Chapter 16: Chapter 14

I wake up to the sound of crashing waves competing with arguing voices drifting from somewhere downstairs. And faint traces of a familiar scent. I blink my eyes open, my gaze landing on the red velvet box lying on the nightstand.

It’s been a week since Rafael took me out on his yacht. Seven days since I plunged into uncharted waters. Instead of surfacing to find myself close to a solid shore, I’m more adrift than I’ve ever been.

We still have our “work” evenings in Rafael’s office. I continue trying to fix the bizarre issues in his company’s systems that keep popping up no matter what I do to sort them out. Rafael keeps lurking in his dark corner, sipping his wine until he declares that we’re done for the night.

But there’s a major difference to this “new” normal. When I head to the bedroom, Rafael follows.

And we fuck.

In near complete silence. Aside from our moans and grunts, and constant panting. We just have sex.

Lots and lots of mind-blowing, unhinged sex.

He leaves me so spent that I can’t manage to wake up before noon the following day. When I finally rise, Rafael is already gone, and the only proof that we spent the night together is my sore pussy and the whiffs of cypress and orange in the air.

And every day, there’s a new velvet box on the nightstand beside my bed.

The first gift was a beautiful gold necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant. I was tempted . . . so goddamn tempted to blast the thing into the sea. I managed to restrain myself. Instead, I threw the box at Rafael’s head that evening before taking my seat at the desk. He didn’t even comment on it. Just caught the necklace and put it away in his pocket.

The next morning—a new velvet box. Slightly larger, containing a matching set of sapphire earrings and a bracelet. I left it by his wine glass before making my way through the office door. Our sex was angry, but we didn’t say a word.

Day three—another necklace. Rose gold this time, with a huge round diamond solitaire. A gorgeous, classical look. I shoved it into his hand for good measure. He took it without complaint. Pants pocket, and it was out of sight.

A wristwatch on day four. Solid gold and covered in diamonds. On day five, a “full house” designer set—earrings, necklace, bracelet, and even a brooch, all in a diamond-covered jewelry case. On day six, a fucking tiara!

Every night, I returned his gift without a thank you. And each time, Rafael just put it away. Not a word. Not an indignant sound. Just a set of instructions on my next task.

And then, sex.

Epic. Raw. Sex.

Which neither of us talks about.

I push the covers away and sit up in bed. What will it be today? Another watch? Another necklace? One that’s half my weight in gold and precious gems?

Sighing, I lift the lid on the gift box.

And stare at the contents, unable to breathe.

A delicate white gold chain—a rather simple design—with a small pendant in the shape of a lily of the valley. Polished stems suspend the brilliant-cut diamonds on the flower drops, and marquise gemstones line the leaves.

Gingerly, I stroke the glistening shape with the tip of my finger, while warmth spreads through my chest. This looks delicate and expensive, but nowhere near the other extravagant gifts.

It’s the only one that speaks directly to me. It’s the only one that acknowledges us. Not his wealth.

As I take the chain out of the box, a yellow sticky note falls from the underside of the satiny cushion. It flutters to the floor and lands face down. Bending, I collect the note, turning it around to see what it is.

A drawing of me. Naked. My hair loose around my face. Around my neck, the lily of the valley necklace.

I stare at the note in my hand, then look at the necklace in the other. After eyeing that elegant pendant for a long, long time, I unclasp the chain and put it around my neck.

* * *

The clatter and clang of the cutlery echo through the otherwise silent kitchen. I ignore the looks of concern the maids are throwing in my direction and pull out another drawer to add its contents to the growing pile of utensils already on the counter.

I’ll need at least half an hour to sort everything. Maybe even an hour, if I go slow. After I’m done, I’ll have to find something else to occupy my time or I’ll fucking flip trying to deal with a tangle of emotions that have me all tied up.

I’m wrapped in a thick fog of uncertainty where only blurry, distorted shapes are visible. The guilt is suffocating. I feel like a hypocrite for sleeping with my kidnapper and loving every second of it. For enjoying each moment I spend with him and missing him when he’s not here. I’m just so fucking confused by everything. His feelings. My own. Am I truly in love with Rafael, or is it just Stockholm syndrome? Would I feel the same if he wasn’t forcing me to stay? Hell if I know. I can’t trust my heart, can’t make any sense of my thoughts, can’t be positive about my emotions until I get out of this haze. Rafael is the shroud that consumes me.

