Chapter 6

6

Jeanne

"A game." I shoot him a sideways glance. As if I am going to agree to anything he suggests.

"Don't look at me with such suspicion." He raises his hands. "An innocent game to pass the time is all I'm suggesting."

"Hmph," I scoff. "Nothing you say or do is innocent."

"Of course, it'll help us get to know each other; especially since we're going to be sleeping together."

"See!" I stab my thumb in his direction. "Knew it. There's not an innocent bone in your entire body."

"Can't refute that. I'm a Mafioso, remember? I lost my innocence—what there was of it, at any rate—a long time ago."

I wrap my arms about my waist. I don't want to play with him, do I? And the option is, what? Staring up at the ceiling?

"Come on, Angel, I'm hardly asking you to play strip poker."

"Wouldn't put it past you to weave the same conditions into whatever game you're suggesting."

"The thought had crossed my mind," he admits.

"Ha." I snort, then glance in his direction. "What did you have in mind?"

"Truth or Dare? Surely, that's an innocent enough game for you?"

"Not when you're the one I'm playing with." I turn over on my side. "I'll go first. Truth," I call out before he has the chance of saying anything. "When did you lose your virginity?"

"Hmm, let's see." He scratches his chin. "I lost my virginity at fourteen."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"To the wife of one of my clan members. She was fifteen years older than me."

"That's predictable. Cougar and boy toy," I scoff.

"My turn now. Truth." He leans forward. "Tell me something about yourself that you've never told anyone else."

I purse my lips. What can I tell him about myself without giving too much away?

"I, uh... I have a tattoo."

"A tattoo?" He tilts his head.

"It's in a place which you're never going to see." I tap my right hip.

"Now that's a challenge I'm not going to be able to resist."

"Get used to it because you're never going to be able to see it."

"What kind of a tattoo is it?"

"It's a line from my favorite book of poems."

"Which is?" He scowls.

"Wouldn't you like to find out?"

"You know I will, so why don't you save yourself the bother and tell me what it is?"

"What's the fun in that?" I retort.

"Didn't take you for a tease." He brings his knees up, then lowers his arms between them. With his hair drooping over his forehead, and that slightly disgruntled expression, not to mention the jacket and pants which still manage to be fairly uncreased, he's sex on a stick. Heat curls low in my belly, and a shiver runs down my back, but I ignore it.

"I'm not teasing you; simply stating a fact."

"We'll see." His grin widens. "The very fact that you don't want to show me your tattoo, after mentioning it, shows that you want to pique my curiosity. You want me to imagine you without your clothes, though you pretend you don't want to sleep with me."

"I want nothing of that nature." Liar! My cheeks flush, my nipples harden, a pulse flares to life between my legs, and I have to stop myself from squeezing my thighs together.

"Dare," I burst out. "I dare you to not say one suggestive thing for the next ten minutes."

He chuckles. "You've got it."

"You're not going to protest?"

"Why should I when I can do this?" He begins to peel off his jacket.

I stiffen. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer. He shrugs off his jacket, then starts on the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey!" I can't take my gaze off the strip of skin that he reveals as the lapels of his shirt part. He pushes down the sleeve of one arm, then the other, before he drops his shirt on top of the jacket. At least the floor's not dusty; it would be a pity to dirty those beautifully-cut clothes of his. And I'm only saying that to distract myself, for fact is, I can't take my gaze off of his chest. That incredible eight-, or is it ten-, pack chest, each pec demarcated. The valley between them leading down to his sculpted abs.

He rises to his feet, and my gaze follows. He raises his arms above his head, joins his fingers, then stretches long, deep, with such sensuous grace that my throat dries. He arches his body in a curve to one side, then the other. I rake my gaze down the column of his torso, the narrow waist, the hard slabs of muscle which are his belly, the waistband of his pants which dips low enough to hint at the trail of hair that disappears under it. My belly trembles, my thighs spasm, and moisture laces my core. I know I am gaping a little, but hot damn; this is like a real-life striptease by a particularly hot male model. And while I'm not unfamiliar with the male form, given I work in theatre and male actors take good care of their bodies, no one I have met so far is anywhere half as hot as this man—my cell mate, my fellow prisoner, the man I'm supposed to sleep with to get released from here. I gulp.

A sinking sensation blooms in the pit of my belly. I'm sure it's not lust. And I know it's not anticipation. It's certainly not me being so attracted to him that, despite the fact there may be someone watching us, I don't care anymore. With that kind of body… I'd do anything to feel his muscles on me. His weight holding me down. His lips on mine. His tongue in my mouth. His fingers inside my pussy... My core clenches. My toes curl. I turn over on my front and press my pelvis into the mattress.

