Page 58 of Broken Vows

This isn’t new. Despite everything that’s passed, I’ve been wanting a repeat of the night in Cannes since I arrived in Boston, from the moment Stephano hugged me close at the airport and promised to take care of me.

I have no clue what it is with this promise that makes me weak. I’ve been independent for so long, but since this fiasco with Franco Fiore and us becoming fugitives, I’ve craved for someone else to help me—to hold me, even if only by my hand. I’ve been on alert for ten long years, and now with the real danger here, I’ve depleted my energy to cope with it.

I drop my head forward, overwhelmed, and Stephano’s hands still, his knuckles resting gently against my skin.

God. If only he were predictable like every other man, but he’s never been.

“Gigi?”

I tremble at the soft tone in which he says my name and sway unsteady on my feet. I want to lean back into him.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, but I’m not.

His hand skims to my shoulder, and he makes me turn around to face him. His fingers trace a line down my arm, and every nerve in me seems to melt into a pile of wanton threadsjust begging for him to unknot them. I’m defenseless against his touch, and I can’t afford to submit to him.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, his voice husky. My dress isn’t loose enough yet to fall forward and expose my breasts, but his eyes don’t even dip there as his gaze locks with mine. “Have you been sleeping? Like at all?”

I have no idea how he picked up on it because I’ve done everything to hide the dark circles under my eyes. As safe as Matteo’s place was, with Carla right next door at night, memories of Franco and what he’ll do to me if he finds us invade every quiet hour. Now, I want to cry, and I’ve always been one to keep tears at bay, with a firm hold on my emotions.

“Answer me, Gigi,” he says with a squeeze to my hand, and all I can do is shake my head.

He pulls me to the haven of his chest and holds me a long minute as I battle for control over my tears. My stupid vengeful heart still wantshimto succumb tome, to get back at him for that night in Cannes. I want him to lose control, but I can’t. My heart is more at stake with every minute I spend with this man.

“You can stop running, angel,” he murmurs in my ear. “I’ve got you. For ten years, you’ve been running, but you need to stop. Let him come to you, and then I will deal with him.”

His words trap a sob in my throat, but I can’t contain it anymore. I break, and it feels as if this man has been poised for decades to catch me. I lean into his warmth as tears stream down my cheeks at his unexpected understanding of everything my life has been for the past ten years.

I take a couple of heaving breaths, but don’t pull away. His hands are back on my dress’s buttons, and this time, it’s even more intimate as he works his way ever lower while hugging me close.

“Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep. Everything looks so much worse when you’re exhausted.”

The dress slips from my body, but Stephano catches it and helps me step out as I hold on to his arm for balance. I’m shy and not because he’s about to see most of me—he’s already seen it all that first time. I’m shy because he’s sliced through every defense I’ve had in place and peered straight into my soul.

His eyes rake over my body, from my bare breasts partly covered by my hair, down to my seamless panties and lacy thigh-highs. He sucks in a breath as his eyes home in on the little tease of fabric that came with the dress and that for some idiotic reason I’d put on.

“Is that a garter, Mrs. Scalera?”

“It came with the wedding dress,” I breathe. “No point in throwing it to the bachelors, because I’d rather not let them know it was there?—”

“And everything is fake, and when it comes to marriage, we Scalera boys are two down, three to go?” he says with a quirked brow as he crowds me with his body, forcing me to step backwards in the direction of the bed. “Damn fucking skippy my brothers don’t get to touch something that was so close to your pussy.”

Oh my God.“Steph—” I break off as the back of my thighs hit the bed, and with him towering over me, I sink back to sit.

There’s no fear here, just pure, undiluted anticipation of what he’s going to do next as I drown in my own desire for him to touch me.

30

GIGI

“That piece of lace comes with privileges, Gigi,” Stephano says as he cups my face, forcing me to look up at him. “Husbandprivileges. And you wore it as an invitation.”

I blink up at him, playing innocent, but really playing with fire. A smirk toys on his lips, and before I can even think what’s next, he’s dropped to his haunches. His hand ghosts from my cheek down my neck, and when his fingers trace lines over the swell of my breasts, my nipples tighten painfully.

He keeps on staring into my eyes, though, and all I want is to close them and float on the feelings his touch sparks. His other hand slips off my high-heeled sandals and now glides up my leg to the treacherous garter. When he lowers his head to place a kiss on my knee, I lean back on my elbows, wanting only to open for him.

He nips and kisses and bites his way up my inner thigh, and I’m melting into the bed with need. When he reaches the garter, he tugs at it with his teeth and drags it down with such slow, deliberate intent, his warm breath kindles goose bumps all over my skin as desire seeps from my sex.

I’m a lost cause as his fingertips run along the edges of my thigh-highs and pull them off as his gaze holds mine. Only my panties remain, covering Franco’s cruel signature on my skin.

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