by Bella J.
Perhaps I had judged her too harshly and was too eager to compare her to her father—the man I loathed more than anyone. He was the personification of everything evil, the kind of demon I tried so hard to exorcise from this world. Wickedness I fought to smother within myself every goddamn day—and the reason I had tried my best to keep my distance from Daniela. Just thinking about how close I came to losing control with her made me feel nothing but ice in my veins. It didn’t matter who she was, who her father was, she didn’t deserve what I did to her that night—even if I wanted to do something far worse than I did.
Daniela had done nothing but act her part ever since she walked down that aisle. She had given me no reason to think she had any other ulterior motive than fulfilling the duty to her own family.
With every day that passed and every minute I spent watching her from the shadows, I grew more and more intrigued by her. The redhead fiore that kept her radiance no matter what the seasons threw at her.
So, I had arranged for Gabriela to serve us dinner out on the deck, and I also made it quite clear that Darion wasn’t welcome the second I walked outside and saw him standing beside my wife, towering over her and hovering like a goddamn insect.
Her soft curls tantalized my fingertips as I pulled her hair loose, and I took a few moments to appreciate her unique beauty.
“What is going on?” Her voice was soft, treading on the side of caution as she looked up at me.
“We’re having dinner,” I replied and tucked the hairband in my pocket.
“I can see that.” She glanced at the buffet table Gabriela had set up for us. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Can a husband not have dinner with his wife?”
“Not when he’s been ignoring her for days.”
“Then maybe this is his way for making up for those days.”
“There shouldn’t be anything he needs to make up for in the first place.”
I smiled, amused. “Maybe he’s stuck in an uncomfortable situation, the same as his wife.”
Daniela narrowed her eyes. “Maybe he should stop referring to himself in the third person.”
I snickered. “Maybe. Here.” I handed her a drink, little droplets forming on the outside of the chilled glass of chardonnay.
Distrust flashed in her eyes, her expression of uncertainty and doubt—clever girl for being cautious.
She took the glass from me, her fingers gently brushing against mine. Our eyes clashed, the subtle contact creating an electric current in the air around us. Her lips parted, and I wondered if memories of the other night bombarded her thoughts as they did mine.
Diverting her gaze, severing the moment, Daniela placed the rim of the glass against her mouth, a movement that demanded my attention, the crisp wine glistening on her blush lips. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to sample the tropical fruit and buttery notes of the chardonnay on her lips, experience the delicate taste of nutmeg derived from the oak wine barrels by exploring her mouth with my tongue. How did I go from hating this woman with a passion to wanting to fuck her until my name rang in her blood?
Instantly, I felt the need to dominate pound against my skull, and I had to take a step back to suppress the overwhelming urge.
“Come on, grab a plate. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
She pursed her lips in thought, raising a brow. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”
“Is it considered ‘keeping tabs’ when it’s merely a concerned husband keeping an eye out for his wife?”
“You’re talking about yourself in third person again.”
“Take the plate, Daniela.” I held one out to her, her distrust evident in her glacial stare. But no matter the amount of bravery her expression exuded, apprehension still swirled in her eyes. God, those beautiful, unique eyes.
Reluctantly, she took the plate and examined the vegetarian platter I had Gabriela prepare specially for her.
I stood to the side, no intention of filling my plate, and every intention of studying her while I nursed my glass of wine. The short floral chiffon dress with a black bow around her middle accentuated her slender form. The V neckline emphasized her palm-sized breasts, a part of her body I hadn’t sampled yet because once I saw the delicate red curls between her legs, it was all I wanted to fucking look at while I jacked off—the only thing I could do to keep myself from tearing through the barrier of her virginity like a savage.
Daniela shifted from one foot to the other, my attention dropping to her legs that went on for miles. I had to stifle a laugh at her choice of footwear—which was none. A designer dress with no shoes. Why wasn’t I surprised?
She turned and glowered at me. “Are you not going to eat?”
“In a second.”
Her eyes narrowed, grooves forming on her forehead. “What is your game?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re standing there studying me like I’m a goddamn show-horse you’re thinking of buying.”
I snorted. “I would argue that if you were indeed a show-horse, I wouldn’t have to buy you since…well, I already own you.”
“We’re married, Gian. I’m your wife, and you are my husband. It’s a mutual commitment and not just some twisted claim of ownership.” She popped an olive into her mouth, and I watched as she pursed her lips while chewing.
“You see, Daniela, that’s where you’re mistaken.” I placed my glass down and sauntered closer, keeping my eyes etched on hers. “Our marriage isn’t just some mutual commitment. You are not simply my wife, and I’m sure as fuck not the standard husband type. I thrive on control.”
“That’s been established, yes.”
“I’m also possessive as fuck.”
“Of a wife you didn’t want in the first place? A wife you dislike?”
“I changed my mind.”
“That’s not something you get to do and then expect me to just fall in line.”
Fueled by a need to touch her, I brought my hand to her cheek to feel her smooth skin beneath my fingertips. “I expect you to do whatever I tell you to do.”
