Looking up at Armani, I find him watching me, waiting for me to speak.
“I’m not plotting. I just…I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. Like I don’t fit into my old life the same way.”
He walks over to me and searches my gaze. “That’s because you don’t. You’re not the same Candi. Don’t automatically assume it’s a bad thing.”
I let out a sigh, still feeling completely lost and ill at ease.
“Just tell me what to do,” I say. “I don’t know where I fit in, in all of this.”
“You’re overthinking this. Nothing has changed,” he says. “You’re still the Brunos’ mole, as far as they’re concerned—so play your part. As for your new role as a Bellanti wife…all you have to do is be my loving bride at the party we’re going to throw to celebrate our elopement.”
“What party?” I ask. “This is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“The party I’ve invited practically every family in Napa to enjoy here at the winery,” he says. “Everyone in attendance needs to be convinced that you have me wrapped around your little finger. Once that’s accomplished, you’ll pass on exactly what I tell you to.”
“Oh.”
I keep my face expressionless, but inside I go cold. I don’t like being reminded that I’m still nothing more than a tool to him, regardless of what we’ve been through together or what we’ve shared. Armani clearly feels nothing for me—nothing real. I’m simply a means to an end.
Something else is bothering me, too—I haven’t told Juliana yet about my “wedding.” And now I’m going to be throwing a reception for a bunch of people I don’t know, and if I haven’t explained that I’m Mrs. Bellanti before then, Jules will end up hearing about it from someone else. If that doesn’t scream suspicious, I don’t know what does.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I tell Armani. “I’m not a good actress, and your family hates me.”
He lifts a brow. “You brought that on yourself by working for the enemy.”
“That’s not the point. Are you telling me they’re going to act like we’re all one big, happy family? Because I don’t believe it.”
No, more likely their vitriol will be obvious to all the guests. And if word gets back to Sergio Bruno that there’s trouble in paradise, I’ll be in imminent danger.
“Quit worrying,” he says. “People will see what they’re expecting to see—a newlywed couple in love. You don’t have to act, Candi, you just have to lay it on thick. Hold my hand, gaze adoringly into my eyes, laugh at all my jokes.”
“Ha,” I say dryly.
Armani’s eyes flash as he grabs my throat and pushes me back down on the bed. Fear and adrenaline mix in an addictive cocktail that has my head spinning, and then he’s pulling my knees apart and kneeling between them.
“Everyone will be convinced that you love me, and that I love you,” he says calmly, locking eyes with me from his position between my thighs. “And with all the champagne and cake going around, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to get those endorphins flowing.”
With that, he opens his mouth wide and laps my pussy with his tongue, using long, deep strokes that have me instantly catching my breath. My fingers twine in his hair, my thighs holding his head steady as I start to grind against his mouth. Soon I’m rolling my hips, jerking back and forth, fucking his tongue. God, it feels good. Too good.
I can’t say no to this man and he knows it.
“Fine,” I pant, moaning helplessly before I get a hold of myself again. “What do you want me to do for the party?”
He pulls back only long enough to say, “Order the cake. There’s a little bakery in Santa Rosa that I’ve heard does an inimitable cassata alla Siciliana with Grand Marnier.”
My eyes roll back as he returns to his oral ministrations. He’s a man on a mission, tonguing my hole so hard and fast that I come almost instantly. It’s so intense that my toes curl.
I’m still gasping out my orgasm when Armani stands, wipes his mouth, and dispassionately adds, “Make sure when you call, you mention it’s for a Bellanti wedding. They’ll give it extra attention that way. It should be big enough to feed three hundred guests.”
He straightens his tie again and walks out of the room, turning back for just a split second to add, “See you downstairs for dinner. Don’t keep me waiting.”
I don’t jump up right away to get dressed. Instead, I lay there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I try to ignore the gnawing in my gut.
Armani keeps lighting fires inside of me. Little firesall over. Every time I turn around, there’s another one burning, scorching, and heating my desire for him.
He, on the other hand, is as cold as a winter night.
The ardor we shared after what happened in the Deep Cellar should have changed things some. You can’t feel urgency like that without something real connected to it, can you? Sure, he could have been working off the chaotic energy from his violent encounter, but my heart…my heart felt something more. But maybe what I felt was nothing more than my own infatuation.
