Even though I know it won’t deter him, I fling open the door and step backward into the hall. His lithe prowling melts my insides, counter-acting the jittery mess left behind by my nightlong panic attack, and his intense, dark eyes bore into my soul. He’s too handsome in his laid-back business attire with the sleeves of his button down rolled up to reveal his tatted forearms. My heart pounds against my sternum and my head spins as I struggle to keep my balance, but when he hooks his arm around my waist and tugs me against him, the buzzing in my ears stops.
His warmth seeps into my flesh and begins my thaw. It feels like a lifetime since I last felt warm. I should push him away, but I neither have the energy nor the strength to deny myself the pleasure of his kiss as he lowers his lips to mine. His hard, demanding mouth dominates my senses until nothing exists beyond his teeth and tongue.
When he stops and pulls away, my mind remains blissfully silent.
A crease forms between his brows. He cups my face and brushes his thumb over my cheek, smearing the tears I didn’t even realize had formed. I manage a shaky breath and close my eyes.
“Aurora, what—”
“If I can’t say your name, then you can’t say mine, either.”
I don’t know where the words come from. A thrill always runs down my spine when he says my name. Yesterday, I thought it was because he annoyed and scared the shit out of me, but today, with my defenses decimated, it feels like so much more. I like it but don’t know why.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, but you’re obviously not going to tell me why, even if I ask.”
I can’t refute him since it’s true. I don’t know him well enough to reveal such a massive weakness. If my own mother will use my fears against me, what would he do with such knowledge?
“I told you; I didn’t sleep well.”
“I believe you. I’m also aware there’s more you’re not telling me.”
A nurse clears her throat from a few feet away. Blood rushes to my face as embarrassment rises from my toes as I realize we’re blocking the hall.
Giorgio apologizes and tucks me under his arm before leading me to the parking lot. Surprise rolls through me. I expected him to have a flashy sports car, but the sleek black sedan doesn’t detract from his lethal mafia persona, either. He opens the passenger door and offers me his hand.
I take it.
After helping me lower into my seat, he bends and slips his forearm under my knees. I squeak in alarm, but he pivots me toward the front of the car and settles my feet on the floorboard. His hand lingers on my calf before he wraps his thick digits around my ankle.
“Mio Dio, how the hell are you so small and fragile?”
I shift my bag on my lap, partially insulted but mostly really, really turned on. His hand feels gigantic around my ankle and his quietly rumbled words hold awe and yearning.
He pulls away with obvious reluctance and shuts the door before skirting around the front of the car and wedging himself into the driver’s seat.
Now I understand why he doesn’t drive around in a sports car. He wouldn’t fit.
After starting the car, he reaches for the shifter, but I grab his arm and blink at my wayward hand for a moment before my brain catches up.
“Wait, I… just a minute,” I mumble before dragging my hand away from his warmth and opening my bag.
He lifts a brow when I pull out the papers my mother shoved at me at the last second with a hissed warning. I pass him the stack and tuck my hair behind my ear.
“My mother told me to use this for our prenup. I haven’t read it yet, so I don’t know what it says, but…” Sitting in the surprisingly comfortable seat with the car buffering us away from the world, the adrenaline keeping me alert wanes, so I just shrug and finish lamely. “We should write our own.”
Gravity triples. I fight with my lashes until movement snaps me awake. He leans over me and opens the glove box.
“My father did the same.”
He drops a manilla envelope into my lap. I stare at it for a moment before understanding seeps into me. My brain accepts the new information and works it into whatever code must be running in the back of my mind, because I speak words that actually make sense despite the fatigue tugging at my limbs.
“We should study these for clues why they’re so desperate to marry us in a rush.”
After an extended moment of quiet—or maybe I fell asleep without meaning to—Giorgio agrees with me and puts both stacks into the glove box.
“We’re not going to my father’s lawyer,” he says.
I jolt awake and meet his gaze. My belly flips at the unreadable expression on his face.
“Why?” I ask.
“I have my own, but her office is a few more streets north, so just relax for a bit. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, mia topolina.”
“Why?”
“I need you awake and ready for the wicked things I plan to do to you.”
Magma boils in my core, scorching my frozen, jumbled insides, and in my mania, I smirk and lean my head back.
“It seems I’m safe for now, then, because I am beat.”
Despite—or maybe because of—Giorgio’s presence filling the vehicle, I drop into an exhausted sleep without warning. When phantom screams ring in my ears, I reach out, terrified I lost my brother in the darkness, and sigh in relief when thick, masculine fingers weave within mine. Even though I know they aren’t Tristan’s, I cling to the hand as though the owner may lead me to safety.
