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I can almost feel his eyes roll from the other side of the dark mahogany.
“We are at an impasse, little fox. You’ve asked me for the one thing I can never give you. I cannot, and I will not stop until my half-brothers’ empire crumbles. Luca and Dante ruined my life, and I will never be at peace until I ruin them.”
“Then you’ll never have me.”
He huffs out a breath, and judging by the thud against the door, he’s either hitting his head against it or some other part of his body. A long minute later, it finally stops. “You’re clearly not thinking rationally right now. And that’s understandable given the traumatic return of your ex. I will allow you to stew in my bedroom for only a short time longer.”
“Allow!” I grit out. That son of a gun has a lot of nerve. I should just march out of here and run to his enemy’s open arms. Dante was my friend, okay maybe acquaintance, long before this jerk strolled into my life, and Rose may be pissed, but she’d never leave me to deal with Jasper alone. Would Nico let me walk out of here?
“If you refuse to come out, can you at least toss out a change of clothes? I have a meeting in forty-five minutes.”
“But it’s Saturday.” I cringe at my whiney tone. Good golly, what is wrong with me? It’s not like I expected the mob boss to spend the day with me, a walk in the park, brunch, maybe? Gawd, you’re an idiot, Mais.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll have guards stationed both inside and outside of the penthouse. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Whatever,” I mumble.
“Maisy?”
“What?”
“Don’t even think about trying to escape while I’m gone. You’ll only succeed in angering me, and when I return, you will be punished.”
My cheeks heat as completely inappropriate images of me sprawled across Nico’s lap with my bare butt exposed flit to the forefront of my mind. Where the heck did that come from? I’ve never been spanked in my life, and I do not think I’d enjoy it.
“I’m not some child you can punish, you arrogant douchebag. And if I want to leave, I will. I’m not your prisoner, despite your twisted convictions. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but clearly, it was a mistake coming here.”
“No,” he snarls. “I will not have you alone and unprotected while that psycho ex of yours is on the loose.”
“Then find him so I can get the heck out of here.”
“I’m working on it.” He looses a frustrated breath, and I realize I’ve hit a nerve. The great Nico Rossi hasn’t been able to find one sneaky, stalking, two-timing, run of the mill surgeon.
“So the clothes…” he mutters.
I force myself off the floor and trudge over to the massive walk-in closet. The only good thing about the last twenty-four hours is that my ankle feels surprisingly sturdy. Maybe I’ll finally be able to go back to work on Monday.
Peering inside the custom built-ins, I search the sea of black suits. “Do you want black or black?” I shout over my shoulder. A smirk flashes across my face despite my irritation with the stubborn son of a biscuit.
“Funny, little fox,” he yells back. “I’ll let you choose.”
Running my hand over the fine fabric of the myriad of suits, my fingers close around one at random. Much like the bed, the entire closet reeks of the man. That musky, charred scent fills my nostrils and drags me back to the other night. Instantly, heat races between my legs. Squeezing my thighs together to ease the burning ache, I remind my lusty hoo-ha that those earth-shattering multiple orgasms aren’t in our future anytime soon. Or ever again, frankly.
Grabbing a button-down black shirt and suit, I haul them out of the closet and march toward the door. With each step, my ankle feels less unsteady, too bad I can’t say the same about my heart.
My hand closes around the ornate gilded knob, and I draw in a steadying breath. Just throw the clothes out the door and slam it shut. Painfully slowly I twist and open the door a crack.
A hand snakes through the opening and wraps around my throat. All the air catches in my lungs as piercing irises bore into me. Heat floods my cheeks then streaks down my center. Jiminy crickets, what is wrong with me?
Do not look at him. Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage.
“Open your eyes, little fox.”
Crapsicles, when had I closed them?
“Look at me.”
My lids slowly flutter open as his thumb moves slow circles across my throat. His nose nearly brushes mine, his breath mingling with my own ragged exhales.
