Chapter 29

Igrasped his upper arms. "I don't understand."

His lips moved over mine. "Yes, you do."

The breath I inhaled was his own. "This whole thing was wrong from the beginning. You need to send me back to Sicily. I'll explain to my father?—"

He shifted his hand to grasp my hair at the base of my skull, holding my head steady as he kissed the corner of my mouth. "You're not going anywhere, Ella."

My fingers twisted into the fabric of his T-shirt. "You have to let me go. I don't belong here."

"No."

I opened my lips to object further, but before I could utter a single word, his mouth claimed mine. His tongue swept inside with such fierce determination, it stole my breath.

With his arm still around my waist, he lifted me off the floor, pressing his hips into mine.

The hard ridge of his cock pushed against my stomach as he swung our bodies around and walked toward the bed.

I tore my mouth free and craned my neck to the side. "Let go."

"Never."

"You can't do this."

"Watch me."

The backs of my thighs hit the edge of the mattress, and I panicked. Twisting my hips, I wrenched free of his arms and skirted around the bed.

I held out a restraining hand. "Matteo, you're angry. You're not thinking straight."

He whipped his T-shirt over his head, exposing the chiseled ridges of hard muscle across his chest and abdomen. There were far too many scars, some faint, some more recent, for anyone to call it perfection. Anyone but me. Damn the man.

Even with his hands dirty and scarred, they were still sexy in that masculine, big and strong way. When he ran them over my skin, I loved how slightly rough and strangely heavy they felt. As if he were restraining their power so he didn't bruise my flesh.

The very idea sent a warm spark of awareness straight between my thighs.

This was madness.

I had to stop this before we both did something we regretted. "I won't tell anyone about the… the… things we did…in bed… not even my sister."

He probably assumed he would now be forced to marry me instead of her if my father found out about all the kinky sex games he had been playing with me.

His hands reached for the tarnished brass buckle of his belt as he kicked off his boots. "You had better not," he growled.

I shook my head. "I won't. I promise!"

The leather belt slid through the loops of his jeans as the corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smile. "I'm a jealous man. I barely tolerate another man looking at you, let alone picturing your sexy body writhing with pleasure."

My eyes widened. "That's not what I meant."

He tossed the folded belt aside. "I know what you meant, baby. And what we're about to do has nothing to do with your sister or your father or Dante or any of that bullshit. I'll deal with all of that later. This is between us."

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I knew I'd angered him with this stupid stunt of Antonia's, but there was no cause to taunt me like this. He could just say his piece and send me back to Sicily. He didn't have to act as if there was something between us.

After all, I was no one. Just the shy, sweet sister.

"Us? There is no us. Until today, you thought I was my sister," I fired back.

As scary as it was, I needed the terrifying, slightly unhinged side of him back.

I couldn't handle this determined, obstinate side.

He tilted his head to the side as he studied me. "That's fair."

The breath I had been holding escaped past my lips. Nothing like having your worst fears confirmed.

I'd played a secondary character to my sister's starring one in my own story for my whole life. There was no reason having it confirmed once again should hurt this much. Still, some tiny part of me had hoped he had noticed I wasn't her.

To avoid looking into his eyes and seeing pity or, worse, disgust in them, I shifted my gaze down and locked it on his hands again.

His masculine, scarred, dirty hands. Hands that would leave marks on my skin.

With his fingers splayed wide, he ran his right hand over the tight ridges of his abdomen. My cheeks burned as I glanced up to catch him watching me. The corner of his lips lifted as he moved his hand in a slow circle before dipping just the tips of three fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

My mouth went dry.

Matteo took a step toward me.

This time, I was too mesmerized to shift away.

His voice was low and calm, as if he were soothing a wild animal. "Let's play a game."

My gaze snapped back up to his. "I've had enough of your games."

He was so close by now, he reached out and captured my chin to tilt my head back. "I think you'll like this one."

I clenched my stomach muscles to keep from trembling. I wanted to blame my overwrought emotions, exhaustion, stress—anything but his nearness—but I knew the truth.

My tongue flicked out to wet my dry lips. "What happens if I win?"