She shifted, her eyes flashing with equal parts desire and fear. I loved that. I loved how conflicted she was, how her mind pulled in one direction while her body pulled in another—toward me.
“You pretend to fight it, Faye.” Her cheeks flushed instantly when I called her that. “You think because I’m a hardened man, a man who hurt you and hated you, that you shouldn’t want me. That you shouldn’t…desire me.”
“What kind of woman would I be if I did?”
I stepped up, our bodies a breath apart. “My woman.”
Silence stretched for an eternity while I kept her hostage with my stare, her eyes a whirlpool of conflictions. Full, tempting lips parted as she inhaled, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t hide what she truly desired—not from me. It was there in her eyes, the way she looked at me as if silently begging to be ravished and used—yet still too innocent to give in to the need without an inner turmoil that fucked with her mind.
I brushed the pad of my thumb across her lips. Soft. Sensual. Perfect. She did not attempt to escape my touch, and my mind reeled with how things had changed so drastically so fast. Was it my guilt over hurting her that peeled the layers from my eyes to see the woman in front of me as more than my enemy’s blood? Or perhaps my brother’s obvious interest in her that ignited a fit of jealousy strong enough to smother the disdain I felt toward her?
Or maybe…maybe it was her. Perhaps it was her presence, her strength, her beauty that managed to captivate me in a way I never thought possible. But I could feel something different between us, a crackle of electricity that hummed through the evening air. A buzz that would soon siphon my every inhibition about my wife and replace it with something strong enough to ruin me.
I bit my lip as my gaze drifted from her lips to her eyes and back again. The need to taste her was overwhelming, my dick hard and throbbing just by being near her. “I wonder.�
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“What?” she whispered, the heat of her breath skidding across my thumb.
I cupped her cheek with my other palm, and she didn’t move an inch. “I wonder if it would be the same.”
“If what would be the same?”
“If I kissed you now, would it be the same as the kiss we shared in front of God?”
I bent down, licking my lips as it hovered an inch from hers. Her scent enveloped me. Vanilla fused with the smell of fresh grass, a reminder of how she loved strolling through the garden.
One breath became two. Seconds stretched into eons. The sound of crickets and water slowly slipped into silence. And we both stood there unmoved and entranced, her mouth tempting me like a drug, offering me a high like no other, which would surely follow with a severe comedown, a crash that would have me crave so much more. More than she’d be willing to give.
But I wanted to taste her too damn much—this woman who forced fire and ice in my veins.
“Gian—”
I crashed my lips against hers, drowning her voice and smothering her words. There was a single moment’s hesitation from her, her body stiff against mine. But I dominated our kiss by breaking through the barrier of her lips, my tongue delving into her mouth. I tasted wine, the lingering saltiness of olives, and a flavor that was uniquely her. Sweet. Fiery. Mine.
Her subtle moans echoed between us, her body melting into mine as her inhibitions dissolved. My thoughts had instantly been obliterated. There were no Morettis, no Silvestros. No feuds or wars. It was just the two of us. Husband and wife…and a kiss that felt right yet made no fucking sense.
Drunk on desire, I deepened the kiss, pressing harder as I snaked my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. I waited for the moment she’d shove me away, waited for her fight to sever the connection, but it never came. In fact, she leaned deeper into the kiss, her tongue dancing against mine with equal vigor.
I felt her pebbled nipples against my chest, and I slipped my hands down to her ass, pulling her harder against me. I thrust my hips, desperate for some relief from the throbbing ache in my cock.
Everything faded to black around us, and I was willing to drown in her taste. When the fuck did this happen? When did my desire for this woman trump the hate I felt for everything the Moretti name stood for?
I tilted my head to the side, my lips never leaving hers. She gasped for breath, the cold air colliding with the heat of our mouths fused together.
Control was slipping from my grasp as I grabbed the fabric of her dress between my fingers, winding it up over her thighs. I wanted more. So. Much. More.
Lost in the moment with a hunger that demanded to be sated, I bent down and slipped a hand behind her thigh, pulling her feet off the ground, leaving her no choice but to wrap her legs around my waist.
“Gian—”
“Unless you’re about to tell me to rip your panties off right here, right now…shut the fuck up.”
Her whimpers filled my ears and fueled the carnal hunger that possessed me. Slipping deeper, my mind was a maze of lust and desire while our lips and tongues dueled for power.
Glass shattered, and the piercing sound sliced through the fantasy. Daniela had dropped her plate, white shards scattering around us.
Our lips tore apart, and I leaned my forehead against hers, our billowing breaths interlaced. Reality struck like a ten-ton wrecking ball, and I was reminded of the dangerously thin line I tread on with her.
I stepped a few feet away from the broken glass and slipped my arms from her waist as I set her down. It was evident in the way her eyes burned with desire that she wanted more, that her body needed more. Fuck knew, so did I.
