Page 16 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

I slide my hand through her hair at the nape of her neck and angle her the way I want. I softly brush my lips over hers and close my eyes as the soft, pillowy warmth of her lips, both so familiar but so new, presses against my own. She tastes of wine and coffee. She smells of that gorgeous floral scent, and her hair is like silk against my fingers. I'm achingly hard, wanting so much more, but also lost in this exquisite, incredible moment. I kiss her as if I'm drowning in her.

My tongue licks at the seam of her lips, and she parts for me with a slow breath. A low rumble in my chest, a half-aborted groan gives away the fact that I'm as into this as she seems to be. The hand which isn't in her silky mane slides its way down to rest against the edge of that slit in her dress. That cut in the fabric has been driving me wild all night. I smooth my hand upward into the gap in the fabric and enter the dark space where the lacy edge of the stockings resides. I brush the tips of my fingers over lace until I feel soft, silky skin.

Her breathing becomes more ragged, as does my own. I let my fingers linger there, teasing over that delicious juxtaposition between rough lace and soft skin, knowing that if I move them further up to where her thighs meet, I'll find, what? More lace? Silk? Whatever fabric she has covering her core, will it be wet?

A shout from somewhere in the distance jerks me out of the moment, and I realize that we’re sitting here making out like teenagers in a car with the damn light on. I pull my hand from her dress as if I've been burned. A glance in the rearview mirror shows me the dark shape of my security detail’s SUV parked about three cars back. Great. I've given them a show as well.

I end our kiss with a gentle nibble on that beautifully plump lower lip of hers. As we pull apart for the final time, we stare at one another, and something changes between us. For a moment I think I see fear in her eyes. It mirrors what I'm feeling deep within myself. We're both playing a game here. Of course, I'm well ahead of her because this is a game that I orchestrated. I own the board, and I make the rules. She's just a pawn, and yet she thinks she's the gamemaster. Either way, though, this between us, how insane this kiss was, it creates a dangerous situation.

I reach into my pocket and take out a small square of silk, then gently wipe the lipstick that's made a mess all over her face. After she’s all cleaned up, I use the same square of silk to more roughly wipe the lipstick from my face. Feeling tender toward her in this moment, I smooth her hair into place, and then I get out of the car. I walk around to the passenger's side and open the door for her. She steps out and turns to me. I hand her a card.

“My number.”

She puts it in her purse and takes out one of her own. “Mine.”

I love the fact that she has business cards even though she doesn’t work, so far as I know. I glance at it and sure enough, it simply says Renata Andretti, no job title, as if she is important enough to need a business card just for being her.

“Thank you for paying for dinner and for the ride home. Let me know when you'd like to meet for a bite to eat. I should get inside; it's a bit chilly.” Turning away, she saunters toward the brightly lit building as if it can save her from me. She glances back at me and waves, then disappears inside. I lean against my car and watch her go, and I don't turn away until she's in the elevator.

I climb into the car, turn the light off, and sit there for a moment to gather my thoughts. Then I text Vlad and tell him I need a two-man security detail. Two of our best, I demand. I want them to start in the morning, and I text him Renata’s address. I tell him to make sure that the men stay well back and that she doesn't know they are following her. I want them armed too, I inform him. Renata may think that no one would ever come after her, but that's a naive position. I could murder her stupid brother with my bare hands for not providing her with security.

As I drive home, I think about the next time I’ll see her and know exactly where I want to take her. It's a tiny, unknown, accept to those who frequent it, traditional little Italian trattoria. It serves delicious food and houses small, intimate booths tucked away in corners that are dark and quiet. Even though it isn't glamorous or expensive, it's an incredibly romantic spot.

One hand on the wheel as I drive down the straight road, I touch my fingers to my lips with the other hand. The kiss wasn’t enough.

The next time I see Renata Andretti, I'm going to taste all of her.

Chapter 6

Renata

Three days pass, and I don't hear from Matteo. I'm stuck wondering whether he's changed his mind.

On the fourth day, I've decided that he's not going to text me because nobody waits four days; let's be honest. My phone buzzes, and I look down to see an unknown number. I didn’t put his contact info in my phone as it seemed too needy. I pick up my phone and read the message, heart hammering a little too fast for comfort.

Hello, Renata. Sorry it's taken me a few days to get in touch. Things have been very busy with work. Would you like to meet me for dinner Friday night? Matteo.

I ponder the message as I consider how to reply. I’m partly annoyed with him for taking four days to message me, and I want to say no. The worry is, if I do, he might not ask again. That will leave me having to explain to my parents that their clever plan can't be put into place because their daughter ruined things yet again. Furthermore, I really want to go to dinner with him. That moment between us in his car was the most intense I’ve in years.

I could cut my nose off to spite my face, but what would be the point in that?

It wasn’t only the kiss either. I liked his protectiveness too. He was super pissed that I didn’t have a security detail. None of my damn family seem to care that much.

Maybe I ought to have one. Nico certainly does. His house is full of heavily armed men, so if any trouble came our way, he's protected. Mamma and Babbo both have security at the big house, and it never really occurred to me to question why I don't. Of course, when I lived abroad with my husband, I had security provided by him.

He never thought there was a direct threat, as he said I wasn't part of the family in that sense anymore, and I never had been part of the business, but he still provided men to guard our home. He was a very minor arm of a long forgotten royal line, and most of his relatives came and went as they pleased. We were the only ones who had guards, and I know it was because of me not him. I always found it stifling somehow. When I came back to the UK, I had no one to watch over me. I didn’t think about it and simply enjoyed the freedom of being a totally free agent. In fact, I relished traveling alone. I had grabbed a train to the area where Nico lives with Cindy and never thought twice about how safe I was or not.

Still, now that Matteo has made such a fuss about it, I’ve been obsessively thinking about it, wondering if this is another way for my family to make me feel less than.

It will be due to my mother, I think with a sinking realization. I don’t believe for a second that my father wouldn’t have hired security for me the moment I announced the divorce, but Mamma would be the one to veto it, but for what reason? Because I shamed them by getting a divorce? God, she’s so incredibly petty sometimes.

They all have guards, and she’s left me twisting in the wind.

I shall take it as yet another slight that my family doesn't seem to be concerned about my safety. After all, they're always giving my safety as the main reason why I can't go into the business, and yet I don't have one security guard. Screw them, the hypocrites.

The more I dwell on it, the angrier I feel. It's just another way in which they show me that I don't mean as much to them as their precious son, or even their precious, sweet new daughter-in-law.

I tap a red nail against the glass on the front of my phone and consider my answer to the text. In the background I have Great British Bake-Off playing on the television. It's my guilty pleasure. I'm not a particularly girly kind of a woman, but I secretly love baking. It's one of the reasons I can't ever seem to lose the last few pounds that I would like to lose. I work out and eat healthily generally, but then I will go and bake myself a lemon cake and eat the whole damn thing in three days.

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