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"Well, Marco," she retorts, her tone all playful disdain, "since you're asking, my reply is that I have other things to do." And with that, she turns away, leaving me dumbfounded.
What just happened? I stand there, frustration and determination coursing through me, watching her retreat. Compelled by an urge I can't ignore, I follow her, only to find she's vanished. Navigating the maze-like corridors, I eventually find her slipping into her room.
Without a second thought, I enter, disregarding the usual courtesies. Her gasp greets my intrusion. "I'm sorry, but you can't just barge in here," she protests, distancing herself.
"Really? Why is that?" I press, locking the door behind me to ensure privacy, though her visible discomfort gives me pause.
"Marco, please," she pleads, fear in her gaze. I freeze, realizing the intensity of my approach.
"I'm not here to harm you. I just need to talk," I assure her, my tone softening.
"About what?" she challenges, wary yet curious.
"About those scars, your father, everything," I say, hoping to break her defenses.
She shakes her head, clearly refusing. "Not right now. Not here. This isn't proper, Marco. You shouldn't be in here with me alone."
Her words strike a chord, reminding me of the boundaries I'm navigating. Despite my intentions, I recognize the importance of respecting her space and autonomy. At this moment, my approach must be guided not by impulse but by patience and a genuine desire to understand and protect her on her terms.
"I'm not leaving, Pia. And let's be honest, nobody's going to question my presence, especially since nobody knows I'm in here." I point out, trying to ease the tension that racks her body.
She surveys the room, considering her options, before the rigidity in her shoulders dissipates. "Fine," she concedes, motioning towards the bed to invite me to sit. "What do you want to know?"
I take a seat, maintaining a respectful distance. "How long has your father been in cahoots with El Diablo?" I probe, watching her closely.
Pia diverts her gaze, lost in thought. "I honestly don't know," she admits after a moment, her eyes locking with mine. "I never really involved myself in his business affairs until he announced my engagement to Jon Marc. And even then, I'm sure I learned very little in the grand scheme of his dealings. I eavesdropped when I could. This is how I knew about the assassination and the plot against the president."
The mention of her fiancé piques my curiosity further. "Jon Marc, your fiancé. Can you elaborate on what your father can gain by marrying you off to him?" I patiently wait as she deliberates her response, debating how much she will reveal.
The air between us thickens with the weight of her impending words, evidence of the complex web of family ties, alliances, and betrayals that she's entangled in.
Watching Pia deliberate on what to share, a wave of protectiveness washes over me. The urge to envelop her in my arms, to offer her a haven from the storm that is her life, is overwhelming. My thoughts must be transparent because her gaze locks with mine in a moment of silent communion, reflecting a tempest of emotions that resonates with my internal turmoil.
Pia inhales sharply, breaking the spell between us. "His family. They're affluent, involved in many businesses, both here and internationally. Their dealings remain a mystery, but I'm certain there's a connection to the criminal underworld. I once sought answers from my mother, but…" She pauses, her gaze diverting as she delves into memories best left untouched.
Compelled by an instinctive need to reassure her, my hand gently guides her face back to mine. "Hey, you shouldn't have to—" My voice falters, a pang of guilt slicing through me for pressing her into this corner. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't discuss this now. It was wrong of me to probe."
I prepare to soften my retraction with a promise of a later inquiry, but what captures me next is the sensation of her skin beneath my fingertips—smooth, warm, inviting. Her radiant and genuine smile sparks something within me, compelling my fingers to trace the contour of her lips.
When Pia doesn't withdraw, I find myself moving closer, the space between us charged with an unspoken invitation. My lips brush against her cheek before daring to meet hers in a tentative kiss, an exploration of the connection that's been simmering between us.
Pia's response is electric, her lips parting in silent acquiescence. The realization of the precipice we're teetering on registers belatedly in my mind. I'm navigating dangerous waters, yet the pull towards her is irresistible.
Bringing her closer, I wrap an arm around her. The world outside this room, with its complex webs of loyalties and betrayals, fades into obscurity. Her initial yelp of surprise melts into a sigh of surrender, her body yielding to mine as our kiss deepens. Her taste, as intoxicating as I imagined, seals my resolve.
I'm undeniably in trouble, drawn into a vortex of desire and connection with the daughter of an enemy. Yet, in this moment, the looming consequences pale in comparison to the undeniable truth that, against all odds, I want her—completely and irrevocably.
Chapter Seven
Pia
My heart pounds, echoing the rush of warmth that floods me as Marco's body presses closer. His kiss—oh, god, his kiss—sends flutters cascading through me, igniting sensations so intense it feels as though I'm floating outside of my own body. I've never experienced anything like this. The only other kiss I've endured was a forceful, unwelcome assault from Jon Marc, marked by the stench of alcohol and the repulsive intrusion of his tongue. That memory pales compared to the tenderness and fervor with which Marco kisses me.
It's as if I'm being kissed for the first time—truly kissed. My arms instinctively loop around his neck, drawing him closer as he lifts me effortlessly onto his lap. A part of me recognizes the danger in this embrace, the reckless abandonment of all the walls I've built to protect myself. Yet, in this moment, none of that matters. I need this…him. Marco.
I'm lost in the whirlwind of emotions that Marco stirs within me, the kissing accelerating my descent into uncharted territories of desire and connection. The contrast between this and any prior “intimacy” I've experienced leaves me breathless, craving more of this newfound euphoria. The realization that I'm venturing into trouble registers dimly in the back of my mind. Still, the overpowering allure of Marco's touch and taste render me incapable of caring about the consequences. For now, all I want is to remain lost in the embrace of someone who, for the first time, makes me feel truly alive; desired.
Marco's warm hand glides from my flushed cheek to my neck, holding me firmly in place. The other hand rests on the small of my back, moving in slow and tantalizing circles. My breath catches in my throat as I feel a surge of desire unlike anything I've ever experienced. Despite the intimacy of his touch, I feel safe with Marco. His lips leave mine, but his gentle kisses continue down the side of my chin and over my neck, igniting an electrifying sensation. A sudden rush of heat floods between my legs and I gasp with excitement, my eyes snapping open to meet his gaze.
