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“I told him I would be confiscating this,” he drawled, picking up my tennis dress from my bed. “Although I think I’ll also take this and this,” he smirked, picking up my discarded panties and bra, and running his fingers thoughtfully over the white lace.
Jesus, he’d just run his fingers over my panties.
I took a step toward him and tried to snatch them back from him, but he held them out of my reach.
He had a complete lack of boundaries, and his very presence was suffocating me. Trying to hide how flustered I was, I turned away from him and sat down at my vanity, picking up my hairbrush.
As I dragged the brush through my wet strands, my hand shook, and I prayed to God that he wouldn’t notice.
Lorenzo silently came up behind me. He was wearing a fitted black suit, white dress shirt, and black tie. His clothes had been tailored to be a perfect fit for his tall, muscular body.
I held my breath as he lifted his fingers and ran them slowly over my hair. His lazy touch made my body flinch and my scalp tighten.
“Relax,” he breathed, a low sound of satisfaction rumbling from him as his rough fingers trailed from my hair down the side of my damp throat, leaving a hot trail burning along my skin.
In the reflection of the mirror, I couldn’t help watching his large, tanned hands, noticing how they led to strong wrists with a dusting of dark hair that disappeared into the sleeve of his dress shirt.
His touch was intimate—too intimate—and I felt a shiver run through me.
Every stare from him was too hot and too heavy. Heat ran up my neck and I couldn’t breathe. His proximity was stealing the air from my lungs.
“I like a woman to have long hair.” His voice was smooth and smoky like a fine whiskey. “You won’t have enough time to grow it by the wedding next month. You’ll have to get hair extensions put in.”
“Hair extensions?” I managed to get out. “I don’t think so. Absolutely no way.” I wasn’t going to look like a blow-up Barbie doll for him or any other man.
His eyes caught mine in the reflection, his gaze like a predator who had just snared his prey. “You are my fiancée now. You’ve signed the contract, giving yourself over to me. You’ll do as I say—even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to the salon.”
My mouth gaped open. “If you make me get extensions, I’ll shave my head before the wedding,” I shot back at him.
I smiled to myself, knowing that I’d got the last word in.
Then he replied…“I want your hair long enough to wrap around my fist when you’re in bed with me.”
Jesus Christ.I sucked in a tight breath. And as his words made my core clench, I inwardly cursed at him.
He said nothing further, and I watched as he casually sauntered out of my bedroom.
After I managed to calm my racing pulse, I dried my hair and tried to keep my mind off what had just happened. Just the thought of it made it hard to breathe.
I looked through my make-up drawer. I normally didn’t wear much make-up but chose mascara and a nude lip-gloss for the party.
I knew that Lorenzo would be expecting me to wear a dress tonight. I found most dresses too formal and tried to avoid wearing clothes that I felt were too prim and proper.
Looking through my closet, I decided upon a black dress with cap sleeves—I had customized it by hand since I enjoyed sewing. I completed my outfit with my favorite ballet flats, which were red and had small bows at the front.
I checked my reflection in the mirror. Unlike most of my family, who had dark hair, I took after my mother’s side of the family with my blonde locks. To delay having to see Lorenzo, I decided to style my hair. I divided it into two and then twisted and pinned each section so that two small buns sat on top of my head.
When I couldn’t put off going downstairs any longer, I gathered up my courage and headed downstairs.
LORENZO
As I waited in the drawing room for my fiancée while she finished getting ready, I checked e-mails on my phone and made a few calls.
I didn’t really care about the length of my fiancée’s hair. When I’d ordered her to get hair extensions, it was more because I hoped that if she looked more like a stereotypical Mafia wife, then maybe she’d also act like one—instead of acting like a feisty, spoiled princess.
Although something about her defiance also made my loins stir. I couldn’t wait to make her scream under me in my bed.
I fingered her lace panties which were tucked in pocket of my pants. And liking the feel of them, I decided that I might have to keep them close at hand.
