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If it wasn’t for Ajello, God only knows what would have happened to Sienna and Asya. Neither came through completely unscathed under my watch, but I shudder to think what could have happened if my sisters had been taken away from me when they were five.
Especially a particular pair of dark-brown irises searing through my last nerve tonight. I straighten out, ready to head to my car, just as a wave of profound loss sweeps over me, and for the teeniest instance, I miss that smoldering heat. “Definitely stupid,” I mumble,
Our newest construction property is half an hour away, and I spend the entire drive wondering how Tara Popov managed to slip from my sight at Naos.
A pang of guilt hits me. I didn’t want to scare her, damn it! I just… the hell if I know what. Never have I been so bothered by anyone before.
“Alexa,” he says. “Put on the ambience playlist.” A moment later, the room is filled with a combination of a classical piano melody and the soothing sound of rain. “Are you for real?” I gape at him.
“One year,” he says after a while. “One year… what?” “We’ll stay married for one year. Then, I’ll give you a divorce.”
“Stop this! Let go, both of you!” I yell, hoping my weight will make each of them drop their grip. “No!” The two voices erupt simultaneously, rattling the rafters in the entry hall.
“I detest you,” I whisper. Then pull his head down and smash my mouth to his. It was supposed to be a rough press of the lips.
Do you have a problem with me being on social media just like Drago did with Sienna? Did you know that he actually got her account shut down? You would never lower yourself to that same barbaric level, would you?” My left eye starts twitching.
“It’s not that cold in here.” “I like to be warm.” She likes to be warm. Great. Inwardly groaning, I get up and shrug off my jacket. Tara watches me with awe as I take a couple of steps and drape the garment over her shoulders. Her eyes flare as I bend and bring my face to hers. “No washing this one. Got it?” “Yup.”
“Oh, come on, Sammy.” Tara laughs, patting him on his chest. “Can’t you push it a bit? I know you’ve got that magic. How about by the end of the week? For old times’ sake. Otherwise, I’m afraid DeVille might have a coronary.” Daniels gives me a quick look before his attention is once more consumed by Tara. He seems to be swallowing her with his eyes. They have to be more than just old friends. Ex-lovers. I’m certain of it. That realization is like a gut punch, knocking the wind out of me without any fucking warning.
But he is also right. I’ve been squeezing Tara too tightly, trying to keep her safe. From everything. Even her own choices. Maybe… Maybe it’s time to let her save herself.
The stupid jerk even knew that Serbs wear their rings on the opposite hand from the Western tradition. A small part of me hoped he’d screw up and place the ring on my left hand, just so the disappointment would remind me this isn’t real. But the bastard obviously did his research.
His scent leaves me spiraling, burning up with need. To hold him close. Closer. Feel the press of his hard chest against my aching breasts. To stay trapped in his searing clutches, while DeVille sets everything around me on fire.
“I do.” That didn’t sound like my voice, but I know I said it. DeVille slipping the wedding ring on my finger barely registers with me. It’s a thick band of yellow gold that weighs a ton. Or at least it feels like it does. Like a shackle.
The damn thing gets stuck around his knuckle. Shit. I feel the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes staring at me and my inability to slip the ring on my groom. The silence around us is deafening. “Do not drop it,” Arturo whispers so only I can hear. “It’s bad luck.” “Can’t get worse than this,”
“Do you have something against my name?” I ask. “Why?” “Because you haven’t used it. Not once. It’s always DeVille.” Tara looks away.
But then, she raises her chin and heads to the front door. Nope, that’s not happening. Catching up, I quickly scoop her into my arms. “Hey!” “Appearances, gattina. It’s tradition for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold.”
I’ve only done it because you had a panic attack and nearly passed out at the altar.” “I did not have a panic attack! And I don’t faint. You must have confused me with one of your delicate Italian girls.” “I’d never make a mistake like that. You’re about as different as could be from an Italian woman.”
I’ve never felt safe around people. But at that moment, the arms of my archenemy were the most sheltered place on earth. I would have done anything to stay within their secure embrace. Just the idea that he might let me go spiked greater anxiety.
He sounds like sin personified, like the devil he is.
Speaking of which… I maintained the mandatory ever-present smile.” “I’m certain your facial muscles will cramp from all that fake grinning.”
“Not so much of an ice princess now, are you, gattina?” “Go to hell, Satan.” I seize his lips in a brutal kiss. “Aw, I’ve been demoted once more.”
What car did my hellion purchase? I got a call a few hours ago to confirm that my credit card hadn’t been stolen. Apparently, my wife was trying to put through a transaction of one point two million on the Amex. That’s what I get for telling Tara that she could buy whatever she wants. I own up to my mistakes, so I allowed the purchase.
Maybe Tara would have reacted better to my move with her old car if I had simply admitted the truth. But instead, I came up with that asinine explanation, making it sound like she needed to drive something flashy, something more becoming of my wife. Like I’m a stuck-up snob, or something. Stupid, I know. But it works better for the situation we’re in.
Despite her outrageous hair, my wife looks divine in her elegant navy-blue formal dress. It hugs her body, wrapping around her slight but mouthwatering curves before gently flaring near mid-thigh, highlighting her figure. The off-shoulder neckline adds a touch of sophistication without revealing too much of that milky skin I can’t stay away from. She’s beautiful. Ravishing. And mine. But she remains tempting to all these assholes. They can’t hide what they’re thinking, and I’m seized anew by volcanic rage whenever I spot another man glancing at my wife, devouring her with his eyes.
