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“I do. It’s a lot of house for one person.”
“Or two.” She immediately looks like she’s said something wrong. Her face reddens. Her eyes widen. “I’m… I’m so sorry, sir.”
I frown. “It’s fine.”
Sir? I groan inside. Fuck, her saying it shouldn’t make my dick hard. It shouldn’t make my desire swell inside. But I temper those thoughts down. I can’t look at her like this. I can’t let myself think these kind of thoughts about her. She’s twenty-fucking-three years old; twenty years my junior.
She’s supposed to be mine. She’s supposed to be my fucking wife soon. The twisting of desire and self-loathing inside makes my jaw clench tight as the car pulls to a stop.
One of my security team gets the door. I step out, and the man turns to reach for her. I growl, savagely. It’s instinctual. It takes even me by surprise. But it’s like a gut reaction. The man stiffens, pales, and steps away. “My apologies, Mr. Genovese.”
“It’s fine,” I grunt.
I'm not a ruthless or cruel boss. That’s what comes from getting my position through blood and merit, and not birth. But I do instill fear and power. That’s from years of working my way up. I was exactly this man, in another life when I was young.
Before Bellamy was born, I was a foot solider for the Scaliamis. I was a guard for a Don’s home. I worked my way up and earned more and more responsibly. Eventually, I came to be second in command to Leo Scaliami himself. When he was killed, I took over. And I’ve been at the top ever since; the head of a family whose name I don’t bear. But it works.
The guard fades away. I turn to the car and reach inside for her. Our eyes lock, and she trembles. She worries her lower lip. God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
“Come,” I growl. “We’re home.”
Her hand slips into mine, and she shivers. I groan inside. My blood thrums. My cock swells as I help her from the car. Here we go.
Inside,I walk with her and Harry, my butler, to her quarters.Herquarters. Not mine. I called ahead before we left the offices in the city to arrange for this. I know what this is. I know this arrangement between my organization and Anton’s is real, and binding. But I’m not a goddamn savage. This isn’t the eighteenth century. I’m not bringing her to my fucking chambers to ravish. Though, the thought of doing so has my thickness swelling.
I grit my teeth. I shake those thoughts from my head. I remind myself that she’s almost literally half my fucking age.
“Here,” I growl. We step inside her quarters. Katrina looks around. Harry drops her few pieces of luggage. I nod, and he steps out with a bow, closing the door behind him.
“This is my room?”
“These,” I grunt. I walk to one wall and open a huge set of French doors to another living area. This room has a fireplace, shelves of books, and a balcony overlooking the gardens. I walk back across the first room and open another set of doors. These lead to her bedroom, and adjoining walk in closet and full bathroom. I turn back to see her staring in awe.
“All of this?” she says breathlessly.
“All of this.”
She blushes deeply. “Are… are these your rooms too?”
I frown. “No.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t ask for this, Katrina.”
She looks up quickly. Her eyes look worried. Her lip catches between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Shit. I growl and shake my head. “No, I don’t mean—”
“I’ve displeased you.”
I frown even deeper. Especially since she looks so scared when she says it. “What?” Displeased me? What the fuck kind of shit is that? Thinking that someone—Anton, I’m sure—put that into her head makes me seethe.
“I’m sorry, sir…”
“You haven’t ‘displeased’ me, Katrina,” I grunt. “I’m just saying I didn’t ask for this arrangement. You coming here as… as my…”
“Your wife,” she whispers.
