Page 33 of King of Obsession

I bristled. ‘I don’t have a temper, but I do have a quick reaction when it comes to bullshit, Calibrese. So turn down whatever the fuck you’re trying to dial up.’

He tilted his head with an arch of his brow.

‘Calma,’ he murmured, easing into his native Italian with a rasped tone. ‘I’m just aiming to get acquainted with my bedmate for the evening.’

His voice was laced with an undertone that made my blood simmer.

‘Just endeavoring to understand who I’ll share dreams with tonight.’

His words hung in the air, a cloud of presumption that filled the tiny room.

My hands balled into fists at my sides.

With every guttural growl and sardonic lift of his eyebrow,he trampled over social niceties as though they were nothing but dust beneath his feet.

My glare bore into the table’s wood grain, wishing it were his smug face.

His audacity was astounding.

Here I was, offering sanctuary - albeit under duress - to a man with more secrets than sense, with the nerve to presume there was more on offer.

I gnashed my teeth so tight it hurt. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

He twisted his lips, his eyes glittering with an indiscernible gleam. ‘It has been said more than one time.’

I huffed in annoyance. ‘You’ll take my bed. I’ll couch it,’ I muttered.

He knifed up, groaning at the fast movement. ‘Fotto! Blood rush.’

Shaking his leonine head to clear the sensation, he clenched his jaw and leaned into me, propping himself up with a wince. ‘No, I won’t take your bed. In my world, women are goddesses. They never sleep on the floor or sofa.’

Despite the sultry deliverance of his words, his expression was loaded with cold menace.

This was a man not used to being defied.

I served him with equal fire. ‘I’m not in your realm, so whatever you say is irrelevant. Besides, you have to rest and take care of your wounds. So you can be on your way sooner. Savvy?’

His eyes narrowed, and then that gold-tipped brow rose, and his lips curved, stabbing my chest again with need. ‘Have it your way, cara, for now. But know this: I’m never wrong; you’ll soon want your bed with me in it. You’ll be fuckin’ begging for it.’

Chapter 7

CLEO

Ichose to ignore Alessio and his presumptuous yet oh-so-tight ass.

I made dinner, avoiding his eyes, face, and presence like the plague.

Irritated by how his essence flipped me from unease to arousal and back again in an ever-ratcheting cadence.

His fever appeared to have subsided, replaced by his restlessness.

While I worked, he prowled my sanctuary like a caged animal seeking an exit.

He also pulled a gold coin from his trousers and ran it over his knuckles, rolling it so fast it was a blur.

He jammed into his other pocket with his free hand, reaching for something inside it as if twirling an object to channel his energy.

It was curious; it was fascinating.

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