And him? Does he have true feelings for me, or is it simply a twisted need to possess an elusive prey that would not blindly succumb to the gilded cage he offered? All that fucking jewelry . . . I have no intention of spelling it out for him, letting him know that I don’t need his fancy trinkets. He’s a smart man, and if he truly cares for me, he should realize it on his own—I don’t want his expensive gifts. I want freedom. And I want him to never again wave the threat to my family as some goddamn flag in front of my face.

I look down, eyes zeroing in on the lily of the valley pendant around my neck. Maybe he’s coming to his senses at last.

“Miss?” One of the maids touches my shoulder. “Otto is here. He has a package for you.”

I look up from the line of forks I’m making, sorting them by size. “What kind of package?”

“It’s from the boss,” Otto says as he approaches the kitchen island and sets a large rectangular box on the counter. The Albini’s gold logo is prominently displayed on the top.

I open the lid and shift the white tissue paper, revealing an abundance of golden silk and lace.

The dress I’d tried on when Rafael took me shopping.

“Boss said he’ll come to get you around eight,” Otto adds.

“Get me?”

“For cocktails.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And if I’m not interested in having cocktails with him?”

“He mentioned you may feel this way. And instructed me to tell you that, if you decline, he won’t be allowing you to make any more phone calls.”

Biting the side of my cheek, I slam the lid shut and push the box away. I’ve got forks to sort instead of dealing with this nonsense.

Coming to his senses, my ass.

How is it possible to like the man and yet want to strangle him at the same time?

“Fuck,” I groan as I take off my button-down to inspect the cut. Shallow but rather long, it’s a diagonal gash across the ribs on the left side of my torso. Still bleeding. In need of cleaning and a good dressing. Seeking the first aid kit, I open the medicine cabinet above the sink.

A street fight. I can’t believe that I got into a fucking street fight because of a woman. It was just a random group of stupid drunk punks throwing bottles at the wall of an alley. I could have just passed them, but no. I stopped the car and then got into a meaningless fistfight with four young idiots just so I could ease some of my frustration.

The reason for my frustration? A tiny little Russian princess who has been pretending that there’s nothing going on between us. I went along with her request not to discuss what is happening in my bedroom because I thought that fucking her would be enough. It’s not. I don’t want her to simply be my nightly fuck. I want our banter. The teasing. Those awful doodles. I want all that and more. But she is still insisting on fixing my IT systems as fast as possible. So she can leave.

When I’m done wiping up the blood and disinfecting the cut, I use a couple of Steri-Strips to bind the skin together and slap a dressing over it. Finished playing nurse to myself, I head to the closet in the corner of the guest room. Most of my clothes are in the walk-in of my bedroom, but a few garments have been left hanging here, as well.

I choose a gunmetal gray shirt and black jacket, then leave the room and walk down the hallway to Vasilisa’s door.

Knock. Knock.

A minute passes.

I knock again, but nothing happens.

“Vasilisa.” I bang my palm on the wooden surface. A sharp pain shoots up my side from the impact.

Silence reigns for a few more moments, but then, the clicking of heels draws closer. The door swings open.

I lose my breath.

And stare.

Fuck me.

“Don’t worry, your dog is ready, Mr. De Santi.”

My brain has checked out, because I just continue to stare like a motherfucker.

Vasilisa puts her hands on her hips and lifts her chin at me. “So, are we going or not?”

“Yes,” I say.

One fucking syllable. That’s the only thing the mush that is my gray matter manages to come up with. I’m too dumbstruck by the sight before me. It doesn’t matter what Vasilisa wears, her beauty is unearthly. But seeing her now—I can’t fucking breathe.

My eyes journey up her slender leg that’s peeking out from between the folds of the gold silk, over her tiny waist and the intricate lace that hugs her breasts and arms, and finally, come to a halt on her face. She doesn’t have any makeup on other than on her eyes. Using an eyeliner and black eyeshadow, she created a smoky look that makes her onyx depths appear larger and more expressive. Her raven hair is gathered into a low bun at her nape, but she left a few strands loose, naturally framing her face. The overall effect is simply striking.

“You’re not my dog,” I manage to utter somehow.