My fist connects with Katrakis’s face before the son of a bitch utters his next syllable. He flies backward, landing on his ass several feet away.
“This is the one and only time you will disrespect my wife,” I growl. “Say another word about her, and I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it up your ass. Mark my words.”
So, although I don’t like seeing anyone in pain, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that seeing Arturo lay him out to defend my honor, like a true knight from one of my books, was hot as hell.
When I look around, it’s as if I can track my wife through the house. If it was anyone else’s shit, my obsessive-compulsive personality would have forced me to immediately tidy up. Everything has its place. Except Tara. And her stuff, apparently. My wife doesn’t just “fit” into a specific slot in my life. She has taken it over completely. And it never even crossed my mind to do away with her things. It’s almost like… like I like seeing her crap everywhere. In the house. Our home.
I’ve been dreaming of sinking into her every single night. Since the moment she entered this house. And if I’m honest with myself, since way before then.
We both would have surrendered to that intense physical magnetism. But this, this moment right here, it doesn’t feel like plain sexual attraction. It’s something else entirely. And I have no idea what. Or maybe I do.
“Get back upstairs. Ilaria put you on strict bed rest.” My forehead furrows. “Ilaria was here? When?” “You don’t remember?” “No.” An emotion flashes in her eyes so fast that if I weren’t watching her closely, I would have missed it.
I never lose my shit. Ever. And especially not over a woman. Certainly not over a woman who fights me every step of the way. Or demands a fucking million dollars for every month of our marriage, as if proximity to me warrants hazard pay! And buys a goddamned helicopter when I offer her a new car. A stupid grin takes over my face. Fighting it is futile. My little hellion.
I know I didn’t have the strength to get dressed before falling asleep, so how in the hell did I wake up in a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants?
“When I was little, strawberries were my favorite. They are fruity and sweet, and sometimes slightly sour. Perfectly balanced, which is what makes them great. Like you. Fucking perfect.” “You called me a walking disaster.” “You are. In an adorable, irresistible way.
At least Greta had not deserted me. She made me meals and brought them up to my room several times a day, along with a newspaper for me every morning. But as much as I appreciate my housekeeper’s efforts, there were times when I wasn’t sure if it was pneumonia or her cooking that was doing me in. Somehow, her food was worse than ever. Her soups have been bland and flavorless. Barely edible, actually. But regardless, I ate them whenever I woke up and found a steaming bowl on my writing table.
“Is that BLOOD?” I look at my hand. There’s a red stain across my knuckles. I must have got nicked by a glass fragment and didn’t notice with all the shit going down. Whatever. “Do not change the subj—” His fingers seize my chin, tilting my head to the side. “Tara.” A low rumbling growl leaves his throat.
Inside the void, inside the swirling vortex, I’m searching… For the light of warm, green eyes.
“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.” Yes, it can. The jury is still out on whether my ass wants to be home right now so I can strangle my wife for her audacity, or so I can fuck her senseless. “I told Tara, in no uncertain terms, that until this situation is resolved, she is not allowed to leave the property unless I’m with her. I wasn’t gone five minutes before my security guy called to let me know that she tried to sneak out through the gate.”
“You two need serious couples therapy, my friend.”
The rapid tapping of his fingers on the keyboard provides a subtle soundtrack to the boss’s occasional groans. He’s probably hearing another anecdote about Milene’s demon cat. Ajello is about due for his weekly threat to “gut that scrawny little shit.” No matter how much he grumbles, though, he ends up capitulating to his wife and her ever-growing collection of pets.
Stavros’s father. Lifting a gun. Pointing it at me. Smiling. “Tara!” Arturo screams on the other end of the line. He sounds desperate. And so, so far away.
“I’m so sorry, Tara darling. Will you marry me?”
“I’ve been going through hell, thinking I’ve fallen in love with a jerk who doesn’t give the slightest fuck about me!” I bark. “No, Arturo. It’s definitely not a yes.”
The next time I gave proposing another shot was while we were having dinner at one of Tara’s favorite restaurants in Manhattan. I was sure that a more upscale place would make her more receptive, especially if it reminded her of something out of those books she likes to read. I even hired a string quartet to play her favorite song in the background. People around us cheered and clapped as she beamed that maddeningly beautiful smile at me. But that noise quickly died down with her resounding no
“I should push you to the edge and simply keep you there until you say yes to my proposal, yes to marrying me all over again.” A wicked smile spreads across her lips, and I’m once more bewildered by how fucking breathtaking she is. “Interesting strategy.” Gripping the edge of the counter, she leans back and spreads her legs wide. “You should most certainly try it, darling.”
“Tara!” I barge into our bedroom. “Baby, what’s going on here?” “Oh, hey, darling.” My wife sticks her face through the doorway, grinning sheepishly. “You’re home early. How about you go back to the office and try again in an hour? Or maybe three. Tomorrow would be better.”
She slips out of the bathroom through the narrowest gap, shutting the door in her wake, then leans on it as if she’s Cerberus guarding the gate. “The plumber is already on his way, and everything will be fixed in no time. I’ll text you as soon as it’s all done.” A smile threatens to break across my face, but I keep it in, biting the inside of my lip.
“What the fuck is wrong with people? This asshole just cut me off! He almost ran us off the fucking road!” Fred yells. “Shit, man. It’s him.” Marv’s voice sounds slightly hysterical. That stench around him is morphing into something new. “What the fuck is he doing here? Oh, crap, he’s coming this way. Did we fuck up?”
