Page 27 of The Viper's Wife

Valeria, on the other hand, I can’t seem to get out of my thoughts.

She’s the only person left sitting. Her arms are tucked into her puffer jacket, and her khaki-covered legs are crossed, one sensible black sneaker hanging in the air. It looks like a work uniform. Does she have a job? The thought had never crossed my mind.

She looks at me from under her black bangs, her ruby lips set in a flat line. I might as well be a fly on the wall for all the interest it sparks in her dark eyes.

The buzz in my veins slows to a thrum. Blood rushes south.

She thinks she can deadpan her way through tonight, but I already know her better than that. I’m going to tease a response from her, and with any luck, I’ll get a repeat performance of that night in her friend’s bedroom. Last time, I was a gentleman. This time, I’m going to unravelsome of those tightly-wound emotions she guards so closely.

Stefano shifts to look back, sending a tight smile toward his sister, a hint of threat in his lingering stare until she stands.

My focus splits. He looked at her the same way that night I met them at the restaurant.

That’s not the way he should look at my fiancée.

I fling my car key at Stefano. He flinches as it hits his chest and drops to the marble floor. Anger flashes in his face before he tamps it down, clenching his jaw and showing me his neck.

Looks like Valeria is the only one who inherited the family backbone.

“Get that parked,” I say breezily.

At least he’s quick enough to put two and two together. “Yes, boss.” He scrambles to pick up the key and jogs out of the store.

It’d be a damn shame if the Russians chose this moment for a drive-by on the Ferrari. I wonder how sad Valeria would be. What tugs at those heartstrings under all that armor?

I step into her personal space, my boot wedged between her shoes. Her jacket brushes against mine.

Heat rolls off of her in waves. Sweat gathers on her upper lip, and her face is flushed. Why the fuck is she still wearing that jacket if she’s so hot?

I’m not going to find any answers in her face. She looks up at me, completely unruffled, like she’s waiting for me to impress her.

I smirk. “Aren’t you going to give your fiancé a kiss?”

The room is dead silent. The employee at the counter isseasoned enough to keep her mouth shut through all of this, pretending to busy herself with her tray of jewelry.

I expect to receive a bluntno, but Valeria stands delicately. Her dark, impenetrable gaze flicks down to my mouth. She’s going to do it.

I wet my bottom lip, tasting blood.

She tilts her face and leans forward, dark eyelashes fluttering closed.

I don’t move a muscle, in part to make things a little harder for her, and also because my body is reacting to her nearness and remembering how well we fit together.

She smells like sugar cookies, and very faintly, of bleach. My mouth waters.

Gently, like the brush of a butterfly’s wing, her lips touch mine.

My groin tightens.

She drops back and goes to turn away, but I grab her elbow.

Barely, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders tense. If it makes her feel better, she can pretend I’m a random hookup again.

I lean in. “A little more.”

This time I’m sure she’ll say no, tell me I can shovea little moreup my ass.

But again, she rocks forward and tilts her face up. I’m finding what my new favorite color is as her ruby lips part. Her forearm twitches in my hand, fingertips grazing my chest.