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As soon as he was out of earshot, Arturo rounded on me with a glare. “We should have at least let him talk longer. He was considering a deal.”
“He was considering blowing smoke up my ass before putting a knife in my back,” I snapped. “He would have turned on us as soon as I gave Carmen to him. You know it’s true, so don’t fucking argue with me.”
“Agreed,” Raúl said coolly, his quick declaration of allegiance quashing any potential support of Arturo’s attitude. “It’s been a long day for everyone,” he continued, uncharacteristically taking on my usual role in calming flared tempers. “Go home and have a drink. We’ll meet again tomorrow.”
Everyone was effectively dismissed. They each offered me a properly respectful goodbye—even Arturo, although he appeared rather sullen about it.
As soon as we were alone, Raúl scowled at me. He had far more leeway to express his more volatile feelings openly with me, a privilege he maintained because he always wisely waited to confront me in private. “Whatever is going on with you, fix it. Either get some sleep or hate-fuck this out of your system. I’m not going to die because you’re losing your edge when it matters most.”
He was absolutely correct. I had lost my edge today, and fucking Carmen sounded like a great idea. My long-denied desire for her had morphed into impulsive aggression, and I needed to get this shit under control.
“I’ll handle it.” The fierce promise was spoken aloud for Raúl’s benefit, but it was directed at myself.
Carmen was mine. I’d waited too long to have her in my bed, and I wouldn’t let another day go by without hearing her scream my name.
Chapter 8
Carmen
The tiny black cat stirred for the first time in hours, lifting his head with an optimistic meow.
I set down The Secret Garden with a sigh. “We’re still not friends,” I told him for the third time this afternoon. The stubborn creature seemed to think he could wear me down with his persistent adorableness, but I remained resolute in my determination not to pet him. It was bad enough that he was on the bed with me—I couldn’t seem to make him abandon his throne. Stroking his soft fur would only encourage him more.
He stretched, got to his dainty feet, and shook his entire body, making a heart-melting chirping noise as he did so. Then, he hopped right over me and landed gracefully on the floor before trotting off into the living room.
“I guess third time’s the charm,” I muttered, ignoring the sinking sensation in my chest as he left me alone. At least he was safely out of my space.
In the next room, I heard a soft curse followed by another plaintive meow.
“Damn it, Bandit. Not now.”
I scarcely had time to register the shock of Stefano talking to his cat before the man himself stormed into the bedroom. He came straight for me, his black eyes glinting with hunger.
My heart leapt into my throat, an instantaneous fear response to being stalked by a predator. I scrambled upright, but he was on me before I managed to find my balance so I could defend myself.
He grabbed my wrists, pinning them against the pillows above my head, and he leaned over me, close enough that his chest pressed tight to mine.
“Stefano,” I gasped, a protest on the tip of my tongue.
His palm clamped over my mouth, silencing me. His hand was big enough that it covered the lower half of my face, stifling my ability to breathe.
“I do like when you gasp my name, kitten,” he purred, his dark eyes glittering. He dipped his angular face closer to mine, undeterred by my increasingly frantic struggles. “You’ll be screaming it later.”
I wanted to scream now. I couldn’t fucking breathe. Tiny sips of oxygen slipped past his hand, sparse enough to make my panic spike. My heart thundered against the inside of my ribcage, signaling my flight response. But there was nowhere for me to go. Stefano had full control over my body, my breath.
“You were very naughty this morning,” he murmured, a small smile curving his mouth. “I have to train you not to bite me, pet.”
He removed his hand from my face, and I gasped for air. The rush of oxygen returning to my lungs made my head spin, and my vision swam. His scent flooded my senses, dark and addictive. Before I could draw a second full breath, Stefano’s lips crashed down on mine.
For a few stunned seconds, I allowed him to kiss me, unable to organize my scattered thoughts to formulate a plan for resistance. He’d reduced me to survival mode, and now my sensory receptors were on overload while my rational cognitive abilities struggled to come back online.
I tried to turn my face away. He growled into my mouth, and his big hand wrapped around my throat, applying enough pressure to restrict my breathing. My arms jerked against his hold as primal panic set in again, but he didn’t relent.
