Page 35 of Ruthless Royalty

She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling faster now. I know I’m getting to her, and that thrill —that need to push her just a bit more— makes my blood hum.

“Is this what you do, Giovanni?” she bites out, trying to sound strong. “You corner girls and see how far you can push them before they break?”

I lean in even closer, until our noses almost touch. “Only the ones worth breaking, Chiara. And you … you’re not like the others. You don’t scare easily, do you?”

She glares at me, and I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right now.

“No, I’m not scared of you,” she says, her voice steady even though I can see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“Good,” I say, my voice softening as I tilt my head slightly, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

There’s a charged silence between us, the kind that crackles with tension. I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my hands sliding down the wall until they rest on either side of her hips.

“Hmm,” I murmur, my voice low, “I just want to see how long it takes before you stop pretending you don’t feel this.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s going to shove me away, to finally end this game of cat and mouse. But she doesn’t. She stays right where she is, trapped between me and the wall, her eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t feel anything,” she lies, her voice barely convincing.

I grin, my hands sliding up from her hips to her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer.

“If that’s true,” I whisper, “then why haven’t you walked away?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, she just glares at me, her resolve crumbling by the second. The tension between us is electric, and I know she feels it too, even if she’s not ready to admit it.

“Don’t play mind games with me, Kitten,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over hers, teasing, “You feel this too, just fucking admit it.”

“I don’t feel anything,” she repeats, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. It’s a weak defense, and we both know it.

My grin widens as I lean in close, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, my voice dropping to a whisper that’s meant for her alone.

“Liar,” I murmur, my breath warm against her skin.

Before she can muster another protest, I lean in and press a kiss just behind her ear, feeling the way she tenses at the contact,then slowly melts into it. Her hands, which had been resting on my chest as if to push me away, now grip the fabric of my shirt instead, holding on as if she needs the anchor.

“See?” I whisper, my lips trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck, pressing another kiss there. “I told you, your body doesn’t lie.”

She shudders, her breath coming out in a soft gasp, then she pushes me away. “Stay away from me,” she breathes, before she turns and this time I let her run.

The grin slips from my face as I watch her go, knowing I, not only planted a seed, but fucked with my own mind.

But it’s more than that, too. It’s the fear of her stopping this, of seeing her choose someone else over me. How the fuck has she made me this weak already? I barely fucking know her.

All I know is that I’m not ready to let Chiara go, not yet. And if that means going head-to-head with Leo Volkov, so be it.

I just wish I knew how to be honest with her without it turning into a goddamn push and pull every time.

CHIARA

The smell of paint and turpentine fills the air, mixing with the faint scent of wood and something earthy that always seems to cling to Studio 3.

My brush glides across the canvas, the strokes quick and confident as I lose myself in the colors, the feel of the brush in my hand, the rhythm of creating something out of nothing.

This is just what I need after last night’s fuckery. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the mind games in this goddamn place. I’m still pissed off with Connor for going through my shit and taking my grandmother’s locket. How did he even know it meant a lot to me?

Leo’s beside me, working on his own piece, his focus just as intense as mine. We’ve spent hours here, the silence only broken by the occasional scrape of a chair or the clink of a paintbrush being set down.

It’s comfortable, easy; the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled with meaningless chatter.

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