I trust Giorgio Vivaldi on a soul-deep level. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. I don’t know if it’s because first impressions have lasting effects, or if more recent events have led me to believe he’s someone I can lean on.
Which might be why, when my senses slowly return to the corporeal world, I find my head resting on his shoulder. In my sleep, I leaned over the center console and wrapped myself around his arm. With his fingers still woven in mine, our hands in my lap, and all the weight of my upper body on his shoulder, he can’t be comfortable, but he maneuvers through the busy city streets as though he doesn’t have a woman plastered to half his body.
I sit up and wipe my face, horrified when drool smears over my chin.
He refuses to release my hand, and I can’t force my fingers to let him go, so I fumble around in my bag with my nondominant hand until I find my tissues. I wipe my face and tug a few fresh ones out of the box before dabbing at the wet spot I left on his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” I say in a voice still thick with sleep.
“I’m not.”
His unexpected response steals the rest of my apology. I swallow and wish I had a bottle of water to clear my throat. After drying his shirt as best I can, I shove the used tissues into a side pocket of my bag and look out the window for the first time.
As I recognize several buildings and where we are in relation to his father’s physician’s office, skepticism clears away the last dregs of sleep from my mind. Shadows span over the streets, but not in the right direction for morning. A glance at the dash shows we’re way past lunchtime.
Alarm surges through me. I meet Giorgio’s eyes.
“I thought you were going to wake me when we got to your lawyer’s office?”
He lifts a brow and smirks before returning his attention to the windshield.
“We’re not there yet, so there was no need to wake you.”
I blink.
Did he drive around in circles for hours just so I could sleep?
I discard the thought. There’s no way Giorgio Vivaldi would do something so nice. Not for me. Not when he’s made it perfectly clear he’s eager to sign prenups just so he can have his way with my body.
I clear my throat and shift in my seat.
Which is a mistake. His fingertips brush along the inside of my bare thigh. My heart leaps into my throat and lust pools low in my belly, but when I try to lift our joined hands away from my lap, he growls and shifts his fingertips higher up my leg.
I freeze.
Silence presses down on my head. Whatever special soundproofing he must have had installed works a little too well. It blocks out the sounds of the city, even the yelling cab drivers and honking horns.
He pulls into a small parking garage and continues down to a lower level. I try not to grind my teeth when a quick calculation leads me to believe the physician’s office was less than twenty minutes away.
I don’t understand this man. At all.
My stomach rumbles. A blush creeps up my chest and heats my ears. He glances at me before pulling into a spot and putting the car in park.
I decide it’s annoying how easily he controls the car with only one hand, even as my libido demands he’s the most attractive and capable man I’ve ever seen.
He squeezes my hand and sneaks his pinky higher up my thigh. An embarrassing squeak escapes my throat and I use both hands—and all my upper body strength—to push him away from my sex.
My damp panties mock me.
When he angles his shoulders as much as he can in the cramped space and pins me in place with his intense stare, I expect him to pull me to him for a kiss, but he reaches across the center console and cups my face.
The world shifts as his expression softens, and without a word, he steals chunks of my idiotic heart.
I stare in mute shock as he pulls away, extracting his hand from mine, and exits the car. When he opens my door but doesn’t offer me his hand, I look up at him.
“Bring both sets of papers. We’ll look through them together.”
I nod and slip them into my bag before accepting his help to exit the car.
When he settles his arm over my shoulders and weaves his fingers through mine, a sense of belonging nearly knocks me off my feet, but with his massive frame pressed against mine, there’s nowhere for me to fall. I fill my lungs and savor the scent of his cologne with hints of his natural musk woven within.
He leads me into an elevator. His eyes constantly scan our surroundings, reminding me we’re alone in public together for the first time. Even when the elevator doors close and offer a blurred reflection of us, he stays alert, checking corners for surveillance cameras and pulling me close.
He’s so tall and muscular compared to my petite frame. It’s a wonder the elevator can even handle his weight. He’s pure muscle. It’s intimidating.
He leads me out of the elevator before I’m ready. Discombobulated, I speak before my brain catches up.
“This isn’t a lawyer’s office.”
God, I could smack my stupid mouth.
He grunts and asks for a quiet table for two. The hostess immediately gestures for us to follow and leads us through the restaurant to a table in the corner. He places me in the corner and takes the chair next to mine, boxing me in. After asking what drink I want, he orders a few appetizers before allowing the waitress to sashay away.