I touched her chin with my thumb, leaning as close as possible without kissing her. “I gave you my word that I would not touch you again without you asking.”
“What are you saying?” Her words were nothing more than a breathless whisper.
I lifted her face so she could look me in the eye. “I will never claim to be a good man, Daniela. But I won’t break my word, not after I already broke my vows once.”
My body ached, yet I managed to take a step back, every instinct in me screaming to devour her until there was nothing left. But I wouldn’t hurt her again. I wouldn’t become one of those men who took pleasure in another’s pain.
I would not become…her father.
Chapter Seventeen
I was sure I would have turned into ash if he hadn’t stopped when he did. The fire, the flames, the embers of his touch—it was almost too much.
But he was right. I couldn’t understand how I was attracted to him, how my body could react to him the way it did after he proved to have nothing but ill intentions toward me. Yet now it seemed that too had changed.
Dinner. Wine. The fact that he stopped kissing me, reminding me of the promise he made and how he had already broken his vows. That was the mindfuck. That was the part that had my head spinning. Was he referring to his midnight visitor? The woman Darion referred to as Irina? Had I been right all along about him having a personal relationship with her after taking me as his wife?
The thought sickened me. Our marriage might not have been anything more than the seal of an agreement between our families, but we were still married. He said his vow before God, and he needed to honor that.
So did I. I said those same vows.
I, Daniela Faye Moretti, take you, Gian Davide Silvestro, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life.
We were both guilty of ignoring our vows.
“Daniela, you damn hypocrite,” I mumbled to myself, picked up my glass of wine, and emptied it.
“Don’t let him screw with your head.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Darion standing by the archway, his eyes cold and expression somber
“My brother is a master manipulator, Daniela. He knows what to say to people to get what he wants.”
“I’m well aware of your brother’s shortcomings, Darion.” I placed the glass down.
“How did he hurt you?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You eavesdropped?”
With slow steps, he approached me, hands in his pockets. “How did he hurt you?”
“Darion, listen, I appreciate how kind you’ve been to me since all this started, but—”
“How did he hurt you?”
He came right up to me, so damn close, I could smell the whiskey on his breath. Furious waves stormed in his eyes, dark pools of indignation.
“Darion,” I whispered, “please don’t do this.”
“Can you honestly stand there, look me in the eye, and tell me you feel nothing for me? That you don’t feel…free whenever you’re with me?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple.” He pushed forward, forcing me to take a step back. “Gian is a soulless bastard who will never see you as anything more than Emilio Moretti’s daughter. He’ll always hate you because of the blood that runs through your veins.”
I bit my lip, and it still tasted like him—like Gian. The buttery taste of wine and the bittersweetness that was so uniquely him.
Darion grabbed my arms, his grip tight as he urged me to look him in the eye. “Tell me you’re not attracted to me.”
“Darion, please.”
“Tell me! If you were free to have made your own choice, who would you have picked?”
I studied him in silence, the only sound that of my wildly beating heart inside my chest. If I had to lie, I’d deny the pull I felt toward Darion. The fondness I’d grown for the man who had shown me nothing but kindness when I needed it most. If it were under different circumstances, it would have been so much easier to answer his question.
I pressed my lips in a thin line then took a breath. “If I had control over my own life, I would—”
Darion launched forward and slammed his lips against mine, squeezing my ar
ms in his tight grip. It took me off guard, the way his hard and desperate kiss invaded my mouth. It was instinct, an impulse that evoked my actions. I pushed against his chest and slapped him across the face the second his lips tore from mine. His head jerked to the side, and I pressed the fingers of my other hand against my burning palm.
“I was saying,” I seethed, “if I had control over my own life, I wouldn’t have chosen either one of you.”
“Daniela, come on.” He reached for my elbow, but I jerked away.
“Stop, Darion. The fact that you thought I’d willingly kiss you back is insulting. I’m married to your brother.”
He nursed his cheek with his palm. “He doesn’t care about you. And you said it yourself. Your marriage is nothing but a sham. Have you even had sex with him yet?”
My skin flushed. He knew the humiliating truth; I could see it in his eyes. “That is none of your goddamn business,” I spat as anger and humiliation boiled in my veins. “I don’t care if your brother feels something for me or not. I am his wife, and you will respect me as such.”
I couldn’t stay there a second longer. My mind was a minefield of thoughts that made no sense. And even if I did feel something for Darion, a mutual affection born from kindness, he had no right to place me in such a compromising position.
“Mrs. Silvestro.”
I spotted Gabriela as she came walking from the foyer. “Yes, Gabriela?”
“A phone call for you. It’s your father.” She handed me the cordless phone and turned on her heel. My heart tumbled to the soles of my feet, my mouth instantly dry. There were only two reasons my father would call me. Either something has happened to my mother or Alessa, or he had more responsibility to pin on my already heavily burdened duty toward him.
I placed the receiver against my ear. “Hello?”
“There she is.” My father’s voice grated at my bones like a knife on an empty plate. “How are the newlyweds?”
