Page 56 of Not Mine to Keep

And God help me, help us all, when they did. I hadn’t anticipated a groan from him, or for my lips to naturally part, offering him an invitation to deepen the kiss.

My lips softened and relaxed, and his tongue dove into my mouth and dueled with mine. He expertly guided the kiss to the point I was pretty sure we both forgot where we were and why we were there.

I returned myhusband’smoan, and he swallowed it and gave it right back to me. His hand slid around to my back, and I arched into him.

Someone was talking now in Italian, but neither of us stopped. Cloud nine was a real thing, and I was there. Blissfully ignorant to anything and everything aside from this unexplainable connection with this man.

At the sound of cheers and more Italian, the spell broke, reminding me we were in a church because of Armani, and I pulled back and blinked in confusion as to what in the world had just happened between us.

Alessandro opened his eyes. Nostrils flaring. An almost panicked but definitely confused look pointed right back at me.

Yeah, same.Because what was that kiss? And why’d I suddenly feel inspired to write again? Chills wrapped around my limbs, and I stepped back, needing space. Needing to breathe. Needing to remember that,You’re not mine to keep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Calliope

Inside my bedroom, I kicked off my heels and faced myhusband. He’d lost his bow tie and tux jacket before our forced dinner with Armani and his favorite assembly of bad guys—Alessandro’s family hadn’t been invited—but now the man was distracting me by working free a few buttons of his starched white shirt.

Thankfully, he stopped at only three, because if he kept going, I’d need a cold glass of something. I didn’t want to feel heat of any kind right now. I couldn’t give in to what Armani wanted, especially with Frankie and Leo parked in the hallway listening for us to “consummate.”

And if that kiss had proved anything, it was how hot things truly could be between us, especially in the privacy of a bedroom without eyes on us.Just ears.

When he produced what looked like a lighter from his pocket and began walking around the room like a man on a mission, I blurted, “What are you doing?”

When he crossed the bedroom and dropped his mouth over my ear, it was to whisper, not to give me goose bumps. Of course, my skin pebbled at his breath and proximity anyway. “Checking for cameras and listening devices. We can’t talk until I know it’s safe.”

So that little thing does all that, huh?“You talked last night without checking first.” I reminded him of his drug-induced state, and he eased back to find my face.

“Right.” He bowed his head, almost as if in shame, then went back to hisMission: Impossible–looking device.

While waiting for him, I removed the detachable skirt. I was only in the mermaid gown now, but I’d be needing help to get completely undressed.

I should’ve had more than two glasses of champagne at dinner. But I clearly hadn’t been in a celebratory mood while Armani had feasted and toasted. Now I wished I’d had the entire bottle to get through the night—well, to help me fall asleep without much effort, at least.

Alessandro disappeared into the bathroom, then returned a few moments later and wordlessly snatched my wrist, tipping his head in a request to follow. “We’re good,” he said once in the en suite bathroom. “But theidiotiin the hall might hear us, so we should talk in here.”

“Armani expects us to have sex tonight,” I blurted. “But you know that, don’t you?”

He set the lighter-looking device on the vanity and reached for my forearm. “I told him I wouldn’t force you to do anything.”

“How’d he take that?” My gaze fell to his grip, and although he followed my line of sight, he didn’t unhand me.

“I think it’s in our best interest to just fake it tonight.”

“Fake it until you make it, huh?” I smiled at my dumb joke.Okay, maybe two glasses of champagne were enough.Eyes back on him, I resigned myself to my fate and asked, “How are we faking it?”

“I just don’t want Armani changing his mind about letting you come home with me, which is why I think we need to sell the sex thing,” he explained instead of answering my question of how.

“You didn’t discuss the plan to move with me first.”

“I didn’t have a chance.” He frowned and let me go, pocketing his hands. “You don’t want to stay here, do you?”

“No, but I want to go home.”

“I can better protect you in New York. I’d never convince him to let you go back to your old life. He wants you to become more like him,” he said in such a matter-of-fact tone it was like he was negotiating a business deal, and it made my stomach hurt.

I knew he was right, but it didn’t mean I had to like it. “Are you feeling better?” I deflected, not wanting to ask a man for permission to live my life—a.k.a. perform on Broadway with Braden on June 6. Maybe I’d wait for that conversation to happen. I supposed the conversation about what he’d accidentally admitted about Rocco last night could be tabled for now, too.

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