Jealousy swarms behind my sternum as she exaggerates the swing of her hips for Giorgio as she departs, but when I turn to him, he’s staring at me. My heart lurches when he quirks a brow.
I tell myself I’m allowed to act a bit unhinged after the drama of the last day and a half. Hell, I sucked his cock during my first ever sexual altercation. It’s understandable I’m attached.
He pushes my menu toward me. I duck my head and stare at the simple, elegant list but struggle to make sense of the words.
When he asks what I want, I force myself to focus and choose what sounds easiest to digest—since my stomach seems set on lurching every other second—and my entire nervous system seems stuck in an overactive state.
As the appetizers arrive, he drapes his arm over the back of my chair in response to the waitress’ flirting and dismisses her before turning to me.
“Do you have any food allergies? Anything you hate?”
I shake my head and eye him skeptically as he reaches for a roll. When he holds a piece to my lips, I consider my options before accepting it.
The waitress glares at me as she leaves. Giorgio smirks.
Despite me insisting I can feed myself, he ferries food to my mouth, sometimes pinched between his fingers and other times on a utensil. Too befuddled and wary of making a scene, I don’t balk even when he brushes crumbs off my lips with his thumb, and I fumble to comply when he suggests I place the papers on the table.
We skim through the legal jargon as we eat, but most of the terms seem rote, so nothing jumps off the pages at us.
When he orders dessert, I send him an exasperated glance before blocking his next attempt to feed me.
“I’m done. My stomach is going to explode, so stop trying to cram more food down my throat,” I demand.
His chuckle sends shivers down my spine.
“I’m not cramming anything down your throat. Not yet, anyway.”
My heart quickens, and I fight against the urge to wriggle in my seat as my clit pulses. I shake my head, push his hand away, and pick up my drink as an excuse to put distance between us.
After a few minutes of silence, he picks up the stack from my mother and leans so close I have no choice but to hold his stare.
“What do you want from our prenup, Aurora?”
I swallow and set down my glass as I gather my thoughts.
“I want your assets to remain yours and my assets to remain mine, no matter what happens.”
“Even if I knock you up and leave you, you wouldn’t want any of my money or power?”
The intensity in his eyes terrifies me, but I answer as honestly as possible without revealing too much.
“I’m not afraid of raising a child on my own, but raising a child on my own while losing everything I’ve built for myself? Terrifying.”
I don’t shy away as he studies me.
“What have you built for yourself, mia topolina?”
When my initial fury fades away, I realize he isn’t mocking me. The curiosity in his bottomless brown orbs tempt me to reveal everything, but I stop myself before I ruin everything.
“I have a few bank accounts my parents don’t know about.”
It’s the truth. Mostly.
“And how do you have that?”
I shrug and play with the condensation on my glass.
“Raised on a computer, remember?”
After an unnerving amount of time, he accepts my answer with a nod. The waitress brings dessert. I try to resist, but after avoiding sweets for most of my life, I’m powerless against the warm chocolate cake and creamy ice cream combo as he sneaks it into my mouth.
I haven’t eaten so much in years. As I fight against slipping into a food coma, he pays the bill, leads me into the elevator, and introduces me to his lawyer before settling me onto the couch in her office. When he sits beside me, the cushion dips, but I scoot toward the armrest and sit ramrod straight.
I try to stay alert, I really do, but when the lawyer proves friendly yet clearly professional and uninterested in Giorgio as anything other than a client, my attention wanes. They go over what our parents included in their drafts, only to discard most of it and begin altering a basic template to meet our terms.
The comfortable couch, my full belly, last night’s trip to nightmarelandia, and Giorgio’s rich voice all work against me. I slip into a doze. When muscular arms wrap around me and pull me against a hard body, I snuggle closer, needing more of his delicious scent and enticing warmth.
I jerk awake and frantically wipe at my mouth, terrified of a repeat performance in the drool department. Thankfully, my chin proves dry, so I swallow my embarrassment and focus on the lawyer. She hands me a few pieces of paper.
All the air leaves my lungs as I read through them. My hands shake the more I read. Disbelief spears through me.
He can’t mean this.
But his initials and signature are already dry on the document.
If anything happens—anything, be it his fault, my fault, a mutual decision, or a catastrophic event like his death—everything becomes mine. Everything. His stocks. His company. His role in the family business. His dependents.
With my heart in my throat and my mind running a million miles a second, I look to Giorgio, certain he’ll tell me this is all a joke.
It must be a joke. No one who has as much to lose as he does would sign something like this.
No one.
