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“Turn away!” I say in a panic.
He turns his head to look at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head. “What?”
“You can’t see the wedding dress.”
Why are we still talking about a wedding?
“I thought we weren’t getting married,” he says, his brow furrowing.
“I didn’t say never. I said not yet.”
I actually find it sort of amusing when he growls at that and grumbles to himself in Italian.
“What does that mean? I don’t speak Italian.”
“Good thing you don’t,” is all he says. “Look, you don’t have to wear the wedding dress. Put it away for another day and choose something nice for tonight.”
I nod. “Oh, right. Okay then.”
I sidle up to the large volume of clothes and touch the silky, decadent fabrics. These are high-end. Some are studded with jewels, and still others wrapped in the finest sequins.
“Okay, so you moved fast,” I mutter to him.
“My sisters have contacts in every major retail store from here to Canada.”
“Shocking.”
He reaches a hand out to touch the delicate ivory satin. “Are you sure?”
I don’t have to ask him what he means, what he wants me to confirm. I’m not marrying him tonight, end of story. I put as much conviction into my tone as I can. “Yes.”
“Fine.” I can tell he’s holding himself back. The king of the underworld doesn’t like not getting his way, but we both know it’s only temporary. He’ll get his way… eventually. The intensity in his lowered voice holds my thoughts captive. “For tonight, if I can’t have you in the white, I want you wearing the pale blue one.”
I look to see which one he likes. It’s a light, baby blue off-the-shoulder fitted gown with a white lace appliqué and a low V-cut neckline. It’s stunning.
“Whoa. Gorgeous.” I need to push, need to tug a little. I bite my lower lip and shake my head. “But I’d like the pink one.” He yanks a lock of my hair. “Ow! Hey! What?” Didn’t expect that.
“I think you forgot something.”
“Uh…”
“I pick out what you wear.” He raises his brows as if to remind me, a subtle warning. But I’m holding my own here.
“Right, if we’re married, which we aren’t.” I try to meet his fierce gaze, but it doesn’t work. He only glares right back, kicks the door shut behind us, and before I know what’s happening, pins me against the door. His hand traps my throat with a gentle flex that tells me he’s holding himself back.
Romeo isn’t used to not getting his way.
“I let you agree not to marry me… yet,” he says with quiet emphasis. “I even agreed to protect you, even though you aren’t my wife… yet, so my father doesn’t hurt you. But make no mistake, Vittoria.” He yanks my head back, baring my throat, and I moan when his tongue slides along my naked skin. His voice is a low growl, dangerous and possessive, reigniting the inferno he created within me. He reaches one hand to my ass and squeezes the still-tender flesh. I squeal. “I didn’t know it then and neither did you, but you were mine from the moment I killed for you.”
My mouth is dry, my vision blurry. I’m either dazzled or afraid or turned on. Maybe all three.
“Oh, is that how it works?” I try to keep my tone teasing, but the words falter on my lips when he draws even closer. My chest is pressed up against his, my breath heaving.
His eyes warm. “Wear the blue one, Vittoria. I demand it. If you come downstairs tonight in anything but what I ask for, I’ll punish you.”
That sends a little zing straight between my legs. Ah. Maybe that’s what it is, then. I don’t just need to push him for the sake of my own free will and self-respect. I crave the erotic sensation of danger.
“Do you get off on punishing people?”
His cock’s rock hard as he pushes against me, the heavy ridge turning my own limbs to jelly.
“No, baby,” he whispers in my ear. My skin’s feverish, and my clothes feel too tight, too heavy. “Not people. Only you.” He nips my earlobe. “Wear.” A heated lap of tongue to skin. “The blue.” Another searing lick. “Dress. Disobey me and see what happens.”
Is that an invitation?
The warning tone spikes my pulse. I’m panting, on fire. I know we’re just starting out, and I have no idea what will happen next, but I know that I can’t just blindly obey him. I won’t just blindly do what he says. But the knowing glint in his eyes tells me maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want my blind obedience.
He’ll demand my submission, but I’ll make him earn my trust.
“Got it,” I say, holding his gaze.
I am not wearing that dress.
The voices downstairs have reached an alarming pitch. How many are here tonight? “I’ll go now. I’ll tell them tonight isn’t our wedding, but we’ll celebrate our engagement. Now that you can agree to.”
