Page 19 of Milo

"Intellectual acuity will not benefit your physical endurance, Kiara.” His lips twist up in a cunning smirk. "This is not a matter of brain—" His hungry eyes dance across my chest. "But of body."

"I know my body, Mr. Di Vaio," I say, instinctively biting my lip as I press my palm against his hard chest. "You'd be shocked by the things it can do."

He grabs my wrist. "Be careful what you say, Kiara," he rasps. "Unless you are prepared to prove it."

My breath hitches, his tight grip sending a wave of heat to my core. "I'm always careful with my words," I whisper, my chest rising. "What does that tell you?"

A barely audible groan escapes the back of his throat as he drops my hand, arousal in his glare. "Do not poke the dragon, Kiara."

"Dragon?" I let out a mocking scoff, turning on my heel to exit his office. Enough fun for one day. "Wow, that is one big ego."

"I will see you in a week," he grunts in a strained tone, his fists clenched as he returns to his desk.

"Mhmm.” I twist open the door handle and pause, craning my neck over my shoulder. "Oh, one last question?—"

"What?" he snaps, peering up at me.

I tilt my head, tone flirty and coy, "Are you a virgin?"

He smirks, letting out a smoky chuckle. "Goodbye, Kiara." A beat. "And please, do not fuck any more of my guards."

Chapter 7

A Force of Life

Crackling from the tamed fire under the mantel echoes through the library as I turn the page on my Kindle, envy thrumming in my veins.

If only Tolstoy could rewrite my life; there'd be suffering, naturally – it's Tolstoy – but there'd also be hope.

Leo was excellent at writing hope.

"A wound in the soul, coming from the rending of the spiritual body, strange as it may seem, gradually closes like a physical wound. And once a deep wound heals over and the edges seem to have knit, a wound in the soul, like a physical wound, can be healed only by the force of life pushing up from inside," I murmur, reading out loud as I take a sip of wine.

Sure, it's only 11 a.m. but I'm in Italy. Who's going to judge me?

"A force of life," I repeat, shaking my head, frustration oozing through my pores.

But what if your life is the catalyst of your wounds? What then, Tolstoy? Huh? What happens then? Pierre found solace in love. Is that supposed to heal all too? So, life and love? Those are the only true cures to suffering?

Absurd.

"Kiara, there you are."

I snap my head up, putting the Kindle to sleep as Luisa enters the dimly illuminated library. Out of the twenty rooms, she showed me last night, this is by far my favorite. It's more intimate than the other obnoxiously large spaces in the villa.

Really, who needs three living rooms?

But at least now I have my footing. She was quite thorough in her tour; even going as far as giving me a hand-drawn map in case I get lost. Milo's bedroom, which is situated down the hall from mine, was circled in red.

Now that I think about it, perhaps he drew the map.

"Good morning.”

"Indulging so early.” She eyes the bottle of Masseto on the table as she takes a step down into the sunken library. "I'll be sure not to tell Milo that you've opened the last of his favorite wine."

"I'm sure he can afford to buy another bottle.” I take a sip, the aromatic complexity and tannic structure of the blend whirling around in my mouth. "It's delicious, I can see why it's his favorite."

Luisa casts me a smile, her eyes crinkling from the force. "Yes, it's very exclusive," she says as she approaches the couch. She passes me the copy of The Divine Comedy. "Milo said you left this in his office last night."

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