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“Because I was interested in seeing what you would do.” For a second his expression softens, and he appears almost human and for some reason, that fascinates me way more than it should. Then the emotion in them changes and he openly stares with a puzzled expression before gripping my face a little tighter, causing the tears to well up in mine and he whispers huskily, “You may look like your sister but there is something completely different about you. What is it? What did she do to you?”
It’s as if he’s picking at the lock of my deepest secret, shut away never to see the light of day and I freeze because how can I ever admit what my own sister did to me?
“I can’t…”
I yelp as he increases the pressure, and it’s almost as if my eyes are bulging from their sockets as he hisses, “Tell me.”
Part of me wishes I could. To offload the burden I have carried with me that became so heavy I buckled underneath it. However, there’s the part of me that is so ashamed I can’t even say the words out loud. So, I freeze and just stare back at him with a hopelessness that he must be feeding off right now because I understand men like him. They get off on another person’s weakness. They crave it to boost their own inflated egos and his appears to be bigger than most.
For some reason, he releases me and as I fall back, I half expect to feel the weight of his boot crushing against my ribs and I immediately curl into the fetal position to try to protect myself as best as I can. Instead, I’m surprised when strong arms reach down and pluck me from the floor and hold me so tenderly it brings tears to my eyes for an entirely different reason. As he gently rocks me inside a wall of muscle, I find myself relaxing into his warm chest, inhaling the musky scent of a man who is increasingly desirable the more unexpected his actions are.
I’m not even certain how long he rocks me in those huge arms, but it gives me a strength I thought had deserted me. Then, as his lips brush against my cheek, I have an overwhelming urge to experience his skin on mine because these clothes are a serious deterrent to what I really want.
His phone rings and his low husky voice makes me smile and I snuggle in closer as he growls, “What is it?”
I hear the urgent voice on the other end but can’t understand the words. Italian perhaps, Spanish possibly. Domenico answers back with an angry tirade and his tightening hold tells me he’s angry with what he hears.
Then he cuts the call and an angry rush of what I’m certain are expletives, pour from his mouth but he doesn’t lessen his grip at all.
If anything, he tightens it further and then he sighs heavily and, to my surprise, buries his face in my hair and inhales sharply, his hand holding the back of my head as he crushes me to his chest. This is more intimate than what he demanded of me earlier, and I wonder about the monster holding me so possessively. It’s as if I’m a comfort to him, and he doesn’t want to let go of that and then he sighs and growls, “Duty calls, baby girl. Just when we were getting along so well.” His low rumble of laughter surprises me and then as he pulls back, I should be afraid of the demonic gaze he directs at me, before grinning, “But you are still my prisoner, and you know what I do to them?”
“No.” I’m almost afraid to ask, picturing a return to the dark dungeon and being chained to the wall for the rest of the night.
“I restrain them until I am ready to indulge in my pleasure.”
The man is a monster if he gets pleasure from imprisoning his victims and I squeal when his huge hand squeezes my wrist. Locking it in an iron hold as he pushes me from his lap.
“Where are we going?” I am pulled roughly after him as he stands and heads toward a door set at the end of the room and he says roughly, “To my bedroom.”
My heart leaps because I wasn’t expecting that. If anything, I thought he would take me back to the dungeon but instead he flings open the door and I gasp when I see a room dressed in black with charcoal and silver walls. The bed that stands in the middle of it is simply huge and the covers dressing it are luxurious in their dark decadent shades. A black fur throw lies at an angle draped across the bed and the plethora of cushions make me long to dive headfirst into the purest luxury. Hidden lighting illuminates the various paintings hanging in gilded frames, and my mouth waters. I’m almost certain they are original, as I spy two from my favorite artist, Picasso.
“Are they…?” My voice sounds hungry as I openly drool at the magnificence looking down on me and Domenico shrugs and says with a hint of pride, “Original? Yes, baby girl. I don’t tolerate imitations which brings me to you.”
He spins me around and, holding my face in both hands, stares deep into my eyes and if anything, the hunger in his has intensified, causing me to be strangely attracted to him. It’s as if the only thing he wants in life is me, and it’s a heady experience.
The hunger in his eyes makes my heart flutter and the way he licks his lips with a tortured groan should have me fearing for my respectability. Instead, I am transfixed in a moment that could damage souls forever because God help me I want him to want me as much as he obviously does my sister. I’m not a fool. I know it’s her face he sees when he regards me through those tortured eyes, and it hurts—a lot.
To him I am Diana, not the damaged second. Not the one who is half the woman she is and probably always will be. I am nothing, not like her. Diana is the type of woman who would make the history books. A woman able to explode empires with a smile and a gentle kiss. To bring down warriors and kings and have them all fighting over her and the lustful glance he is throwing my way isn’t for me at all. I know that in my heart, which does a good job of breaking it because who wouldn’t want to be desired as much as he obviously does her.
CHAPTER8
DOM
When I look at Flora, I only see Diana. When I lookinsideFlora, I see the woman I always hoped her sister would be. I am conflicted, more than I thought possible. On the one hand, I want to fuck Diana out of my soul. Rape, hurt and tear her apart before feeding her to my men to finish off. I want the cruelest end to that woman, and I want it to be by my hand. However, when I’m with Flora, I have different desires. To protect, to cherish and to, for want of a better word — love. Flora is everything I hoped Diana was and yet I can’t break through the barrier her sister has built around my heart.
There is so much I want from Flora, but like me, she is damaged by association. Diana was the most beautiful woman I had ever set eyes on with what I thought was the purest heart and when you’ve lived my life, any hint of purity is like the hardest drug to an addict. I craved it. The sensuous, soft nature of a woman who loved, rather than destroyed. Her softly spoken words and feather like kisses, disguising a hot, sultry, sexy siren when she stepped from her innocence and unleashed the power on me.
I had never caught feelings until I met Diana, which is why it destroyed me when I learned she had been playing us for fools. Three of us. The sons of the bastard who created us and subsequently spent the rest of his life destroying us.
Now I have a chance to experience what I felt again. This time with the purer soul of her sister. Could Flora be the answer to my prayers? Can she save my own tortured soul and make me feel again?
More than anything, I want to see what it would be like. To spend time with her and push her to her limits. Make her fall in love with me, locked away here in my tower with no other distractions. No other temptations to steal her attention away from me. My princess locked inside my chamber until she gives me her heart—forever.
I’m not sure when things changed for Flora and for me, but one glance into those soulful eyes haunted with dark images from her past, declared war on my heart. Now I need to nurture the flower. To make her unfold and expose her delicious center to me, but not now. As I said, business has become an unwelcome guest at my party and so Flora and my fascination for her must wait its turn.
“Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