His gaze focused on my mouth as he ran his thumb over my lower lip. "Oh, babygirl. You're not going to win."

My throat muscles contracted as I tried to swallow. There was an unmistakably sinister threat to his words.

"Then I don't want to play."

He stepped closer, pushing me back against the wall. "Too late. We've already begun."

His hand wrapped around my neck as he leaned down to nuzzle the sensitive skin just below my ear. "The rules are simple. I'll tell you a moment I remember. And you tell me if it was you… or your sister."

My eyes filled with tears. My heart already expecting the pain his game would cause me. Hating how pathetic I sounded, I sniffed. "I don't… I don't want to play this game. Please."

His lips skimmed my jaw, then moved softly over mine. "Shhh, colomba mia, trust me."

It wasn't as if I had a choice. He had me pinned against the wall with his hips.

His fingers gently cupped the base of my skull as he moved his mouth over my skin to kiss my forehead. "I remember the fresh clean scent of your perfume as I held your body close when we swayed to the pounding drumbeat of a pizzica tarantelle."

When I didn't answer at first, he curled his fingers into my hair and tugged. "Me," I rasped.

"Good girl. Round two. I remember the soft vibrations of your moan the first time I kissed you. Even then I was struck by your innocent response."

This time when I didn't answer right away, he pressed his hips into mine, further emphasizing the threat of his hard cock.

"Me," I squeaked.

He ran the tip of his tongue between the seam of my lips. "How about the moment I pushed my fingers into your tight pussy as we watched those two men fucking that woman in front of the bonfire? Do you remember that, babygirl? Do you remember how you trembled in my arms as you stared in wide-eyed fascination?"

My fingers splayed wide as I pushed against his warm, naked chest and tried to turn my head to the side. "Please, I don't want to play this game."

His voice took on a dark, sharp edge as all gentleness fled. He yanked on my hair, forcing my head back and my chest forward against his. "What's the matter? Can't handle the truth, that no matter what I called you, I knew the woman in my arms. I knew the taste of your skin. The weight of your breast against my palm. Even the cluster of freckles between your shoulder blades in the shape of a crescent moon."

I tried to pull away as salty tears stung my cheeks. "Please, don't say any more."

This wasn't fair.

Ruthlessly, he continued. "You think it matters that I called you Antonia when I stared into your eyes and saw the hope and longing last night after I said you were safe with me? You think that moment was any less real? I know the hell your father has put you through."

Using his grip, he swung me away from the wall and pushed me back several steps as he shoved both hands into my hair, holding me by the neck. "I know about the empty ache inside your chest from growing up without a mother's love. Always feeling as if you've been deprived of some essential human experience. Always knowing you'll never truly be whole."

Oh God, did he know about my mother?

About my fears?

Had he truly seen through this entire facade the whole time and guessed my motives for going along with it?

He leaned his forehead against mine. "I can make you whole, Ella."

Tears blurred my vision. "It's too late. It's too complicated. This whole thing is a mess. There's nothing you can do to fix it. I'll go home to my father. I'll convince him to give you your money back."

With a curse, he released me and paced away before turning back. "I don't give a damn about the money. I care about you. You think your father's just going to welcome you back with open arms?"

He was right. I couldn't go home. My father saw my sister and me as commodities. Once the scandal broke of why Antonia's engagement to the powerful Cavalieri family ended, both of us would be ruined. My father would think of us as useless trash, just like my mother.

I ran my hands over my arms as a shiver ran down my spine. For years, my mother's ghost had called out to me as I imagined her in a lonely, unmarked grave. The irony that my efforts to find her would see me share the same fate was too cruel to contemplate.

"What happens to me is none of your concern."

His jaw clenched as he narrowed his gaze on me. "What did you just say to me?" he growled.

My resolve faltered, but that didn't change the truth. Backing up a step, I whispered, "It's out of your control."

Matteo cupped his right fist in his left hand and cracked his knuckles. "No, little one. It's not."

Beg. Plead. Tell him you're sorry. Tell him it wasn't your idea. Scream. Run.

The competing impulses crashed into my brain.

"What are you going to do?"

"What I should have done when I first suspected it was you who had come beautifully undone in my arms that night on my boat, and not Antonia."