the fire."

"What if she comes in during the middle of the night?"

"She won't."

"What if she has another nightmare?"

Rosalind turns around, her eyes widening. "What are you talking about?"

"She remembers the day you took her so vividly because it replays in her dreams." I cross the room, closing the distance between us.

Face paling, her body goes rigid, and her eyes search mine. "You're lying."

"I'm only repeating what I heard. Did you ever get her therapy?"

Her posture deflates, and she bows her head, answering with a broken whisper. "I thought..." She shudders. "Miranda was so young. I thought that over time, she would forget."

"Tell her," I say. "If she sees that day as a rescue rather than an abduction…"

"I will." She nods as though trying to convince herself. "Soon."

"Come to bed, pet. Let's put aside our differences until we've settled Miranda into her new school. Afterward, you can go back to wanting me dead."

She huffs a bitter laugh, her gaze flickering between me and the canopied bed. Toeing off my shoes and socks, I keep my features even, and force my lips not to smirk.

My intentions toward Miranda are wholesome. I want her safe, happy, and well-adjusted. It's my intentions toward Rosalind that are far from innocent.

I want to break through the rest of her outer shell and reach her inner core. I want to peel away her armor, layer by silken layer, until she's vulnerable and raw. I want to revel in her submission, her strength. I want to bask in the surrender of her spirit.

Rosalind belongs to me, and I will stop at nothing to make her mine.

Keeping my gaze fixed on hers, I unbutton my shirt, making sure to take my sweet time. She pretends to hate my guts, but she loves my body. Her eyes drop to my exposed chest the way they always do whenever I undress.

She can't help herself. No matter how much she pretends not to be affected, I'm a source of endless fascination. Rosalind can't get enough of my tattoos. She's mesmerized by the way the ink shifts with my movements.

"We're meeting the headmistress first thing tomorrow." I deepen my voice, adding an edge of command. "After that, we'll plot the downfall of the Moirai. That's not something you can do when deprived of sleep."

When her tongue darts out to lick her lips, I bite back a groan. How the hell can one woman be so tempting?

"Alright," she says. "I'll get into bed with you, but there will be no touching."

"I can't make any promises." I unbuckle my belt, and the clink of metal has her gaze dropping to my silk-covered erection.

Her lips tighten with disapproval. "And you're going to wear pajamas."

"I sleep naked," I say with a grin.

Her gaze snaps to meet mine, her scowl barely concealing her arousal. "Keep the boxers."

"Fine." I drop my pants, step out of the puddle of fabric and walk to the mattress.

Rosalind's gaze follows my movements, her breath quickening as I slide beneath the cotton sheets. There's no doubt in my mind that her body wants mine as much as mine craves hers. But she's stubborn, set in her ways. She likely still sees me as an enemy, when I want to be her savior.

She hesitates by the fireplace before she slides off the suit jacket, folding it over the back of a chair, revealing the outline of her beautiful ass. I chuckle. My pet must have gone to the same school of uptightness as Benito, only she makes it look attractive.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"You're rigid when you're not playing a character," I say.

She unbuttons her pants, letting them slide down her toned thighs. Instead of leaving them pooled at her feet, she picks them up and straightens them out with precision and grace, then drapes them on top of the jacket.

"You can tell all that because I don't leave my clothes on the floor like a slob?" she asks.

The insult evaporates under the heat of my desire. I'm too entranced at the way her silk blouse clings to her full breasts, revealing the outline of her stiff nipples. When I borrowed the outfit from Roman's closet, the crazy balcony woman's bras were several sizes too small.

Rosalind's body is athletic, curvaceous, and powerful. She's the perfect blend of femininity and strength, an exquisite creature I want to break apart and rebuild to my tastes. I lean forward, taking in every movement as she continues her unintentional strip tease.

When she finally pulls the top over her head and exposes those lush breasts, my breath catches. I've seen her naked so many times that the outline of her body is etched in my memory in glorious technicolor, but watching her undress for me is an altogether different form of seduction.

Her skin glows in the fire's amber light, accentuating every dip and contour of her curves. She lets the garment fall on top of the pile of clothes and turns to me with a frown.

"You're staring," she says, her voice sharp with accusation.

"Come on, pet. It's nothing I haven't already licked before."

My voice is thick with desire, and I don't bother to conceal my arousal. Rosalind knows what she's getting into when she slips into this bed. Everything that happens from this moment happens with her consent.

She walks to the other side of the mattress, her gaze dropping to the erection tenting the sheets. "Don't get any dumb ideas."

"Believe me, beautiful, nothing about touching you could ever be stupid."