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I react on instinct. I grab the person’s arms, nearly picking them up before I realize how light they are. I shove them backward, pinning them against the wall.
The scent of berries and sugar wafts towards me in the instant before I realize that, for some reason, there’s an unknown woman in Altiere’s home.
And I’ve just trapped her.
Mila
The instant I’m pinned to the wall, I start to fight.
Instinct takes over, and I buck against the hands holding me, twisting in their grasp as I try to kick at the body in front of me. My purse slides off of my shoulder, tipping over, and I wince as the contents spill out onto the floor.
My heart pounds in my chest, hard enough that it hurts. For a brief moment, I think it’s Alfio, and I’m both relieved and terrified at the same time—relieved because it would mean he hasn’t abandoned me, and terrified because I’ve stolen from him. But all it takes is the whiff of this man’s cologne, and I know it’s not Alfio. I’ve been far too intimate with him not to be familiar with the citrus scent that he wears, and he’s never changed it. Even in the darkness, before my eyes adjust and I get a glimpse of this man’s face, I know someone other than Alfio has caught me here.
His arms tighten on my upper arms, his body close enough to mine that I can’t squirm away. Even with more room, I don’t think I could. I’m not a strong person, and his hands are like bands of iron, digging into my flesh hard enough that I think his fingers might leave bruises. “You’re hurting me,” I whimper, hoping it might cause him to ease his grip.
To my surprise, he does loosen it a little. Not enough for me to escape, or to see what spilled out of my purse. But enough that I no longer feel as if he’s actively hurting me.
“I didn’t mean to.” His voice is deep, slightly rough, with a bit of a heavier Italian accent than Alfio’s. My pulse races again, making me feel dizzy with fear. Is this a relative of Alfio’s? Someone who works with him? The guest staying in that bedroom whose belongings I stole? None of those are good options. If Alfio had caught me, I could have tried to rely on what affection he might have for me and, failing that, the seductive promise of complying with whatever punishment he might have had in mind. But no one else will have sympathy for me. I might be able to seduce my way out of it, but the thought makes me feel faintly ill.
I’m so tired of bartering myself just to stay alive. I want there to be a day when I don’t have to do that any longer.
In order to make it to that day, first, you have to get out of this alive.
“Let me go?” I swallow hard, my voice breathy and cracking as I look up at the man holding me. My eyes adjust to the dim hallway, and my heart trips in my chest for a different reason when I see his face.
He’s impossibly attractive, more so than any other man I’ve ever met. Strong, angular features, dark hair swept back away from his face, and a full, soft-looking mouth in a clean-shaven face. I can’t quite see what color his eyes are, but if there was a little more light?—
“I’m afraid I can’t do that until I know who you are, and why you’re here.” His grip doesn’t tighten, but it’s still clear that I’m not going to be allowed to go anywhere. “This house is supposed to be empty.”
The slight rasp in his voice sends shivers over my skin. The way he’s holding me, the strength in his body evident with how close it is to mine, isn’t helping. I thought I’d forgotten how to be actually aroused by someone, after so many months in Alfio’s bed. Truthfully, I thought that the trauma I’d endured over the course of the deal we’d made might have turned me off of men forever.
But the chill on my skin is slowly blossoming into heat, sliding through me like warm honey and pooling between my thighs in a way that’s on the verge of becoming truly embarrassing, and I see now that’s not the case.
“Are you related to Alfio?” My voice trembles a little as I ask the question, and I hate it. But the fear hasn’t been completely replaced by my ill-timed desire. It’s still possible that this man might be very dangerous to me.
The man chuckles. “No,” he says calmly. “I’m not.”
“Are you going to tell me your name?” I swallow hard, wishing he would back up, just a little. It’s not even because I want to try to fight, at this point. It’s because I can’t think with him so close to me.
“Are you going to tell me yours?” His grip eases just a little more, though I still can’t squirm loose.
“Not if I can help it.” The reply rolls off of my tongue before I can stop it, almost flirtatious in its quickness, and I wince. “Please—I was just looking for Alfio. He’s clearly not here. If you let me go?—”
“Let me guess.” The hands on my arms tighten just a little, enough to remind me that I’m in danger. “You’re going to promise me that you won’t tell anyone what you’ve seen here. That you’ll forget what I look like.”
That’s exactly what I was going to say. It irritates me that he’s a step ahead of me—and that I’ve been caught in a situation where my response would be so patently obvious. “If you already know, then why are we having this conversation?”
He chuckles again, a low sound deep in his throat that sends another of those inappropriate shivers down my spine and between my thighs. “Because I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you yet.”
Oh god. I close my eyes briefly, hoping he interprets it as fear and not as what it really is—my trying to control the hot spiral of lust that spreads through me when he says those words. I’ve heard Alfio say very similar things, and it’s only ever made me feel disgust—but for some reason, this is different. Maybe it’s because this man clearly seems unwilling to actually hurt me, or maybe my instincts are all scrambled now. Still, all he makes me feel is a combination of sensible fear and entirely irrational desire.
“I won’t tell Alfio,” I whisper, silently pleading with him to just let me go. “I don’t even know where he is, but if I talk to him again—I won’t say anything. I won’t even mention that either of us were here, if you won’t?—”
The man lets out a sharp breath. “No, you won’t be telling him anything,” he says calmly, and another bolt of fear shoots through me. I expect him to tell me, in his next breath, that it’s because he’s going to kill me. My knees turn to water at the thought, a panic like nothing I’ve ever felt, liquifying every part of me. I’ve been scared, sometimes, with Alfio—but I’ve never really thought I was going to die.
If I somehow make it out of this, I hope I never have to feel it again.
“Alfio Altiere is dead,” he says bluntly.
