Page 40 of Ruthless Royalty

I shoot him a glare; my eyes narrowed, but I keep my mouth firmly shut. He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

“You’re really going to play hard to get, huh?” he says, leaning back against the bench, his arm brushing against mine. “I like that. It makes the chase more interesting.”

I roll my eyes and turn away from him, trying to focus on anything other than the infuriating man beside me. But it’s hard to ignore him when he’s practically draped over me, his presence impossible to escape.

He shifts closer, his knee pressing against mine as he tilts his head to look at me.

“You know,” he says, his voice soft but with that same edge of challenge, “I’ve always wondered what it would take to make you break. What would push you over the edge. And now, I’ve got a whole day to find out.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But inside, I’m fuming. He’s enjoying this way too much, and it’s pissing me off.

Giovanni seems to sense my frustration because he leans ineven closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear as he whispers, “You’re even sexier when you’re angry. I bet you’d sound fucking amazing if you just let it out.”

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks; he’s pushing every button, and it’s taking everything I have not to snap.

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. “Come on, Chiara. Say something. Anything. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Does he think I’m stupid? I’m wearing a fucking mic!

He just smirks, his gaze locked onto mine, daring me to break. I’m so tempted to wipe that smug look off his face, but I hold back, forcing myself to stay silent.

Giovanni sighs dramatically, leaning back again as he stretches his arms over his head. “Fine, play it your way. But I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

Of course he’s not. Asshole.

The rest of the day is a constant battle. Giovanni doesn’t leave my side, his relentless flirting and teasing wearing down my patience. Every time I think I’ve managed to shake him off, he pops up again, like some annoying shadow I can’t escape.

In class, he sits beside me even though he doesn’t take the same classes as me, tapping his pen against the desk in a way that’s just shy of irritating.

When the teacher isn’t looking, he slides his hand up my bare thigh; the gesture causing goosebumps to explode all over my skin. I slap his hand away and nearly lose my fucking temper, but then I see his grin and immediately swallow the words.

I’m gonna kill him, I swear to God.

By the time the day is nearly over, I’m on the verge of snapping. Every nerve in my body is wound tight, my muscles coiled like a spring ready to explode. Giovanni’s relentless, his presence a constant, nagging pressure that’s pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, as the last class ends and we’re dismissed, I make abeeline for the door, desperate to get away from Willow Bridge. But of course, he’s right behind me, his footsteps a casual echo of my own.

“Chiara,” he calls, but I ignore him.

I run toward the library, my fists clenched at my sides. He’s enjoying this—he’s fucking loving every second of this torture—and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.

Running toward the hidden section where I always sit, where I know he won’t find me, I lean with my arms against the bookshelf and sigh.

I don’t even have to turn around when I hear footsteps behind me, and I nearly groan at how relentless he is. What is it about him that has my back up every time? Why does he hate me so much?

He steps up behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath against the back of my neck.

“You’ve been so good all day,Micetta,“ he murmurs, his voice smooth and teasing. “You want to let go, don’t you? Just a little bit?”

I close my eyes, willing myself to stay calm. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.I’m not.

He slips his arm around me and slowly slips his hand up toward my neck. It’s a soft touch, almost gentle, but it sends a jolt of electricity through me, igniting every nerve ending.

“You can’t hold it in forever,” he says, his voice low and coaxing. “Eventually, you’ll have to give in and scream for me.”

I whip around, glaring at him with all the anger and frustration I’ve been bottling up all day. He just smiles, that infuriating, knowing smile that makes me want to punch him in the face.

But I don’t. I don’t say a word. I just stare at him, my chest heaving, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles are white.

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