“Oh? So I can say no to going out for the damned cocktails you’ve ordered me to be ready for, and there won’t be any consequences?”

I grit my teeth. “You can say no.”

“Amazing. No!” she barks and slams the door in my face.

I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to calm the fuck down, then knock on the door again. It opens a moment later.

Vasilisa stands at the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are aglow with unhidden fury.

“Would you like to come with me to somewhat of a party tonight? Not an order this time, vespetta. Just an invite.”

“So you’ll be okay with it if I decline?”

“You can refuse, and I’ll turn around and leave. I won’t force you. But I would very much like you to accompany me.” I reach out and stroke her stubborn chin with the tip of my finger. It’s been a long time since I had to work to convince a woman to go out with me. “Please?”

Vasilisa studies me, her eyes wide as she bites her lower lip. Not for the first time, I get lost in her dark magnetic stare for a heartbeat, pulled toward her by an unexplainable force. I move my finger along her jaw, then down her neck, and stop at the dip between her collarbones. “You didn’t like the necklace?”

“I did.”

“But you’re not wearing it,” I lament, caressing the smooth skin below her delicate bones where I imagined the necklace would rest. “Why?”

“This ploy with all the fucking jewelry, Rafael . . . It makes me feel cheap. You know? Like you’re paying me for sex.”

My body goes still. I never wanted her to feel that way. I just . . . wanted to make her like me. To make her want to stay.

“That wasn’t my intention. And I apologize if it came across that way.” I look up, meeting those dark pearlescent eyes. “But I would really like to see that necklace on you.”

“And why is this one so goddamned important? You didn’t have issues with me returning the other things to you.”

“Unlike my previous gifts, I had no reason for buying it other than wanting you to wear it.”

“What other reason could there possibly be?”

“To make you like me.”

“Expensive trinkets will never make me like the man who threatens to kill my family if I won’t dance to his tune.”

“That’s unfortunate.” I snake my hands through the slit of her skirt and grab her butt cheeks, pulling her flush against me. “You like my cock well enough, though.” Lifting her, I carry her into the room and deposit her sweet peach of an ass on the antique dresser. This girl. She fucking slays me. I lean forward, letting our noses touch. “Don’t you, Vasilisa?”

“You have a high opinion of yourself. It’s amazing.” She sneers through her teeth, then . . . mewls as I slide my hands under her panties.

I press my thumb to her clit, rubbing it in slow, tight circles. For a few breaths, I just soak up her soft moans, then hook my fingers on the flimsy string.

“Should I remind you of how your body trembles while I eat your pussy? Or how you beg me for more every night? Lift your gorgeous ass, baby.” She might be glaring at me with disdain, but she does as I ask. I slide the lacy thong down her legs and undo the button on my pants. “Or, maybe, I should help you recall your elated screams as I fuck you senseless?”

“Just normal physical reactions. Nothing more.”

“I’ve missed you talking back to me. It turns me on so fucking much.” I grab her hips and bury myself halfway inside her.

Vasilisa gasps and wraps her hands around the back of my neck, tunneling her fingers into my hair. Soft, quiet breaths leave her slightly parted lips as I rock my pelvis, urging my cock deeper. My cut side is screaming in pain, every forward motion tearing at the binding. It would have been easier if I drove into her tight little pussy in one go, but I’m afraid I’d hurt her.

I have fucking nightmares that I’ll crush her while we sleep. She’s so delicate. Yet, so damn fierce at the same time. They say that the deadliest substances come in the smallest packages. It’s true. My lily of the valley is my personal brand of poison, and there’s no antidote for it. Not for me. She’s coursing through my veins, and nothing on this earth will ever purge her.

I slide inside her another inch. A loud whimper leaves Vasilisa’s lips. She pants, adjusting to my size, her walls squeezing my cock so tightly that I nearly blow my load. Moving my hand to her pussy, I start massaging her clit again. I need her right there with me.

Vasilisa stares into my eyes, hers so devastatingly beautiful in their darkness. I don’t understand why I’m so bewitched by them. Is it the raw desire I can clearly see within those depths? There’s no pretense. She’s not fucking faking it. She doesn’t shut her eyes, blocking out the view. Doesn’t try to forget the beast of a man who’s bringing her pleasure. It’s not the money or expensive gifts that make her unravel at my touch. Just the ecstasy she finds in my arms. Me. Just me. I’ve gotten so used to paying for everything I want, that I’ve forgotten how it feels to hold something freely given.

