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Luca takes another step, closing more of the space between us, and my pulse flutters nervously in my throat. I could back up—Ishouldback up, but I can’t seem to make my feet move. I feel as if I’m frozen in place. “That’s the first lie tonight.” He holds up a finger. “You didn’t read them. So what did you do while I was gone?”
“I—I went up to the pool—”
“And what did you do while you were up there?”
“I just got some sun, swam a little—” I try to swallow, but my throat feels parched. Luca seems strung tight, restless, and I know there’s more bothering him than just whatever misbehaviors he’s uncovered from me. My rebellions, though, might just be what pushes him over the edge.
Just the thought sends a shudder down my spine, my skin tingling to my fingertips. To my horror, I can feel that newly familiar sensation coiling in my belly, snaking its way down to my groin, and I don’t understand it. This is turning me on, this game that we seem to play every time we’re together, this mixture of fear and apprehension and lust that he seems to arouse in me.
Who is he turning me into?
“So you didn’t get drunk on the rooftop? You didn’t keep drinking all the way until you went to bed?”
“I—I don’t really drink—”
“Except when you’re left alone in a penthouse with unlimited alcohol, apparently.” Luca takes a step back. “That’s two lies.” He looks down at me, his expression impassive, and some of the heat between us dissipates as he retreats. “Go upstairs, Sofia.”
“But—” I look at him, confused. “Where do you want me to go?”
“You knowexactlywhere I want you to go.” His voice sounds almost angry now. “Don’t fight with me, Sofia, or I swear by all that’s holy you’ll regret it.Go upstairs.”
I don’t know what insane urge prompts me to do it—I must have a death wish. Or I’m secretly a masochist. It’s the only explanation for why I, looking at Luca’s stony face and cold gaze, would cross my arms over my chest and look up at him with a stubbornly lifted chin as I retort:
“I don’t want to go up to your room.”
“Sofia.” Luca’s voice holds an edge that sends another of those shivers down my spine. “You can go up on your own, and I’ll join you in a moment. Or I can carry you, and I promise you will not like the mood I’m in or what happens next if you choose that path. You might not like it either way. But it’s your choice.”
I’m tempted to continue to defy him. But my foggy mind clears just long enough to remember what today was, what he’s probably endured today, how exhausted he must be—and I feel the tiniest flicker of sympathy for him even through all my frustration, anger, and fear.
It’s enough to make me concede. “Fine.” I snap. “I’ll go up.”
“Wise choice.” Luca turns away from me, crossing towards the bar. “Put on something nice. One of those little nightgowns from your closet, maybe.”
My stomach clenches all over again. “You said you didn’t want to have sex with me.”
“I didn’t say anything about that.” There’s the clink of ice into a glass. “Go upstairs, Sofia. I need a moment alone.”
Something in his voice tells me not to push it further. I turn on my heel, fleeing towards the staircase and the momentary safety of his bedroom.
But it won’t be safe for long. I didn’t bring the lingerie from my closet into Luca’s room—why would I? He’d made a point of sounding as if he didn’t want anything to do with me sexually, and I don’t want him—I don’t, I really don’t—so there’s no reason. I’d planned to wear the most unattractive thing possible to bed for as long as I was forced to share one with him—the biggest t-shirts I could find, the frumpiest granny panties I could manage.
Unfortunately, I don’t actually own anything like that. My usual nightwear at my old apartment was a tank top and my usual cotton boyshorts, or aslightlyoversized t-shirt. Nothing that screamedunsexy. In fact, I’d venture to guess that many men would probably find what I usually wear to bed cute, if not erotic.
But I don’t want Luca to think I’m cute. Or erotic. I want—
I don’t know what I want.
I’m still mulling it over when the bedroom door opens, and he walks in, a half-finished glass of whiskey in his hand. “You disobeyed me,” he says coldly, his gaze sweeping over my still-clothed body.
“I thought it was a suggestion,” I retort defiantly. “You said to put on something nice. I happen to think thisisnice.”
There’s a warning glint in Luca’s eye as he looks at me appraisingly, tossing back the rest of the whiskey. Without another word, he stalks towards me, coming up short with hardly a hand’s space between us as he looks down. “I don’t think it’s very nice at all.”
I don’t even have a chance to breathe, much less respond, before he reaches down and grabs the neckline of my shirt. It’s a white, sleeveless button-down, and when Luca yanks downwards, the buttons go flying as the shirt rips open. I hear a few clattering against the walls as they fly across the room, and Luca looks down at my cleavage in the thin, demi-cup bra beneath it.
He’s breathing more heavily now, and if I looked down, I imagine I’d see that he’s hard already. The thought sends another dart of electricity over my skin, the memory of him on our wedding night coming back too vividly—the muscled ripple of his abs, the thick hard column of his erection. I try to breathe, but I can’t because Luca’s eyes are fixed on mine, and there’s something so dark in them that I can’t begin to imagine what will happen next.
I have a feeling I’m about to find out, though.
