Page 51 of My Sunfall

She gapes at me for a beat longer, then her eyes light up with fury. “You are demented.” She is hissing like an angry kitten now and I hold back a chuckle. So damn cute. But cute or not, she needs to understand that she has no say in this. “Maybe I am, but the outcome remains the same. You will live with me as my lawful wife.” I stare her down for a second before turning back to the road ahead.

She huffs angrily and crosses her arms over her chest. I smile. Better to see her angry than sad. This day must be taking a toll on her.

She tenses when I pull up in front of my family home. I round the car and open her door, extending my hand to help her out. She places hers in mine, too baffled by the surroundings to notice that she is conceding to me something without a fight.

“Where…are we?”

“Our home from now on,” I tell her, watching all the emotions fleet over her expressive face.

Her eyes widen in understanding.

Yeah, little princess, not the bachelor pad you expected, huh?

“This is where you live?” she asks, jaw hanging open.

“This is where we live,” I correct her. And suddenly, it’s all too much. Her proximity, her wide innocent eyes, the way she nervously nibbles on her lower lip, the awareness that she is here, with me, in my realm. Without warning, I push her against the side of the car, tangling my fingers into her curls and slam my mouth over hers in a bruising kiss. She freezes for a beat then she starts struggling. But I’ll be damned if I let her get away. I deepen the kiss, stroking her tongue with mine until she melts, coaxing until a low moan escapes her throat. I am fucking hard, rubbing myself against her belly to try to find release. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I break the kiss and step back to regain a sense of composure. We are both breathing hard. Before she can move, I pick her up and carry her sideways to the stairs leading up to the front door.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she squeaks in panic, hands darting out to clutch my suit to steady herself.

“Carrying you over the threshold, cara mia. Tradition.”

She doesn’t struggle for long, probably too curious to take in the inside. The estate has been in my family for several generations, way back to when they moved from Palermo in Sicily to Boston. The three-storied villa rises like a relic of another age, the pale rose façade ornate with carvings and crowned with a balustrade, like the Sicilian villas. Creeping vines soften the heaviness of the building, giving it an old-world charm. After my parent’s death, I had improved and modernized the interior, widening the windows, changing the stifling moldings and the painted ceilings to a more modern and sleek appearance. I’ve kept the stone floors and huge fireplaces in the lower levels and had hardwood floors laid on the top floor, where the bedrooms are. Now the place looks like a stunning mix of old and new, and my heart swells with pride when she lets out a surprised breath as she takes in the living room. I don’t stop, though, I carry her up the flight of stairs to the master suite despite her protests. The top floor has been completely remodeled and looks more like the interior of a penthouse than a century-old villa. The back wall has been entirely torn out, save for the stone pillars, and was replaced by a wall of glass overlooking the pool and the gardens.

I step into the master suite and kick the door shut. Then I release Chiara and lock the door. I stalk inside and lean casually against the dresser, watching her back away from me, waiting, ready to pounce, should she try anything rash.

Her gaze flickers around the room, probably looking for a way out, but I’m standing between the door and the foot of the bed, blocking the two ways out. Suddenly, she frowns when her gaze lands on the nightstand on my side of the bed. She steps closer, stops and looks at me over her shoulder with a confused frown. Then I remember what I have left lying there. She gingerly picks up the book and turns my way.

“The Hunchback of Notre-Dame,” she murmurs. “This…is this yours? You’ve read it?”

I let my eyes wander over the well-used volume. The spine is creased and the cover is worn. Her eyes are still on me, questioning. I nod once—she might as well find out sooner rather than later. I more than read it. I analyzed it, picked it apart, I can recite passages without even thinking.

“I…didn’t know. When…?” Her voice breaks off.

“When you started giving me that nickname,” I confess. It became an obsession at the time. I needed to find out everything about the fucker whose name she dubbed me with. Eventually, I got sucked into the story, then into the atmosphere, and when she disappeared, this book became my last link to her.

She huffs out a half laugh. “Phoebus. It does sound silly now.” Her expression turns forlorn as she looks down at the book. I step forward and gently pry it from her hands to put it in the nightstand drawer.

“Not silly. I might have been that man once.” I turn to face her.

She looks up at me, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I don’t know who you are anymore…” she whispers, and I can’t miss the dread in her voice.

I brush my knuckles over her cheek. “I’m still me, cara mia.” Is it her I’m trying to convince, or myself? I don’t feel like the man I was several months ago, outgoing, carefree, hiding the shadows behind a shiny armor. That armor is now fractured, and there is blackness seeping out from the many cracks, impossible to hide, especially where she is involved. She brings out the primitive darkness in me and I’m fully embracing it, as long as she remains mine. I let my gaze roam over her face, possessiveness and something I don’t want to name making my heart thunder in my chest. She must sense the sizzle of anticipation in the air because her eyes widen and she nervously licks her lower lip. I follow the movement, gut tightening, and breath shallow. It’s when she takes a step back, then another, that I realize my tactical error when I moved to the bedside table to put the book away. Now I am the one standing in the corner, and she has a clear way to either the door or around the bed to the balcony. I narrow my eyes at her in warning. But, of course, she doesn’t heed it.

In one single movement, she whirls around and bolts to the door to try pulling it open. I am on her before she even manages to flick the lock. In a blink, I have her pinned from behind against the hard surface. My whole body is plastered against her back and I almost groan from the erotic current traveling down my spine.

“Uh-uh, love, you’re not going anywhere,” I rasp against her temple. I catch her wrists and pin them against the cool wood, dipping my face into the crook of her neck to inhale her in. I am addicted to the smell of her, the feel of her skin under my fingers, and the taste of her on my tongue. I’m fucking drowning in her. She wiggles as she tries to disentangle herself, but all she achieves is rubbing her ass against me and I am slowly losing it.

“Lucas…” Her voice is breathless, pleading.

I grind harder against her and nuzzle the spot behind her ear. “Don’t fight me, love. You’re mine, accept it.” I gather both her wrists in one hand and wrap my other hand around her throat to tilt her head back until her lips are offered to me. I slam my mouth over hers and devour her like a beast on its last meal. Her low whimper drives me to the brink of insanity and my last restraint snaps.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lucas

I pull the zipper on the back of her dress down in one swift motion, with her still pinned to the door. Then I break the kiss and spin her around, releasing her wrists to pull the dress down her body and let it fall to her feet. She is breathing hard as she stands there, facing me in her black lace bra and panties. My throat goes dry as I take her in. She is breathtaking, her golden skin beckons to me like the sweetest honey, and her gleaming hair cascades down her back, making her look like she just stepped out of a Botticelli painting. And her eyes. She is looking up at me, gaze wide and uncertain. The green swirls amidst the amber depths are calling out to my soul like sirens to a lost sailor, and I would readily drown in their abyss.

I lift my hand to cup her face, tracing her bottom lip with my thumb. My heartbeat is drumming so loudly in my ears I am sure she must hear it.