But she still wants to leave.

I cup her jawline with my hand, tilting her face to meet mine. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

“Why?” she pants.

“So I can give you another ‘normal physical reaction,’ Vasilisa. Deep breath. Now.”

She threads her fingers through my hair and inhales. I thrust inside her to the hilt. Her eyes roll back as she trembles, her body shaking in my embrace. Hushed whimpers escape her as I retreat, but then they turn into fervent moans when I drive into her again.

My side burns while I pound into her soaked pussy, faster and faster. As she comes, Vasilisa’s moans transform into rapt screams, reverberating off the bedroom walls. I marvel at every note, every ragged breath, every whimpered whisper. I swallow all her sighs. Pry every shuddering quiver from her body. Imprint it all on my memory.

My beautiful Russian princess.

I keep my eyes locked on hers as I explode into her welcoming heat, spilling my seed but keeping my secrets.

“Non ti lascerò mai andare, Vasilisa.”

* * *

A string quartet is performing on a small stage set up to the left of the main entrance. Instead of a classical piece, however, they are mid-rendition of a popular movie score. Draped in black cloths, high-top tables are scattered throughout the main lobby, with tealights inside tiny fishbowls making up the centerpieces. The guests are the who’s who of locals and frequent visitors alike. Dressed to the nines, they mingle and hover near the tables, their never-empty cocktail glasses catching the glow of the candles.

Dozens of eyes follow us as we move further into the space. Nothing uncommon about that. My reputation always precedes me, and my face never fails to garner curious looks. But tonight, all stares seem to be reserved for the woman walking by my side.

I should have expected it. Human beings are naturally drawn to wondrous things. And she is so exceptionally gorgeous that, once tempted eyes are set upon her, they struggle to look away. The primitive parts of our brain just can’t seem to process that something so stunningly beautiful could possibly be real. That makes the stares inevitable.

Still, I can’t handle this shit. I’m acutely aware of every single man looking at Vasilisa, and my fingers itch to pull out my gun and start shooting the motherfuckers. Every. Each. One. Right between the eyes.

“A lot of people here,” Vasilisa comments beside me. “You’re not concerned that someone may recognize me and send word to Bratva?”

“Not particularly. People around here know not to stick their noses in my business, unless, of course, they’re willing to face the consequences.”

“I have a distinctive feeling that the said consequences wouldn’t include working on your firewalls.”

“It would be hard to do such a task without their hands”—I look down at my little hacker—“or heads.”

“Rafael!” a male voice booms over the people’s chatter.

I tighten my hold on Vasilisa’s waist and glance at the source. Nazario Biaggi, the son of Calogero’s underboss, is squeezing himself through a wall of guests, heading in our direction. We went to school together, and before I left Sicily, we were best friends. Nazario was never initiated into the Family, picking a construction career over Mafia life. It’s the only reason he’s allowed to set foot in my territory.

“I’m glad to see you tonight,” he says with a smarmy smile as he approaches. “Especially in such lovely company.”

Nazario’s gaze rivets on Vasilisa, his eyes eating her up. Rage and jealousy, like molten fucking rock boiling just under the surface, explode inside my chest while I watch him extend his hand toward her.

“Touch her, and I’ll snap your neck,” I say in Italian, then pull Vasilisa closer to me and switch to English. “This is Nazario Biaggi. One of my business associates.”

Nazario’s eyes flare in surprise, but he quickly hides it and pulls out one of his flirtatious grins. “Always a pleasure meeting one of Rafael’s . . . candied delights. Does the lady have a name?”

Blood colors my vision as I try to control an overwhelming impulse to punch him in the face for daring to smile at my woman. Nazario has always been a flirt, but I’ve never given a fuck when he ogled my hookups before or when he flashed his grin at them. He might be loaded, a construction industry mogul, but his wealth doesn’t even come close to mine. I could buy everything he owns in the blink of an eye. No woman would ever leave me for him. Except her. Because, apparently, my money doesn’t interest her in the least.

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Biaggi,” Vasilisa chirps, her sugarcoated tone slashing me right through the heart.