He chuckles as he lowers his arms to his sides. Jerk! I'm sure he knows exactly what it's doing to me to watch his sexy body being unveiled in this fashion.

He winks, then turns and drops to the floor, so he's balanced on his palms and toes. Wait a minute? When did he take off his boots? I get a clear view of his back and gasp. What the?—?

His entire back is one big tattoo.

The face in the center has soulful and piercing eyes, and the serpents that spring from the head are entwined with three sheafs of wheat painted the most brilliant yellow. Three legs bent at the knees radiate from the head.

The design is familiar, but I can't quite place it. It's a pattern that's haunting, macabre, primal, and somehow, seems perfect for this man I hardly know. It also doesn't quite hide the strokes of mottled skin which crisscross his back. One, two, three… I count ten of them that flow diagonally from shoulder to waist. The skin is puckered and scarred over, so it must have happened a while ago. When he was younger… When he was a boy, maybe? It must have been painful. How did he survive it?

There are more tattoos on his left arm. I spot a knife, a gun, a four-petaled flower, the scales of justice among the designs which run from wrist to shoulder.

On his other arm are scrawled the words:

Non Dimenticare Mai

"What does the writing on your arm mean?" I finally ask.

He pauses midway in a push up. "I don't want to talk about it."

He dips down, his chest parallel to the ground. His biceps bulge, and his shoulder muscles undulate as they take the weight of his massive body. He stays there for a few seconds, maybe longer, then pushes up so he's balanced on palms that are flat on the ground and on his toes.

"On the other hand..." He shoots me a sideways glance. "Hope you're keeping count." Then he flows into the next push-up. One, two, three. I start a count of a different kind… Truthfully, I do try to keep count, I promise. But the way the planes of his back contract, how his thigh muscles strain his pants as he stares forward with an intent expression, and sinks into each push-up is like a dance... And with those scars on his back… It's dangerous, and animalistic, and erotic, all at once…

Jesus, this is body porn. This is better than watching Elle Woods take down Warner Huntington III in Legally Blonde . OMG, did I just compare watching Luca work out to an event from Legally Blonde ? That's a first because, thanks to my mom, Elle Woods is my all-time girl crush, and the fact that I could even think of both in the same vein means… Luca has made more of an impression on me than I would have given him credit for.

He continues to flow into the next push-up and the next and the next. A bead of sweat slides down his temple, and the tendons of his throat strain. The veins stand out on his arms, and his entire body seems to grow heavier, but he doesn't stop.

I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, then pad toward him. He doesn't look my way, doesn't seem to notice when I pause in front of him. This way, I have a bird's eye view of how his shoulder blades come together when he presses down on his hands and lowers himself until his nose almost brushes the ground. Then he straightens and the planes relax, and his pants pull tight across his butt. A breath whooshes out of me. My breaths feel heavier, my stomach muscles feel lighter, and the space between my legs, definitely moist. My toes curl as I drag my gaze back up his torso to his face to find he's watching me with those piercing blue eyes.

I slide back a step as he pushes back and up to his feet.

"Enjoy the show?" His lips curl. Jeez, that smirk. It's mean, and cruel, and so hot. Why is it that the bad boy is always so much more appealing than the man you'd want to take home to meet your mother? Not to say my mother wouldn't appreciate the spectacle of a hot sex object of a man working out, either.

"It was okay." I toss my hair over my shoulder. "By the way, you barely made it to fifty."

"That's because you distracted me." He takes a step forward; I move back further. Hey, stop that; hold your ground. Don't give in to this big bully.

"You're not very good at keeping your focus if my mere presence causes you to get sidetracked," I sniff.

"Oh, you're causing me to get more than distracted... And that's the truth."

Instantly, I lower my gaze to his crotch, then wish I hadn't because the unmistakable bulge in his pants tells me exactly what impact I have on him.

He closes the distance between us. I watch him warily as he advances. He stops in front of me, then crosses his arms over his chest. He's so tall that I have to tilt all the way back to meet his gaze. The sole window high up in the ceiling is to his back. The rays of sun slanting in are blocked by his body.

"You… you don't scare me." I tip up my chin. "Truth."

"Lies, all lies." He scratches his bare chest, and I lower my gaze to those cut abs. My mouth salivates. This close, that dark chocolate and coffee scent of his intensifies. The heat from his body reaches out to me, and I lean forward before I catch myself. How am I going to resist him when I'm locked up in this room with him?

"I dare you to return to your side of the room and wear your shirt," I blurt out.

