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“I want you to come back to Cambridge with me,” I announced. “After, I mean,” I said before he could start lecturing me about his enemies again. “After the danger has passed, I want to go back to school, and I want you to come with me.”
Something shifted in his eyes, but the shadow was gone so fast, I was sure I must have imagined it.
He brushed a kiss against my forehead. “I’d like that, angel.”
“Good. Then I’ll stay here with you. I can take a little time off school, as long as I try to keep up with my coursework. I don’t suppose Marco grabbed my books when he abducted me?” I asked, although I knew that was highly unlikely.
“He didn’t, but I’ll buy new editions for you. Can you access your syllabi online?”
“Yes. I just need the textbooks so I can follow along with the assignments. If I can send another email to my professors, I’ll ask if someone will volunteer to upload their class notes for me. Would that be okay?” I didn’t like asking for permission, but I doubted I’d be granted access to the internet. Joseph might be pleased that I’d agreed to stay, but I didn’t believe for a second that Marco would trust me near a computer.
“Of course,” Joseph agreed easily. “Just write out the message, and Marco will send the email. I’ll order your books online today. We can go over what you need after breakfast.” He gave me a crooked smile that made my heart melt. “We really should go downstairs. Marco gets cranky if his food goes cold.”
“Why doesn’t he just eat without us?”
I followed Joseph out of bed and went through the shopping bags he’d brought me last night, looking for something to wear.
“He probably won’t wait for us, but he doesn’t like when his culinary creations aren’t enjoyed properly.”
I shot him an incredulous glance. “Marco doesn’t strike me as the type who would care about something like that.”
“I think you have the wrong impression of him. Marco likes cooking for people. It’s one of his hobbies.”
“If you say so,” I allowed. I couldn’t imagine Marco caring enough about anyone to worry what they thought of his cooking.
&
nbsp; I kept searching through the bags, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
“Where are the bras and underwear?” I asked.
Joseph’s smile turned wolfish. “There aren’t any.”
“I can’t go around without a bra,” I said, aghast at the thought of my nipples poking through the thin camisoles he’d gotten for me.
“Yes, you can. There’s no one here to see.” He stepped toward me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close so he could whisper in my ear. “I want access to your body at all times. Does it bother you that I want to be able to fuck you without panties getting in the way? If I’d gotten them for you, I’d just end up ripping them off. That would be a waste, don’t you think?”
“But… Marco’s here,” I spluttered.
“He’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want him looking at me.” Marco made me uncomfortable. He liked to get in my personal space. He liked intimidating me. I could see it in the way emotion sparked in his eyes when he got close to me. At all other times, he appeared almost bored, detached. But when he made me squirm, I saw pleasure stir in his dark gaze. It was beyond unnerving.
“Then I’ll tell him not to look,” Joseph promised, as though that settled it. “Now, get dressed. I don’t want Marco getting pissy.”
“But I…”
“Now, Ashlyn.” He fixed me with a stern stare he’d never turned on me before.
I was pulling on the camisole and yoga pants before I fully processed my actions. I wasn’t scared of Joseph, but that deeper note in his voice warned me not to defy him. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I did, but I didn’t even think about testing him.
When I was dressed, the stern expression melted, replaced by a dazzling smile that knocked the air from my chest. He planted a swift kiss on my lips and took my hand in his, leading me out of the bedroom.
I finally had a chance to look around the house a little as we made our way to the kitchen; I’d been too emotional last night to really take it in. Well, house wasn’t an accurate word. From the little bit I’d seen, Marco lived in a mansion, with enough white marble and gold gilding to make it look like an Italian palace. The effect was ostentatious, and that didn’t fit with the no-nonsense vibe I’d gotten from Marco.
“This is really Marco’s house?” I asked as Joseph kept step beside me, holding my hand as we made our way down the elegant curved staircase. On the way down, we passed a low-hanging chandelier with enough dripping crystals to throw rainbows onto the domed ceiling. I glanced up and noted the painted fresco above us. The art historian in me was interested, but I was still puzzled by the fact that Marco had cherubs depicted on his ceiling.
“It’s his father’s house,” Joseph told me. “But Leo rarely comes here. Marco has had the place to himself for most of his life.”