She likes him. Of course she does. Women always fall head over heels for Nazario, and they would even if he didn’t have a dime to his name. The pencil-dick is that good-looking, I suppose. Envy grips me in its claws, shredding my insides into pieces.

“The lady’s name is Gummy Bear, but I’m the sour kind,” Vasilisa continues with a smile. “And I’d very much appreciate it if you’d stop staring at my boobs.”

My head snaps up. “You were ogling my woman’s cleavage?” I growl, switching back to Italian.

“No, not at all.” Nazario takes a step back and clears his throat. “My father wanted me to pass along a message. About a week ago, several Cosa Nostra men were found dead in Palermo, their tongues were missing. Dad was concerned that you may have had something to do with that.”

“Oh? Did he share his concerns with the don?”

“Yes. Calogero assured him that a gang from Trapani killed them.” He cocks his head, eyeing me with suspicion. “So, it wasn’t your handiwork after all?”

“I would only ever kill my godfather’s men if he broke the terms of our agreement. But the don would never go against his word, would he?”

“Of course not.” He nods and his voice drops lower. “But should anything of that nature ever happen, my father would like to be the first to know.”

“Well, let the underboss know I’ll keep it in mind.” I tighten my hold on Vasilisa’s waist and motion toward the bar. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“Gummy Bear?” Rafael asks as we walk up to the bar.

“Seemed like a suitable name for an eye candy.” I shrug. “What was that discussion about? It sounded pretty serious.”

“Nazario subtly informed me that my godfather seems to be losing the support of some Cosa Nostra members.”

“Are they going to oust him from power?”

“If he fucks up, yes.” He passes me the beverage handed to him by the bartender.

“Never a shortage of drama in the Cosa Nostra world.” I take a sip of my drink. “Grape juice? Really?”

“I’ve noticed that alcohol doesn’t agree with you.” He places his hand on the small of my back and ushers us back toward the mingling crowd.

This cocktail party is being hosted in the lobby of an antique building. The grand foyer features a domed ceiling, decorated with intricate hand-painted scenes depicting lush gardens of paradise. The elaborate details are everywhere—walls, columns, inlaid colored marble.

My eyes glide over the tiled floor with its incredible floral mosaic, then across the ornate floor-to-ceiling windows, and settle on the stucco decor and humongous old-looking paintings.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been inside such a beautiful building,” I whisper.

“It was the summer mansion of a seventeenth-century nobleman who got rich through the silk trade,” Rafael says. “He lost it in a game of cards, and the property changed hands quite a few times over the next four hundred years. When it went up for sale two years ago, it was basically a ruin. The complete restoration took nearly a year and a half.”

“I can’t believe they’ve kept everything the same. Even the wall paintings?”

“Those are called frescos. And yes, they’ve been restored, as well.”

My eyes slide back to him. “You know the new owner?”

“Quite well, actually. An unscrupulous motherfucker that one. But he has a weakness for cultural relics”_Rafael reaches out and brushes my cheek with his knuckles_“heritage . . . and . . . a feisty little hacker who keeps rejecting his gifts.”

The musicians switch to a slower melody, a highly emotional piece with a violin in the lead. Everyone is having a great time, but I’m only partially aware of the people moving around us. I’m completely tuned in on Rafael, ensnared in the twin green beams that seem to blaze right through me.

“Should I take that as a compliment? Being called a weakness doesn’t sound like much of one,” I whisper.

“It depends on your view of such things.” His hand moves along my chin. “Let’s say someone opens fire right now. There’s a high probability of that happening, considering the number of enemies I have. If I were alone, I’d simply go for my gun and neutralize the threat. If I had to give chase, I’d do it. There wouldn’t be anything here that would distract me from accomplishing that objective.

“But, since you’ve accompanied me here tonight, I would handle that scenario differently. Your safety comes first. The elimination of the attackers is paramount, but only to ensure your well-being. Going after them, if it means leaving you behind, is less important. Meaning, Vasilisa, you are my highest priority, but also undeniable liability.”

“So why did you bring me, if I’m such a liability?” I choke out.

Rafael’s eyes crease at the corners as a small smile tugs his lips. He bends forward and wraps his arm around my waist, slowly lifting me flush against him. I grab his shoulders for support, alarmed by the fact that he’s bearing my whole weight with only one arm. But Rafael doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. His eyes never waver from mine while he raises the tumbler in his other hand and casually takes a sip.

