Page 67 of The Fighter

“And what about you?” I survey him thoughtfully. “Why do you like control? Because you felt powerless in Valencia?” The moment I say those words, I wish I could take them back. It’s a very intimate thing to say, and Tomas doesn’t want that from me.

He stiffens. “That’s very insightful.” I wonder if he’s going to shut me down, but after a long pause and a heavy sigh, he says, “Insightful, and more than a little true. But it’s not the only reason.” He kisses me softly. “You trusted me enough to let me tie you up, dolcezza. That’s a pretty big ego rush.”

I could stay in his arms forever. That realization sends a shock through me, and it forces me to get up and get dressed. Tomas isn’t interested in a relationship, whatever label I want to put on this thing between us. One thing I know for sure is that there is an expiration date built in. I can’t let myself forget that.

43

ALINA

Tomas insists on accompanying me home after Casanova. “Invite me up,” he says when we reach the gym. “I’m going to spend the night.”

“What? But I thought Signor Moretti was going to assign me bodyguards. Aren’t they outside?”

“Yes,” Tomas replies. “And if an attacker makes it past them, they’ll have to deal with me.”

“Aren’t you being somewhat paranoid?”

“It’s only paranoia if you have no logical reason to believe you’re in danger,” he points out. “Given that Laurenti has already made one attempt to abduct you, I’d say that, no, I’m not being paranoid. I’m taking appropriate precautions.”

“Won’t Freccia miss you?”

He laughs shortly. “Dolcezza, I love Freccia, but I’m under no illusion about my importance to her. Agnese, Antonio’s housekeeper, has agreed to feed her. As long as my cat has a steady supply of sardines and pasta, she will not notice my absence.”

I can’t help smiling as I picture Tomas’s tiny ginger cat gorging on a plate of spaghetti. “She eats pasta?”

“She is Italian,” he responds lightly. His expression turns grim. “I’ll sleep on the floor if you’d like. But I am not going to leave you alone.”

“There’s plenty of room in my bed.” It’s weird that I’m blushing. After what we just did, spending the night together shouldn’t feel particularly intimidating, but somehow, it does.

Maybe because it’s a lot more intimate.

And letting myself be intimate with Tomas is a very bad idea.

Tomas examines my locks disapprovingly before propping a chair under the door handle. “No offense, Ali, but your locks are trash,” he says. “I’ll get someone to change these tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes. “Have you ever noticed that when people start their sentence with ‘no offense,’ they’re about to say something extremely rude?”

We get ready for bed. I usually sleep in a ratty T-shirt, but I’m too vain to let Tomas see me in that, so I change into a nightgown Rosa made me last year as a birthday present. It’s periwinkle blue, floor length with two long side slits, and a plunging neckline that shows off my cleavage. It’s subtly sexy, not overly so, and it’s the prettiest lingerie I’ve ever owned.

Heat flares in Tomas’s eyes when I come out of the bathroom. “Very nice,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Very sexy. I want to rip it off you.”

“You better not,” I retort, a thrill running through me at the blatant masculine possession in his gaze. “It was a present from Rosa.” I climb into bed, my skin tingling. It feels dangerous to share a bed with Tomas. “There’s a new toothbrush on the counter.”

“Thank you.” He goes into the bathroom. I hear the tap run, and he emerges a few minutes later, still fully clothed.

“Are you planning on sleeping in your suit?”

“No.” He takes off his jacket and lays it over the back of the couch. He starts removing his cufflinks, and I watch him, my mouth dry. I lost track of how many times I orgasmed at Casanova, but it was a lot. I should be sated, but when Tomas unbuttons his shirt, my desire comes raging back. “I usually sleep naked.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s a laughing challenge in them. “If you’re comfortable with that?”

Yes, please. I’m fully on board.

I’m opening my mouth to say that when Tomas pulls out a gun tucked in the back of his waistband. I jerk up in bed. “That’s a gun,” I squeak. “A real gun.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “Of course. If someone bursts into this room with a weapon, my jujitsu skills are hardly going to help.”

He tucks the weapon under the pillow on his side of the bed. I stare at the spot warily. “Is it safe? What if it goes off by accident?”

“The safety is on,” he replies, unbuckling his leather belt. “Have you ever fired a gun before?”

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