He smirks. "Where would the fun be in that now, eh?"

"I am not sleeping with you, okay?" I wrap my arms about my waist. "Why don't you play with yourself instead?"

"Hmm..." He gives me a considering glance. "Now that you mention it."

He reaches for his waistband and I jump up on the bed. "Stop! I didn't mean that literally. It was simply a figure of speech or something."

"You sure?" He pops the button of his waistband. "I'm happy to oblige."

"No, no, no." I turn around and face the wall. "Please, I was simply trying to get you to move back, that's all. I didn't mean it, I promise, okay?"

He laughs and the sound rolls across my skin. OMG, this is not good. Why can't I simply ignore the guy?

"Chicken," he murmurs in a low voice. I sense him moving away, so I risk a peek over my shoulder, and heave a sigh to find him walking over to the opposite side of the room. Once more, he sinks down to the ground and kicks his legs out in front. Only, he's still not wearing his shirt, so that wide expanse of his chest is bared to my perusal. I turn to face him and sit down on the bed cross-legged.

"So, truth. How many siblings do you have?" I ask.

"Seven. Six. No, seven." His forehead furrows.

"You don't know how many siblings you have?" I laugh.

"Xander died," he says simply.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I squeeze my eyes shut. Typical me—saying something stupid when I should have stayed quiet.

"He was killed by a bomb placed in his car. Luckily, Karma, my oldest brother Michael's wife, who was also in the car at the time, escaped. She lost the child she was carrying, though."

"Oh, no." I lock my fingers together in front of me.

"She's pregnant again." A small smile curves his lips. "Which means Michael will not leave her side. It's as if those two are on a perpetual honeymoon."

"That's so sweet."

"Too sweet, maybe." He bends one knee. "Between the two of them, then Christian and Aurora, Axel and Theresa, and Seb and Elsa, my brothers are falling like flies. They're all too busy bowing their heads in servitude to their wives."

"Servitude?" I scoff. "It's not servitude if you love your wife and want to take care of her and your child."

"Knew it. You're one of those suckers who believes in hearts and rainbows and Happily-Ever-Afters." He smirks.

"So?" I firm my lips. "It's normal to want to meet a man who thinks of you as the center of the universe. Something you wouldn't understand because the only person at the center of your universe is you."

"And don't you forget it." He stabs a finger in my direction. "Also, you're beginning to bore me." He yawns. "I think I might get some shut eye. It's a better use of my time than hearing you prattle on."

Jerk. I curl my fingers into fists. I really want to go over and slap his face, but if he were to retaliate, I'd be no match for his strength. Also, not sure if I touch him, I'd be able to stop at a slap. My fingers tingle. I'd want to run my fingers down his neck, down the valley that demarcates his pecs, to that flat stomach of his and down to— I glance away. Jeez, can't I even look at him without wondering how big he's going to be when I finally take him in my hands? I mean, that column in his pants can't lie, right?

I glance back at him to find him pulling on his shirt and his boots.

He must feel the question in my eyes for he glances up at me. "I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality. I suggest you do the same." He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes, showing off the strong column of his throat. He has one arm balanced on his bent knee, but his body is relaxed. He's completely still. He can't be asleep already, can he?

I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Rise and fall. We're hidden away from the world. It's likely no one knows we're here, and yet, I'm not as scared as I should be, because he's in here with me.

Is that crazy? Maybe. I should be more worried about the fact that there's someone spying on us. Someone who wants to watch us getting it on before he's going to let us go. Not that there's any guarantee he will, of course. For all we know, he may have been saying it only to test us. Not to mention, what if he records it? What if he's planning to blackmail us... Or sell it? Oh, my god. What if he keeps us here forever, forcing us to have sex so he can film it and sell it? No, no, no. I'm not going to think about that. People watching us have sex and getting turned on by it? I can't think about that. It's too embarrassing. None of it changes the fact that I'm not letting this man near me, and not because I don't find him attractive. Quite the opposite.

If he touches me once… If he runs his fingers over my breasts, down my stomach and between my legs, and if he rubs my clit... I'm going to explode. A shudder runs up my spine. I glance down to find my fingers between my legs. No, no, no, I can't be touching myself, and certainly not when I'm in the same room as him. Apparently, even being trapped here with a deviant watching us is not enough to deter me from fantasizing about my cellmate.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rise to my feet. I hesitate, then pull on my own shoes. Best to be prepared. I'm not doing it because he told me to but because it makes sense.

Making sure that he's still asleep, I walk over to the wall closest to the window, then I raise my arms over my head.