“Because, believe it or not,” he says as he puts the now empty glass on the table beside him, “I enjoy your company way too much. And I’ve missed our chats.”

I suck in a breath, unable to look away from his eyes. Our faces are so close that his warm breath brushes my skin. My lips. “You would risk getting shot, all so you could talk to me someplace I can’t simply ignore you?”

“Any day,” Rafael growls before his mouth descends on mine.

The taste of him invades me. Fire spreads through my veins, the most consuming flame searing me from the inside. God, I’ve missed him, too.

I tried distancing myself from thoughts of him, hoping that doing mundane tasks would somehow help lessen the dangerous, messed-up feelings I’d been developing for Rafael. Over the past week, I’ve reorganized his walk-in twelve times, simply because touching his things brought me comfort. Aside from sex, we haven’t touched at all. No kisses outside the bedroom. I’ve tried to tell myself that this pull I feel toward him is nothing more than a sexual attraction. It’s not.

And this kiss proves it. As I kiss him back, the sensation overrules everything else. Common sense. Self-preservation. Suffocating guilt. Nothing matters, except him.

When his lips leave mine, our eyes remain locked, and suddenly, I can’t seem to get enough air.

“Is kissing in public considered impolite in Sicily?” I ask as he lowers me back to the ground. An unexpected hush has descended upon the room. No one is talking. They are all just gaping at us. “Why is everyone staring?”

“They’ve been staring since the moment you stepped into the room. It was curiosity and surprise at first. Now, I’m pretty sure they’re simply terrified of you.”

I don’t get the chance to ask what the hell he means about people being afraid of me because my eyes catch on the dark crimson stain spreading across Rafael’s shirt.

“Rafael . . .” I take the side of his jacket and move it away. A big area on his left side is soaked in blood. “Dear God. What happened?”

“A minor slip-up in my assessment. I wrongly concluded this won’t need stitches.” He rights his jacket and buttons it as if there’s no issue at all. “Guido will take care of me when we get back.” His tone remains calm, but there’s something else swirling in his green depths now. “There should be a singer coming up soon to give a little performance, and the servers will be bringing out the cassata cake. I think you’ll like it.”

“We’re not waiting for a damn cake while you’re bleeding all over the place!” I whisper-yell.

“It’s a Sicilian specialty. You have to try it.”

I stare at him in shock. “You need a doctor.”

“Guido can handle it. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I meant for your head, придурок!”

Rafael’s lips tilt into a devious smirk. “Is that a Russian pet name, vespetta?”

“It means ‘moron’!” I sneer through my teeth, grab his arm, and pull him toward the exit.

Shocked faces stare at us while people part to let us pass. Rafael doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m basically dragging him through the hotel lobby. There’s actually a slight smirk flashing across his features.

“I guess this means we’re not staying for cake?” he asks as we step outside.

“You guessed right.”

“Mm-hmm. I think you might like me after all, Vasilisa, just a tiny bit. Skipping dessert for my sake? I feel rather special.”

Ugh. This man. I watch him closely, throwing frequent looks at him as we traverse the parking lot to Rafael’s SUV, looking for signs of distress. He seems fine. Is that normal? How much blood has he already lost?

Once we reach the wicked-looking Maserati, I tug on the lapel of his suit jacket. “Bend over, please. I need to check your pupils.”

Rafael braces a hand on the car roof and leans forward until his face hovers right in front of mine. I cup his jawline with my palms and tilt his head slightly to the side, toward the lamplight. My God, his eyes are so beautiful. There’s a glint to them that reminds me of the sea glass I found at the shore. Opalescent. And brazenly focused on me. And when he looks at me as he is now, I get the impression that he wants to swallow me whole. Every time, it makes me weak in the knees.

“Why are you checking my pupils, Vasilisa?” he asks, his voice rumbly.

“I’m not sure. Doctors do it in the movies all the time.” I move a stray strand of hair off his forehead.

“A pupil test is done to check for brain injury. It has nothing to do with bleeding.”

“Well, I’m checking them regardless. Stay still.”

His eyes appear normal to me. But his skin feels warm. I touch his temple with my fingertips, then his cheek with the back of my hand. Fuck, I can’t figure it out. Lifting on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his forehead.

