“What the fuck? Why?”
“Because, like you said, saying a fake please doesn’t make you polite.” He planted a kiss on my cheek before he rose. Then he bent down to my ear. “Besides, you look even hotter in cuffs.”
With that he winked, walked away and disappeared behind a curtain for the rest of the flight. No matter how much I rattled my cuffs, yelled or called him names, he didn’t come back to his seat until we landed.
Even then, he wouldn’t uncuff me. He just carried me over his shoulder like some caveman out of the plane. It was cold, not Chicago cold but still, at the early crack of dawn. There were two cars waiting for us, and he shoved me into one of them before he sat next to me.
I didn’t bother objecting or even speaking. I was tired and humiliated and nervous and ever so worried about my sister and nephew…about myself in the hands of this monster. At least, in Chicago, I had Lina for support. Now, I was all alone, in a foreign country, trapped with a coyote whose hunger for me was unmistaken or unhidden.
The car stopped at a huge, two-story villa with a classic red and gray brick exterior. Once the guards opened the doors, the fresh sea breeze filled my nostrils.
Domenico linked arms with me and led me to the entrance. “Welcome home, little kitten.”
Well, home was a big word to say about my new prison, but I’d be an ungrateful idiot if I said an exquisite beachfront villa in Italy was something to complain about. I could definitely get used to my newhome.
Two women in blue and white housekeeping uniforms appeared from the house and greeted us. Then their eyes faltered on my bound hands. They didn’t say anything, though. They just smiled awkwardly. I lifted my chin and smiled back.
“This is Maria and Paulina. They live here to help with the house. Questa è la mia moglie, Nicky.” He introduced us.
They congratulated us with extra zeal and assured us breakfast and our room were ready.
“Bene. Go help the men with the bags.” He told them and glanced at me. “They’re not a lot.”
“If you keep making fun of my lack of stuff, then the first thing we should do is go shopping.”
“Oh, we are going shopping for sure.” His eyes danced with mischief. “But not the first thing.” Abruptly, his arms were behind my knees and back, and he carried me in his embrace, entering the house like a real bride and groom.
I kicked my legs in the air. “What the fuck? Put me down.”
“It’s tradition.”
“Is it tradition to have the bride in cuffs, too?”
“When she’s naughty like you, yes.” He climbed up the stairs, where it must have led to the master bedroom—our bedroom—and I panicked, suddenly too aware of his body pressed to mine.
“Hey, aren’t you gonna give me a tour first?”
“Later. Before the shopping.”
“But…but I wanna see the beach.”
“You can see it from the bedroom.”
I gulped as we arrived at a door by the end of the corridor. Then my heart thudded when he unlocked it and let us in.
The first thing my eyes fell on was the low, four-pillar, king-sized bed in the middle of the room, and the white sheets covering it. My heartbeat became frantic, so I averted my gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows overseeing perfect blue waters up to the horizon. I evened my breath, focusing on the soothing view. “The beach is so beautiful.”
“Youare so beautiful.”
Shit. “Dom, could you, please, put me down?”
Slowly, gently, he laid me on the bed. I was about to thank him when he took off his jacket and bowtie.
I jumped off the bed. “What are you…what are you doing?”
“Taking my clothes off.” He smirked at my hands. “Then I’ll help you out of yours.”
“No! You’re gonna use your fucking key to get me out of the stupid cuffs, and I’m gonna go change in the bathroom, then you’ll do the same. After that, we’re gonna figure out sleeping arrangements—”
