“She’s a smart girl.”
“Are you going to be good tonight?” he asked, his voice low. “Or are you going to fucking torture me?”
I smirked. “You like it when I torture you.” I let my hands slide slowly down his chest, nails scraping over his shirt.
He wrapped his hands around my wrists, stopping them from where they were headed. “Promise me that you’ll be a good girl at dinner.”
I tilted my head, batting my lashes up at him. “Define ‘good.’”
His grip tightened. “Not looking at me like you are right now. Not touching me under the table when your brother is sitting four feet away. Not making me walk out of there with a fucking hard situation in my jeans.”
“That’s oddly specific,” I said, biting back a laugh. “And it’s giving me a few ideas. You’ll have to wait to find out if they’re good or bad.”
“Merci.” His tone held a warning. “Promise me.”
I leaned in, brushing my lips against his jaw. “I promise to make tonight memorable,” I whispered sweetly.
He narrowed his eyes and let out a rough, frustrated groan. “If you pull any crazy shit, you better be ready for the consequences.”
Excitement flared within me. “I like the sound of that. Exactly how will you punish me?”
His gaze darkened. “Try me.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
He thought threatening me with punishment would make me behave. All it did was make me more determined to break his illusion of control.
* * *
My shift at the hospital was long and boring. Assigned to pathology, I spent my day slicing specimens and peering at tissue slides through a microscope. Colon polyps. Endometrial lining. Skin shavings. Potentially the dullest rotation so far. By the time I made it through all the biopsies, my neck ached, and my brain felt ready to melt. I showered in the locker room, washing away the sharp scent of formalin.
I slipped into a paisley sundress and decided against the panties. They’d only get in the way later. I checked my reflection in the tiny mirror in the locker room, twisting my hair up and swiping on lip gloss.
The long hallway outside hummed with the usual hospital soundtrack—buzzing fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, and squeaky shoes on waxed linoleum. I opened the door and nearly walked straight into a wall of muscle and expensive cologne.
Luca.
“Where are you going?” he asked, the possessive edge in his voice instantly turning my gut to ice.
I tried to sidestep him. “None of your fucking business.”
He shifted with me, blocking the hall. His gaze dragged from my sandals up my bare legs before climbing to the low-cut V-neck. “You only wear dresses on dates,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “Who are you seeing tonight?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I taunted.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Enough of this. You can’t keep fucking around on me. I’m losing patience.”
I held his gaze until he let go. “It’s not fucking around if I’ve broken up with you.”
“You really think that biker trash is an upgrade from me?”
I let a slow smile curl my lips. “The biker I’m fucking is more of a man than you’ll ever be. He’s certainly better at giving me orgasms. I wonder if it’s skill or the size of his dick?” I mused. “Hm. Probably both.”
Luca’s eyes flared with rage. He leaned in, his voice quiet. “If I can’t have you, no one can. I’m done waiting.”
My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. “You’re a psychopathic narcissist, and this better be the last time you speak to me. If you ever threaten me again, I won’t go to HR. I’ll fucking kill you.”
I pushed past him. Halfway to the elevator, I chanced a glance over my shoulder. He stood there with a scowl, watching me go.
