“I’M DONE. SERGEI IS YOUR problem now.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to fuck his daughter.” My gaze coasted over the bed. Wild, dark hair, smooth olive skin, and twisted sheets. Gianna slept on her stomach, both hands beneath her pillow. My chest felt heavy while I looked at her soft expression. I wanted to capture that look in a bottle and take it with me everywhere. Maybe then, I’d feel like I had some control over it.
“The model?” Ronan let out a half laugh. “Only you would consider that a problem. Let me guess, she saw your pretty face and begged her father to make you hers.”
I didn’t believe that was the case. Aleksandra was cold and calculating. I often got the feeling I was nothing but a step in her overall plan. And sometimes, that plan felt desperate. “I think she believes I’m the lesser of two evils.”
“Hate to see who the other man is,” he muttered. “If you’re turning down models over there, I’d love to take a look at whoever’s in your bed.”
“She’s Italian,” I said, like that explained everything.
“Ah, passionate women. Is it serious?”
A sardonic breath escaped me. “She bet twenty grand I’d marry another woman.” I’d run into a little birdie named Val who’d whispered that to me yesterday morning on the street. Well, she’d tiptoed around the topic, but I’d put two and fucking two together. Another reason I’d lost my cool when I found Gianna laughing with some Abelli who had his hand in her hair. How could I say every strand was mine any clearer than washing it every goddamn night?
“I like her already.” He chuckled. “Why does it sound like you want to drag this little Italian down the aisle?”
Because it felt like if I didn’t have my possession of her in writing, she’d slip from my fingers again. I was all in, had known this obsession would only escalate once I’d had her body, her attention, and her smiles all to myself. I’d warned her years ago when she’d pressed her lips to mine. I’d let her do it, because I’d thought it would turn me off and then I could finally put this infatuation with her behind me. I hated kissing, especially the sounds of it from the next room—and what it had usually meant for me—since I could remember. But when she’d kissed me, it hadn’t disgusted me in the least. Her lips were soft. Her tongue was hot and wet. And her sigh gave me chills. Violent lust had roared through my blood, dulling my vision. That unsettled me, and then pissed me off enough to step away.
“She says she won’t marry again.”
“Women say stuff they don’t mean all the time.”
“She means it. She thinks this is exclusive just sex.” Those two words annoyed the shit out of me.
“Sounds like you have an ideal situation going on. She’s sleeping with you—who gives a fuck if she doesn’t want to marry you?”
“She’s in the outfit.”
“Ah.” He sounded amused. “Messy.”
Dating women in the Cosa Nostra wasn’t a thing. This relationship would blow up sooner or later. Marriage was only the real grasp I could have on her. Otherwise, she wasn’t really mine. Whether she realized it or not, Gianna would have to make a decision to marry eventually, and I was selfish enough to make her choose me. Because there wasn’t an ounce of me that could let her become someone else’s.
“I know you’ve got some sinister plan in the works, so let’s hear it.”
Fuck. I hated how well he knew me.
Gianna roused and rolled onto her back. Her soft brown eyes fluttered opened and landed on me. I could feel the heat of them in my chest. Every time she looked at me, it only strengthened my decision. I might have fought it for a long time—for both our sakes—but she was mine now. And she had no idea what I would do to keep it that way.
I held her gaze. “Make her fall for me before I fuck it all up. Then, she won’t leave.”
“Sounds a little Stockholmy to me, but I like it. I’ll figure something out with Sergei.” A smile touched his voice. “And if I have to take one for the team and fuck his daughter, so be it.”
After I hung up, I switched back to English. “Did I wake you?”
“Yes.” She sighed and stretched out. “But I like listening to you on the phone.”
I guessed I should feel a little guilty I was conspiring against her, but I didn’t. I leaned forward on her ridiculous hot pink divan, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Why?”
“You have a sexy voice.” She yawned.
A smile pulled on my lips. She was always so honest. It was a trait I hadn’t come across often—I couldn’t even say I utilized it—though, maybe that was why it was so refreshing. Every word she said was a little genuine piece of her. I wanted to collect them all.
A flush warmed her cheeks. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
I’d stripped her naked and gone down on her, only for her to fall asleep seconds after she’d come. Truthfully, I would do it for the rest of my life with the knowledge I wouldn’t get anything in return. I’d fantasized about her for so long, and the dream couldn’t even touch the reality.
“Can I make it up to you?”
I absently rubbed my hard-on through my briefs, loving that idea, but then she yawned, her eyes growing heavy.
“Make it up to me in the morning.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, as I got into bed with her and pulled her back against my chest.
“Sleeping.”
“Here?” She sounded terrified.
“Yes. Now, be quiet. I’m tired.” I’d never done this in my life. Wouldn’t be able to sleep a fucking wink.
“Fine.”
It took five minutes until she was out like a light.
I ran my hand over her hip, memorizing the curve and velvety feel of her skin. She had two dimples on her lower back I’d always been infatuated with, framed right above the sweetest ass, and it was all pressed up against me. Her hair was in my face and it smelled like vanilla. All of it was sensory overload. Like an injection of dopamine. My heart beat heavily. The blood rushed through my veins so fast my hand felt unsteady.
When you’re obsessed with something for so long and finally obtain it? It feels like coming home to God. And nobody gives up their fucking spot in Heaven.