Rafael goes stiff as a board, his every muscle rigid with tension.

“What are you doing?” he asks. The tone of his voice is strange. I can tell he’s uneasy, but I haven’t a clue why.

“Checking for fever.” I reposition my lips to his temple. Then back to his forehead. Nope, his temperature seems fine. For now. I brush my knuckles down his cheekbone. “We should hurry. You need to take antibiotics.”

Rafael cocks his head to the side and dips lower, his eyes boring into mine. “I already took some. But if it’ll make you less worried, I’ll take them again.”

“I don’t think that’s how meds work,” I choke out, mesmerized by the dangerous glint in his eyes.

“And I didn’t expect you to fret about my well-being.”

“Of course I’m worried! We’re practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s at least a half-hour ride back to the estate. How are you going to drive in your condition?”

“What condition?”

“The you’re-bleeding-all-over-the-place condition!” I shout while tears gather in the corners of my eyes.

“My blood vessels aren’t doing the driving, vespetta.”

A frustrated whimper leaves my lips. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, then grab his arm, shaking him.

“How can you be so fucking unruffled? You’re hurt! What if you go into shock? Or bleed out? I don’t know first aid, Rafael! And what if I need to get you to the ER, and you’re unresponsive? I don’t even know your blood type! Or if you have any allergies to drugs. What if—”

Rafael’s mouth crushes mine. As usual, when he kisses me, I completely forget everything but him.

“You can drive,” he mumbles into my lips. “Or we can just get in the car, and you can ride my cock. Make sure my blood is redirected elsewhere.”

I bite his lower lip. Hard. Then, force myself to break the kiss. “Keys.”

Rafael’s eyes narrow into smirky slits while he takes the keys out of his pocket and drops them on my extended palm. I hoist myself into the driver’s seat, reaching for the wheel. But it and the pedals might as well be in a different time zone.

“Umm . . . Where is—” I start to ask, but I’m already sliding forward.

“Here,” Rafael says while holding the switch on the outward edge of the seat base. “I don’t have any extra cushions,” he continues while pressing another control to raise the seat, “but I’ll make sure there’s one in the vehicle from now on.”

“Cushions?”

“Yes.” He rounds the car and gets in on the passenger side. “It’ll be easier for you to see over the wheel with additional padding.”

I shake my head. Did The Sicilian just tease me?

“Do you have GPS?” I ask as I start the engine. “I can’t find my way over those damn winding dirt roads.”

“I like the winding dirt roads. One of the main reasons I love the Taormina area is because there aren’t many highways around here.”

“What’s wrong with nice solid highways?”

“They fuck up the landscape.”

I steal a look at him with the corner of my eye. “How are you feeling?”

“Strange.”

Alarms instantly go off in my head. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never let anyone drive my car before.”

“Why not?”

“As I told you already, I don’t like having my things touched. That includes my vehicles. My clothes.” He turns on the GPS, then meets my gaze. “My bed.”

Biting my lower lip, I quickly look back at the road in front of us. I’ve been wearing Rafael’s clothes since I got here. In fact, he went to great lengths to make me wear nothing but his clothes for days after my arrival. And I’ve been sleeping in his bed all this time.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because, long ago, I lost everything I owned and had nothing left that was mine. Every single thing I have now, I fought through blood and sweat to possess, but I gave up a large chunk of my soul doing it.” The easy cadence of his words changes, and his tone shifts, taking on an edge. “I don’t share things I had to barter my soul for, Vasilisa.”

“But you shared them with me.”

“I did.” Crow’s-feet radiate from the corners of his playful eyes. “Because you’re mine, too.”

That’s such a chauvinistic line. But instead of raising my hackles, his possessiveness sends a pleasant warmth throughout my chest. His words leave me melting. God help me. I’m moments away from curling up at his side and purring like a happy little kitten.

“I’m not yours,” I mumble and turn onto the main road. “Blood loss is making you delusional.”

“Then, you will be.” Rafael opens the glove box and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I gape at him.

“What?”

“Smoking can lead to a higher chance of you bleeding out and also affect the healing of the wound, that’s what.” I rip the pack out of his hand and throw it through the open window.

“You do realize that if I die, you’ll be free to return home, don’t you ?” He sets his warm palm on my thigh, right over the flesh made bare by the slit in my dress. “You know, I can vividly envision your beautiful promise of where the dogs will chew me up and shit out my remains. It’s probably the most intriguing death threat I’ve ever received.”

