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And holy fucking hell, I want her. Want to break her body in half as I dive inside, filling her veins with my blood.
At the very least, I want her before Kieran has her. Not because I’m better for her, but because he deserves to lose.
“Elia…” My father’s voice comes from behind me. A warning. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Smirking to myself, eyes glued to where she disappeared through the French doors, I brush some dirt off my Armani suit jacket and yank on the lapels. “Sometimes, regret’s the only emotion worth a damn.”
Caroline
If I could drag my father’s body to this corner of the house and stab him with the pocketknife I keep tucked into my underwear, I would. Without a single thought as to whether I’d regret it after—because I wouldn’t.
I’d never regret hurting that man. Not after today, and not after the last ten years.
First, it was asking me to dress conservatively so as not to draw attention away from him. Then, it was telling me not to drink or stray too far, because he hadinvestorslined up, different men vying for my hand.
Stupid and defiant, I’d pulled on a light pink dress that barely skims the tops of my thighs, relishing in the way my father’s eyes bugged out of his head. It takes a lot to shock Dominic Harrison: senator and bad dad extraordinaire.
But I’m beyond done playing his filthy games. Games I never should’ve been involved in to begin with. The man could take my childhood, push it neatly under his dirty little thumb, but he won’t have my adult life, too.
Shortly after we arrived at my cousin Luca’s birthday party, did our obligatory family greetings, and spread out to socialize, my father’s intent became abundantly clear.
Luckily for me, Kieran Ivers hasn’t come out of his ivory tower in weeks, since the murder of his brother, a former organized crime leader in Stonemore.
Unluckily for me, my father likes theatrics. Kieran’s absence didn’t exonerate me, and he still plans to hand me over to the highest bidder. The leers from his colleagues and men with blood on their hands didn’t help matters, either.
With shaking fingers, I work a cigarette from the pack in my clutch, uncaring that I’m inside, and my Aunt Carly will be furious if she discovers me here.
Whatever. She should try being forced into marriage, see how many cigarettes she feels like smoking.
I press the end of the smoke between my lips and rifle through the clutch for my lighter, cursing when it’s nowhere in sight. My father probably confiscated it when I went to the bathroom before leaving our house.
“Let me help you with that.”
The deep, velvet voice startles me; I jump back, the cigarette falling from my mouth.
Turning around, my ovaries swell painfully. Elia Montalto stands a few inches away, Zippo lighter in hand, offering it to me. I exhale slowly, bending to scoop up my cigarette, unable to stop my gaze from sweeping over his fit fucking body.
Even though this party is casual, he stands there in a three-piece suit—all black, the way I imagine his soul. The top buttons of his undershirt are undone, revealing a light swatch of dark hair. My mouth dries up at the sight.
He’s tall, maybe a whole foot above me, smiling down like the cat that caught the canary. A predator circling his prey.
Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m no one’s victim.
I’d hoped he’d follow me.
My heart beats rapidly against my chest, threatening to bust right out and launch itself at him. Nerves, and something else—a quiver in my thighs I can’t quite identify.
A few beats of silence pass between us, and he clears his throat, reaching for my wrist. The breath stalls in my lungs at his soft touch, at odds with the calloused fingertips he presses against my skin.Sharp, torn ridges hiding what lies beneath.
He uncurls my hand and takes the cigarette, fitting it between his lips. They’re dark pink and pillowy, the bottom curving over a slight cleft in his stubbly chin that I want to push my tongue into.
Jesus, Caroline, get a fucking grip.
Cupping his hand around the Zippo and flicking it open, he lights the tip of the cigarette and takes a long drag; his cheeks hollow and his throat bobs, and I can’t tear my eyes from the movement. Everything he does seems to happen in slow motion, and it’s captivating as if he calculates each move and consequence ahead of time.
The movements of a killer.
My core throbs, moisture pooling between my thighs, as he removes the cigarette from his mouth and exhales clean smoke through his nose.Has there ever been anything sexier?
