Page 15 of The Last Vendetta

Too bad.

“Why are you here?” I asked again, crossing my arms to hold my robe together.

“I came to see your father,” he said, setting his hand on my waist.

His touch burned me. This thin robe did nothing as a proper layer of protection. I didn’t dodge away, too thrilled with the unique excitement from having his fingers on me again.

“In my room?” I challenged, refusing to show him how much his rough hold got to me. I shivered, hating my body’s reaction, and he placed his other hand on my back. Within his embrace, I was trapped. Under his hot gaze and caught between his big hands, he had me right where he wanted me, looking like he was eager to resume where we’d left off.

“I saw him drunk and asleep at the other end of the hall,” he explained, stepping closer as he breathed quicker. Tension built between us, hot and sizzling as we stared each other down. His hands didn’t leave me, and I kept my arms crossed.

He brought his left hand up my side, almost massaging me, and his right hand at my back lowered until he could bunch up the material of my robe in his hand. Those skilled fingers curled against my ass with the motion, and I faltered in my determination to resist him.

“Why?” I asked, sounding too breathy to really appear defensive.

He reached my shoulder and nudged my robe over it. As the fabric slid free, it tickled my skin.

“I think he killed my brother.”

I frowned at him. That comment jarred me, snapping me out of this reverie of lust he was too damn good and quick at causing.

“He didn’t,” I sassed, shaking my head.

He pulled me closer, lowering his hand to my upper arm. Pressure from his fingers built there. I felt no pain, but I refused to be kowtowed into lowering my arms like he suggested.

“You know that?” he challenged. He had a whole fistful of my robe bunched in his hand. The flimsy fabric pulled at my skin, and with the sleeve stuck at my elbow, he took advantage.

Tugging down, he forced the robe to pull my arm back. As soon as I lost that crossed-arm stance, he snaked his arm around me.

The contact of his muscled, hairy arm against my bare flesh fueled me with potent need. With a craving we’d had to pause earlier.

It returned in full force now, taunting me to give in again.

“Because I’m pretty sure you were otherwise preoccupied when someone murdered my brother.” He demonstrated a replay of how busy I’d been at that moment—with him. He slammed his lips to mine, kissing me without mercy as he tossed my robe to the floor.

Wrapping my arms around him, I reveled in the press of his lips, hungry and demanding against mine. Arching up into his kiss, I pulled myself flush to him, grinding over his hard body.

I had no restraint. I didn’t want any. Kissing Renzo in my room was just as bad of an idea as it was to kiss him in a secluded spot on that patio. And like those blissful short moments, this time was no less drugging and magical.

My pussy was slick once more, aching for his touch to fill me and tease me. I breathed so fast, dizzy with this deep desire. No matter how I reached up to cling to him, I couldn’t appease the tense sensation of my nipples, hard and trapped behind the cups of my bra.

I was lost to exploring this forbidden lust with him. As he rendered me weak and needy, chasing after his lips when he pulled back for air, I didn’t care.

“He didn’t kill Luka,” I repeated. It was a crime to be kissing and wanting him, but it was a worse grievance to do so with the thought that he’d come here to accuse my idiotic father.

“You know that?” he growled, dipping to kiss me harder.

When I reared back for air, panting and staring up at him, I implored him to understand. “Why would he have? My father has no reason to kill Luca.”

“We’re enemies,” he reminded me.

I pulled him lower for a hard kiss. “We are.”

Even though we’re not acting like it at all.

“My father had no reason to care about that wedding, about Luka. At all.”

He didn’t seem to believe me, but he didn’t look prepared to fight the issue. Gripping my ass, he lifted me in his hold. Kissing me and carrying me, he moved me to my bed. We fell together, and before I could reach up to cling to his neck fully, he snapped the elastic band to my thong and tugged the scrap away.

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