Page 53 of Sinister Intentions

As I stepped next to him, he suddenly looked down at my feet.

“Shit,” he said, pushed Picca into my arms, sidestepped me, and opened the door to the left of the elevator.

I looked down and realized I was still barefoot.

“I’ll grab your shoes,” he muttered while the elevator doors slid open.

A few seconds later, he emerged holding a pair of worn sneakers—my sneakers.

He kneeled down before me. “Right foot.”

I stared at him. “I can put on my own shoes.”

He leaned back on his hunches and looked up at me. “Seriously, woman? You need to learn what’s worth fighting for and what isn’t,” he said, then held out his hand. “The right one, please.”

I lifted my foot, and he grabbed my ankle and slipped my shoe on. But something about the sight of Vince Salvini on his knees before me sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. It was such a…domestic image. Also, strangely gallant… How many sides did this man have?

“What’s with the look?” Vince’s deep voice broke through my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I’d been staring. “Nothing, just…kinda weird.”

One dark brow arched upward. “What is?”

I struggled to put my discomfort into words. “It’s like, I don’t know, weirdly intimate?”

The barest hint of a smirk played on Vince’s lips. “Didn’t take you for the prudish type, Punk. Also, you’ve seen my dick. Don’t you think we’re way past that stage?”

I scowled at the nickname, heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s not about being prudish! It’s just…strange, okay? You kidnapped me, and now we’re acting like…like…”

“Roommates?” Vince supplied dryly.

“Exactly!” Not at all like roommates—more like enemies on a roller-coaster ride between the need to kill each other and a weird kind of sexual attraction actually.

But maybe that was all in my head.

His piercing eyes bored into me, unblinking. “If this is too much, maybe you shouldn’t have been following me around like a creepy stalker.”

My mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words.

He had me there. With a huff, I shoved my second foot into the sneaker, suddenly very eager to get out of this suffocating apartment and away from this suffocating man.

He stood, took Picca back, and when we stepped into the elevator, I made sure to stand on the opposite side, facing him. “I apologize for the stalking if you apologize for the kidnapping. Also, let’s talk about this whole arranged marriage farce while we’re at it.”

Vince simply stared at me, his expression unreadable.

Instead of answering, Vince crossed to my side until he stood next to me and wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me in an uncomfortably close embrace while we stared at each other through the mirror. “I don’t want an apology. I want to know why you were following me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the way my heart raced at his proximity. And the way he held my gaze through the mirror. “I was curious,” I replied, lifting my chin defiantly.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might actually release me. But then, a slow, wolfish grin spread across his face. “Is that so?” He turned his head and leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “Well, curiosity can be a dangerous thing, Punk.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as his fingers traced a featherlight pattern along my side while he turned back to stare at me through the mirror. “And what exactly were you curious about?”

A shiver ran through me, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted to his touch.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Vince’s eyes in the mirror. Our bodies were pressed impossibly close, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, Picca pressed against his chest.

An electric current seemed to crackle between us, raising the fine hairs on my arms. Despite the absurdity of the situation—this man being the bane of my existence—I felt more alive than I had in a while.

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