My fingers tighten on the wheel, and I keep my eyes firmly glued to the stretch of road beyond the windshield. He’s right. With him out of the picture, I’d be able to go free. The possibility never actually crossed my mind. Actually, the mere notion of something bad happening to him triggers a falling sensation in the pit of my stomach.

I step harder on the gas pedal.

His hand slides to my inner thigh, then drifts up. “Mmm . . . I had no idea there are such advantages to being the passenger.”

The tips of his fingers lightly graze over my panty-covered pussy.

“Rafael.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I’m driving.”

“And you’re doing a great job.” With another gentle stroke, the force of his fingers intensifies. “How do you like the SUV?”

A tremor races down my spine, and I nearly swerve off the road, coming too close to the roadside barrier. “It feels like driving a tank. I prefer lower-riding cars.”

“Okay. I’ll order a sports convertible for you.”

“I don’t want you to buy me a car! Please, remove your hand.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

His touch is getting bolder, the pressure firmer. Despite the flimsy lace keeping the skin-to-skin contact at bay, his deft fingers stroke inside my folds. The abrasiveness of the fabric on my sensitized skin only heightens my reaction. The navigation screen shows we’re less than five minutes from the estate. But there’s no way I’ll stay lucid that long if he continues his ministrations.

“I’m going to stop the car,” I pant.

“And let me bleed to death? I am feeling quite lightheaded all of a sudden.” With a swift move, he shoves the crotch of the panties to the side and slides his finger inside me. “You’re soaked, Vasilisa.”

I choke on my breath, almost losing control of the damn vehicle again. His thumb circles my clit, the sweet torment making me whimper. My nails sink into the leather of the wheel as I squeeze it harder. Zaps of electric current run through my nerve pathways as Rafael keeps up his persistent teasing of my tender flesh. A slow stroke in and out, followed by another more vigorous one. And then, he changes the angle of his wrist and pushes his finger deeper.

“We’re going to crash.” My inner muscles spasm. I’m going to go mad if he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Or maybe if he does.

The property comes into view at the end of the road. I pull the remnants of my sanity and composure together, focusing all my concentration on the iron fixture as it slides too slowly out of the way. We’re going to hit the stupid thing. I lay on the horn like the lunatic I apparently am at the moment.

The Maserati careens through the gap, missing by mere inches both the structure and the shocked security guard holding the gate open. My core weeps with the sweetest agony while Rafael continues his relentless strokes, pulling his finger almost completely out, only to thrust it further inside.

By the time we reach the house, I’m so out of my mind that I’m barely aware of hitting the brakes. The jolting stop propels my body forward, impaling me onto Rafael’s finger. White stars explode in front of my eyes as I come all over his hand.

Air escapes my lungs in wheezing puffs. All I can do is maintain a death grip on the steering wheel as Rafael finally releases my pussy and starts unbuttoning his pants.

“Your driving skills are exceptional, vespetta,” he says and unclasps both of our seat belts. “Let’s see how you do with riding.”

Huge hands grab my waist, and, in the blink of an eye, I find myself straddling him, with a rock-hard cock teasing my entrance.

“You’re crazy,” I choke out as I sink down, taking him inside. “If you bleed out, it’ll be all your fault.”

Lust-filled eyes squint with mirth as Rafael plunges into me from below. “You’re going to be the death of me, Vasilisa. One way or another.”

I keep ahold of Rafael’s neck as I ride him, angling my hips so that I can take more of him in. My core is quivering, already I’m on the brink of coming again. His left hand cups my face while he teases my pussy with the other, applying pressure with his thumb on the spot where my folds meet. It’s driving me mad, loony. The sounds of my panting fill the SUV as I let myself get lost in Rafael’s eyes. Insanity. This is sweet insanity from which I never want to recover.

Rafael’s chest rises and falls as his breathing picks up, becoming more ragged. Seeing him coming undone is an erotic elation in itself, but when he pulls me forward, smashing his mouth to mine in a wild, possessing kiss, I lose myself completely. Orgasmic bliss consumes me, burning away the last specks of the walls I erected around my heart in a futile attempt to keep Rafael De Santi from claiming it.