“Why did you do that?” Vasilisa asks, her gaze zeroed in on the knife. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“There was a cockroach. Nasty little buggers.” I take one of the cannoli from the serving tray and lift it to her mouth. “Delectable traditional filling. Try it.”
Vasilisa blinks, her eyes bouncing between mine and the pastry, then slowly leans forward and takes a small bite of the offering. Powdered sugar and some of the cream end up on her rosy lips, broadcasting flashes of her sinful mouth wrapped around my cock straight to my brain.
I’ve been probing the entire evening—small touches here and there to garner her reaction to me. She hasn’t recoiled once. I’m tempted to conclude that those ruby earrings did make a difference, even though she returned the gift. Still, even with the incentive, her behavior is unlike anything I’ve come to expect from a woman. Vasilisa’s eyes remain locked on mine as I brush the remnants from her lips with my thumb and keep stroking the plumped flesh even after the confection is gone.
Time stops as my finger traces her mouth, until my phone vibrates on the table with an incoming message, breaking the spell.
“Um . . . thank you,” she mumbles and straightens quickly.
“Anytime.” Amused by the look of confusion on her face, I smirk and pick up my phone. The text is from Guido, letting me know that several of Calogero’s men were seen in Catania earlier tonight. “I’m afraid we have to leave.”
“Yeah, um . . . sure,” she stammers through her words. “I left a diagnostic program running on the server I fixed yesterday. It should be done by the time we get back, so I can resume working.”
“As much as I’d like to spend the evening watching you work, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I have to go to Catania as soon as I drop you off.” I rise and remove my suit jacket, holding it out in front of me.
Vasilisa glances at the jacket I’m offering, then back up at me, arching her eyebrow. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“There are goose bumps all over your arms,” I growl. “Put it on or I’m going to force you into it. Now, please.”
Grumbling something in Russian, she turns around and slides her arms through the sleeves. When she faces me again, my eyes sweep over her, marveling at the sight of my little trickster in my suit jacket. I’m extremely territorial when it comes to my personal things, clothes especially. Allowing anyone to wear something of mine is too intimate. And I don’t do intimate. But seeing Vasilisa dwarfed by my huge jacket has the same effect on me as seeing her wearing my shirts. It makes me instantly hard as granite.
Every man who sets eyes on her now will know that she’s mine. The thought makes my cock swell even more, aching painfully behind the zipper of my pants. Maybe I should throw away all the clothes I bought her and have her walk around in nothing but my shirts again?
“You know, this deal of ours would be concluded much faster if you let me keep the laptop and work throughout the day,” she says while trying to fold the sleeve and squinting her eyes.
“Exactly.” I gently move Vasilisa’s hand away and begin rolling up the sleeve for her. “How much did you have to drink?”
“Just two glasses. Maybe three.” She tries to pull her arm free, stumbling backward in the process. My hand shoots out instantly, wrapping around her waist to keep her steady.
I pull her flush with my chest as I glance at the wine left on the table. The bottle is nearly empty, and I only drank half a glass. I guess she resorted to getting wasted to endure looking at my deformed face for a couple of hours. She’s not the first. One of my past hookups always got drunk before meeting up with me.
I move my hand off Vasilisa’s waist and take a step back. “Let’s go.”
She barely manages two full steps without swaying. Fuck. I wrap my arm around her again and slide the other one under her knees, lifting and cradling her to my chest. With her face only inches from mine, I can’t help but expect her to scream or wince. But, just like that night in the rock garden, she only bats her long lashes at me. Her unfocused gaze meets mine, and I recall that she was drunk then, also. Maybe that’s the reason for her lack of reaction.
“You can close your eyes if it’ll make it easier,” I say.
The corners of her lips tilt up, an impish smile lights up her dark depths. She wraps her arm around my neck and leans closer, touching the tip of her nose to mine. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Rafael, but you’re not that tall. My fear of heights doesn’t kick in until I’m twenty feet off the ground.”
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to seize that bratty mouth with mine. I want her. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before. And I don’t hold back when I want something.
“One million,” I say, staring into her dark eyes.
Vasilisa’s brow furrows. “One million?”
“The amount you’ll get for this kiss,” I growl and slam my mouth to hers.
I can’t think. I can only feel.
The taste of him. The warmth, spreading through my chest.
The most alluring flame singeing me from the inside out.
Rafael’s mouth attacks mine with such ferocity that I can’t even draw a breath, but who the hell needs air? I wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing with all my might as I kiss him back like it’s the end of the fucking world.
It just might be. Mine anyway. But I’m ready to burn in the fire he sparked.
The incessant ringing of a phone finally penetrates my daze. I hadn’t realized how quiet everything was around us until now. Rafael’s phone keeps going off in his pocket, but he ignores it completely, continuing to ravage me with his mouth.
The smell of him, the same scent that is now mine, is making me crazy. I tug his lower lip with my teeth, suck on it. A low growl leaves his throat, and then he bites me. Nips on my tingling lips. My fingers tunnel through his hair, pulling, messing it up. He always keeps it slicked perfectly back. Vehemently controls everything about him. Not anymore.
It’s glorious.
It’s wild.
He’s unrestrained.
“Signor De Santi.” An unknown male voice breaks through the trance that surrounds me.
Rafael’s lips go still, then slowly release mine, letting me draw the first breath in what feels like hours. Despite my grip on his strands, he tilts his head and glares at the waiter. The man, standing mere feet away, flinches and seems to shrink in stature, but holds up a phone to Rafael.
“Potrei ucciderti per questo,” Rafael barks at the little dude who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.
“È Guido, Signor De Santi,” the poor guy stutters. “Dice che è urgente.”
