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When he turns away to put the glass back on the bedside table, I use the time to quickly look around. Somehow, I expected something a lot kinkier than this cozily furnished room. It even has its own faux fireplace and a rocking chair. If this was an orgy house, it would seem like Mr. Moretti has a taste for cougars. Really old ones.
Past the mini-living room in front of the fireplace is a breakfast counter and a small but fully-equipped kitchen. There’s even a basket of fruits on the worktable, plus a blender half-filled with some thick-looking yellow liquid.
Organic Viagra, perhaps?
When I glance back at Domenico Moretti, he’s visibly exasperated. “It’s just fresh mango shake, my dirty-minded little darling.”
Forget about the dirty mind part. I’m totally blown away he’s called me his darling.
“Don’t believe the stuff people have been saying about me. Most of it is garbage.” He frowns, staring hard at my face as if he’s seen something that doesn’t make sense.
Shick!
I try to school my expression into something less obvious, but it’s too late.
He makes a choking sound. “Are you actually disappointed?”
“I’m not!” My cheeks heat up at his accusation. And I’m not – really!
Mr. Moretti laughs, a full-bodied one that shouldn’t have sounded so sexy but does. He leans back against his chair, still laughing. Seated as he is, head thrown back and lean muscular legs fully stretched out before him, Domenico Moretti looks like a picture-perfect ad for Playgirl.
He’s also unapologetically aroused.
I can’t help noticing, and it turns me into a tongue-tied lump of melting jelly in the bed. The shape of his erection is more than visible against his pants, which stretch tautly on his thighs. My heart speeds up, working double-time as he finally stops laughing and leans forward.
“I’m sorry I made you faint,” he murmurs.
I swallow. My hyperawareness of Domenico Moretti makes me do my best to sink further into the soft mattress. I need to put more distance between us so I don’t start hyperventilating again. Or worse – pull him to bed and have my wicked way with him.
“You’re too quiet.”
My wimpy side begs me not to speak, but my old self says I should seize the moment and impress him with my wit. “I’m always quiet,” I croak out, my wimpy side winning half the battle.
“No, you’re not.”
He sounds so sure I look at him suspiciously. “Did you have someone spy on me?”
He doesn’t even deny it. “I have to be careful with my choice of wife.”
The casual way he tosses the words out makes me wince. “Stop it with that---”
“Misty---”
Toes, do NOT---
I grit my teeth when my toes disobey me, curling at the sound of Domenico’s voice saying my name.
“I’m not going to be your wife!”
Domenico Moretti smiles.
Oh, shick. Why hasn’t he been acting like the guy I’ve heard he is? Everyone says he’s a super cold anti-smiling bastard who’s out to take over Wall Street and, after that, the world. But here he is, smiling at me and just being too darn attractive for his own good. He makes me want to push his shirt off so I can rake my nails on his chest and watch him groan---
Oh. My. God.
I am not having a sexual fantasy about Domenico Moretti when he is just inches away from me.
I close my eyes in utter mortification. Something is seriously wrong with me. Maybe there’s some weird gas in the air that’s turned me into a mega-slut all of a sudden.
“Misty,” he says again.
I squeeze my eyes closed more tightly. He’s using his voice as a weapon, and it’s working. Fracking smart man.
“I need you to marry me, Misty.”
“I’m not going to marry you.”
“You will,” he says. “You just have to tell me what I should do to make you say yes.”
“Do you know how crazy you sound?” I have to ask.
“You don’t really think that.” He sounds so confident he makes me doubt myself.
I shriek when he suddenly takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips. I’m mesmerized when I see his eyelids fall close, which emphasizes the absurd length of his lashes. He inhales my scent. I shriek again when he suddenly bites my forefinger.
“You haven’t asked why I want you to marry me, Misty.”
I can’t take my gaze off his mouth, can’t stop staring at the way he’s sucking my finger, and I absolutely can’t stop my body from responding. There goes my panties, going from newly dried to soaking wet again.
“Don’t you want to know, Misty?”
“I…”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I chose you because I knew---”
I hold my breath.
“I knew you wouldn’t have trouble believing me.”
For more than a few moments, I can only gape at him. I don’t even know if I’m insulted or complimented. Worse, I’m not even sure if the words disappoint me when I know I should have been relieved. But one thing’s for sure: he’s telling me the truth. The way he looks at me and says the words convinces me that he really does mean it.
“You always liked reading about supernatural stuff ever since you were a child, didn’t you? You’ve always believed in what you never see.”
He’s stopped sucking my finger, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.
I am so fracking hopeless. I should be reflecting on what he’s just said, but all I can think of is I when he’s going to suck my finger again.
“Didn’t you used to love hearing stories about things that go bump in the night?”
Yes. Yes, I did, and look where it got me.
Nanette used to tell me all the time how nothing good would come out of my fascination of the paranormal. She used to punish me just for watching reruns of The Twilight Zone and I always had to sneak past her just so I could visit Mrs. Cairns next door. Mrs. Cairns had the most amazing stories to share about vampires, werewolves – she even told me stories about the Sceleri, which translates to sin eaters. I scour libraries and bookstores for more knowledge about them but never find even a single mention about Sceleri. Even to this day, I’m not sure if Mrs. Cairns made them up entirely or not.
When I was a kid, I used to wish I could be like the heroines in Mrs. Cairns’ stories. I wished I could fight the evil monsters like Sceleri who have succumbed to ennui or angels who have turned their backs on God like Vidange. It was incredibly easy to imagine myself brandishing a sword and slaying them because they were monsters I could handle. The monsters in real life, the ones with human masks and fought with lies – they terrified me so much more.
