Chapter 18

18

Massimo

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry." She raises stricken eyes to my face. Gorgeous green eyes that are burned into my brain. Her color is pale, and her cheekbones are prominent—more prominent than when I last saw them. She hadn't been this thin then. She also didn't have the scar that curves from eyebrow to cheek. A scar that only adds to her allure. She's the Queen of Sheba. She's Helen of Troy. Cleopatra herself, reborn to taunt my dreams and get under my skin and make my life a living hell.

I reach out my hand, wanting to touch the marred skin, but she turns her head. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, steps away, only to sway again. I tighten my grip on her arms and she shivers.

"Let me go," she says in a low voice.

"No."

"You need to clean up your jacket."

"Fuck that."

"You can't get engaged wearing my puke."

I firm my lips. She has a point there. I'm here for my engagement. To the Camorra princess, who is waiting for me to join her. I should release her and return to my future bride. A heavy sensation grips my chest. It has nothing to do with meeting this woman who turned my life upside down, then walked away from me.

"You never answered my question," I growl.

She tips up her chin. "Which one?"

"Why are you here, Via?"

"It's my sister's engagement party."

"Your sister?" I whip my head around to find my fiancée-to-be watching us with curious eyes. "She's your sister?"

"Yes, and I'm going to make sure you don't hurt her. If this is some ruse to get me back?—"

"Get you back? You're the one who told me you were in love with another man." I turn around and glare at her. "Has that changed?"

She seems to grow even more pale. "No." She shakes her head. "That hasn't changed."

My chest feels like it's been split wide open. Goddamn. Granted, I barely knew her before I fell for her. It had been stupid of me to ask her to marry me when she was laid up in the hospital with the injury that scarred her. I should have waited for her to recover, but seeing her helpless in the hospital bed, and so dejected at the thought that she would be permanently disfigured, ignited something inside me. I wanted to go after the assholes who did this to her. I wanted to reassure her that nothing could ever detract from her beauty. I wanted to tell her she didn't have to worry about the scar because I'd always find her to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Instead, I asked her to marry me. I asked her to marry me, and she told me she was in love with another man.

I tighten my hold on her, then glance over my shoulder. My gaze connects with Adrian, who nods. He walks toward me, then turns around to face the crowd.

"We need a little time for Massimo to clean up."

A buzz of conversation instantly fills the air.

"Can we start the music again, please?" I hear him say. A second later, the strains of opera music, which had been streaming over the speakers before her interruption, fill the air.

I walk past her, pulling her along in my wake as I stalk out of the conservatory and down the corridor toward where I know there's a bathroom.

"What are you doing? Everyone will wonder what we're up to," she protests.

"Adrian will take care of it. Besides, all I'm doing is guiding my future sister-in-law to the bathroom so we can get cleaned up. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all."

"And everyone knows you're not one."

"Only with you, and only because it turned you on when I revealed my filthy side."

"Is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?" she snaps back.

My guts clench. Sister-in-law? What the fuck.

"Future sister-in-law, and speaking of, when were you going to tell me that you were one of the Camorra? " I shoot back.

"Never?" She tries to drag her feet, but I compensate by half dragging her along, until she stumbles in my wake.

"Let go of me, you jerkass," she whisper-screams.

"Not a chance." I yank her along beside me.

She hurries to keep up. "I'm wearing heels, you asshole. I can't walk as fast as you."

I slow down just enough so she can keep pace.

"What is wrong with you?" she snarls.

"Save the injured party act." I reach the bathroom and shoulder my way in, then pull her in after me. I slam the door shut and lock it.

"Isn't that presumptuous of you? Should you be locking the door after us? If someone from my family were to come here?—"

"They won't. Adrian will take care of it." I turn to her, then yank the tie off my collar. I fling it down, then throw my jacket on top. I brush past her, walk to the sink and flick open the tap. I cup my palms under the water and splash some on my face.

It's going to be okay. It has to be okay. I'll make it okay. I straighten, then stare at my slightly crazed eyes in the mirror. She does this to me. Every time I meet her, something in my orderly life falls apart.

Before I met her, I was sure I knew what I wanted. It's why I trained in finance. Numbers are my friends. They're black and white. They never lied to you. Never leave room for misinterpretation. It's why I'm the finance guy for the Cosa Nostra . I tripled our income from investments.

It's also why I'd been determined to find someone simple to settle down with. Someone who'd bear my children and be a pleasant wife. The kind who'd have dinner waiting for me when I came home in the evening. I'd hoped for a straightforward life. Instead, I fell for a spitfire.

Someone who wouldn't hesitate to go toe-to-toe with me and tell me off, and basically, be a giant pain in the backside. Which is why I was intrigued by her. I wanted her as soon as I saw her. And she wanted me. We wanted each other that first night we met, and I was sure she'd never leave my bed again.

Only, she did. She ensured I'd leave, and never try to see her again. I certainly didn't expect to see her on my engagement day.

My engagement day. What a clusterfuck.

I close the tap, grab a towel and dry my face, then turn to her. She's leaning against the door, a hand pressed to her stomach.

My guts twist, and the heaviness in my chest intensifies. I cross the floor toward her and grasp her shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh, I may have had a little too much tequila before I left home."

"You were drinking before noon?"

"Hey, it's happy hour somewhere in the world, isn't it?" She lowers her arm to her side.

"Really, that's your rationale for turning up drunk in front of your own family?"

She huffs, "Relax, there's nothing wrong with me. Nothing some painkillers won't fix."

"You need to drink some water, rehydrate." I grab her arm and pull her along with me to the sink, then snatch a glass and hold it under the tap before I shove it under her nose. "Drink."

"Fine, stop worrying!" She takes a mouthful of water, gargles and spits it out once, twice, before tipping the glass back and drinking from it. She drains the glass and sets it down with a snap on the counter. "There, happy?"

I'll be happy when I have you under me, in my bed, writhing around my cock.

I glare at her and she bites down on her lower lip. Of course, I feel the tug all the way to the crown of my dick. Un-fucking-believable. I'm supposed to marry her sister, and here I am, getting turned on by her. And it's not like we've kissed or I've held her inappropriately… Recently.

Her chest rises and falls. The air between us thrums with that chemistry that's so overpowering when the two of us are together.

Hell, even when we're not. I haven't stopped thinking of how it feels to mold her body to mine, to hold her hips against mine, to squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples, and tweak so hard, she curves her back and cries out, and when I reach between her legs, she's soaking wet, her cum trickling down her inner thigh. She's ready and waiting, the pink lips of her pussy swollen from the need to have my shaft buried balls deep inside her. The crown of my cock stabbing into that secret place of hers which drives her crazy. I tilt my hips and drive into her over and over again. With her, the hunger that gripped me is like nothing I've experienced before. The scent of her hair, the taste of her skin, the feel of her breath on my lips as I kiss her and plunge my tongue inside her honeyed mouth and drink from her, even as I empty my load inside her.

She blinks, then takes a step forward, "Massimo, I?—"

"Don't." I hold up my hand. "Whatever it is, don't say it."

"Right." She glances away. "You're right. I shouldn't be talking to you like that. It's not appropriate." She squeezes her eyes shut. "Look, I didn't mean to barge in like that and turn your engagement upside down."

"You didn't," I say through gritted teeth. "Things will proceed as planned."

She snaps her eyes open and turns to me. "You're still going to marry her, despite what happened between us?"