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“You’re beautiful,” I said. “But goddamn, I want to strangle you right now.”
She glared at me and tried to pull away. I held her tighter.
“It’s just an expression. I’m not going to hurt you, dammit.”
She relaxed slightly, but she still looked angry.
I brushed my thumb over her full lower lip.
“You taste like milkshake,” I murmured distractedly. I was ferociously turned on. It was unbelievable what the woman could do to me just by breathing. Now, of all times. When I had spent half the morning with my heart in my throat.
But goddammit, I wanted her.
I decided to take my revenge in a way that I would enjoy. And that she would not. Not at first, anyway.
I smiled coldly.
Oh, yes, I was going to get my pound of flesh from Miss Francesca.
Oh, yes, I was.
I was still smiling as we entered the house.
Chapter Forty
Francesca
“You really just bought this?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice clipped. Hard. Cold. “I bought this for us.”
I looked around, holding myself. I was nervous. I hated that he could make me nervous.
I knew he was angry. Even that he had a right to be angry. But I had reasons for what I had done. Valid reasons. And he needed to give me a chance to explain them!
He is not going to beat you, ’Cesca. He is not Philip, I reminded myself. But he could hurt me with his anger. He probably didn’t know the power he held over my heart.
He couldn’t know.
I could barely admit how much I loved him to myself.
“Vincent . . .”
“Are you going to apologize?” he snapped, pulling his jacket off.
“What?” I asked stupidly as he started removing his cufflinks.
“Are you going to apologize for scaring the living hell out of me?”
“I . . . I’m sorry you were worried.”
“Not worried,” he said harshly as he folded back his cuffs. “Terrified. Out of my mind with fear that something bad had happened to you two. That someone was hurting you. Hurting her.”
My mouth dropped open.
“I didn’t think . . . I thought we would be back before you noticed.”
He gave me an astonished look, unbuttoning the top of his shirt.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I don’t know,” I said, now feeling genuinely nervous. He won’t hurt you, I reminded myself. I stepped backward until my back was against the wall. The house was huge, a mansion with an unfamiliar layout. And we were in the middle of nowhere.
No one would hear it if I screamed.
I put my head in my hands, willing the thoughts away. It wasn’t based in reality. It was because of my past. It was not real. I was not in danger.
“Francesca?”
I lifted my head, staring at him blindly. It was as if I were somewhere else. As if he wasn’t there.
“Come here,” he said again. I walked woodenly toward him. I tried to control my breathing. I tried to be clear. I tried to be present.
“Yes?” I asked as he tilted my head up to look at me. He didn’t look frightening. He looked concerned.
“My God, you are terrified,” he said, dropping his hand from my face. “Do you really think I would hurt you?”
“No,” I said. But there was a huge lump in my throat when I tried to swallow. I shook my head, closing my eyes. When I opened them, I was looking at him. Vincent Margarelli. The love of my life. I was not seeing the past. “No, I don’t,” I said with more confidence.
“Our other conversation can wait. Come upstairs with me now,” he said, holding out his hand. I put mine in it, watching as his huge palm and fingers swallowed mine up. I followed him up the dramatic staircase. But I wasn’t simply following him. I was putting my trust in him. My safety. My very life.
The house was modern but felt sturdy. Almost traditional. It was brand-new, from what I could tell. It didn’t have that cold, slick feeling that super-modern houses had sometimes. The stairs were heavy slabs of wood. You could see the grain under the polish. And the floor to ceiling windows everywhere let in tremendous natural light.
Light and shades of blue and green. Everywhere you looked was the blue of the sky, or the bay, or the varied deep green of the trees outside. It was beautiful.
Beyond beautiful.
Not unlike the man leading me upstairs to . . . do what? Make love to me? Shout? It wouldn’t be any worse than that, I reminded myself. I was safe. He was angry, yes, but I was safe.
My breathing slowed as he led me upstairs and into a room with only one piece of furniture, an enormous platform bed that hovered not far from the ground. That was where he had been guiding me. Not that I was surprised.
We were destined to end up in bed together each and every time we were near each other. We had always been destined for this. I suspected we always would be.
