Page 18 of Silent Vows

“No more secrets, Matteo.” She presses her hand to my chest, directly over my thundering heart, and I can feel her trembling. The touch sears through my shirt like a brand. “If I’m going to be your wife, even in name only?—”

My control snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight. I catch her wrist, pulling her against me. Her soft gasp as our bodies collide nearly undoes me. “When are you going to understand?” I growl, my lips inches from hers. “This isn’t just about protection or politics. This isn’t in name only.”

“Then what is it about?” she challenges, not backing down despite our closeness. Her free hand fists in my shirt, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to push me away or pull me closer.

Instead of answering, I do what I’ve been dying to do since she walked into my office that first day. I kiss her.

There’s nothing gentle about it. All the frustration, the desire, the need I’ve been holding back pours into this kiss. My hand slides into her hair, silky strands wrapping around my fingers as I angle her head to deepen the contact. She tastes like scotch and tears and defiance, and Christ, she’s responding. Her mouth opens under mine with a small sound that shoots straight to my groin.

When my tongue sweeps into her mouth, she moans, the vibration traveling through both our bodies. Her hands move restlessly over my chest, seeking skin, and the feeling of her touching me, wanting me, nearly brings me to my knees.

“Matteo,” she gasps when I finally break the kiss to trail my lips down her neck. Her pulse races under my tongue, and the taste of her skin is better than I imagined.

“Tell me to stop,” I growl against her throat, even as my hands slide down her sides, memorizing every curve. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Instead of stopping me, she pulls my mouth back to hers, this kiss even more desperate than the first. Her tongue meets mine, and the taste of her—scotch and sweetness and sin—makes me groan. Her fingers work at my tie, my shirt buttons, seeking bare skin with an urgency that matches my own. Every brush of her hands feels like fire.

I back her up against my desk, lifting her onto it. Papers scatter to the floor, but I couldn’t care less. Not when she’s wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. The silk of her robe is nothing compared to the silk of her skin as I slide my hands up her thighs.

Her head falls back on a gasp when I find the lace edge of whatever she’s wearing underneath. Black lace, not the emerald nightgown I’d suggested. My defiant little artist, always challenging me. The thought makes me smile against her throat as I taste the racing pulse there.

“What?” she asks breathlessly, her nails scraping lightly down my now-bare chest.

“Black suits you better anyway,” I murmur, sliding the robe off her shoulders. The sight of her in black lace nearly stops my heart. She’s a fantasy made real—all creamy skin and dangerous curves, innocence and sensuality combined in a way that makes me want to devour her whole.

She shivers under my gaze, but not from cold. Her nipples peak through the delicate lace, begging for my touch, my mouth. “I won’t be her replacement.”

“No,” I agree, running my hands up her bare thighs, loving how she trembles. “You’re nothing like her. You’re?—”

A knock at the door freezes us both. “Boss?” Antonio’s voice carries through the wood. “Johnny Calabrese is at the gates. He’s demanding to speak with you.”

Bella tenses in my arms, but I don’t release her. Can’t release her. Not when she’s finally in my arms, skin flushed and lips swollen from my kisses. “Handle it,” I call back, fighting to keep my voice steady even as my body screams for more of her.

“He says he has more photos. Of Miss Russo. Recent ones.”

A low sound escapes Bella—fear or fury, I’m not sure which. I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her, memorizing this moment before reality crashes back.

“Go,” she whispers against my mouth, but her hands still clutch my shoulders. “Handle it.”

I step back reluctantly, physically aching at the loss of her warmth. The sight of her on my desk nearly brings me right back to her—hair mussed from my hands, lips red and swollen from my kisses, black lace askew to reveal the curves I’d barely begun to explore. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nipples clearly visible through the delicate fabric.

She looks thoroughly kissed, completely tempting, and entirely mine.

My body still thrums with need for her. Every muscle is tensed with the effort not to go back, to finish what we started, to claim her the way I’ve been dying to since she first challenged me in this very office.

“This isn’t over,” I tell her, my voice rough with promise and barely contained desire. “What’s between us?—”

“No,” she agrees, sliding off my desk on unsteady legs. The movement makes the robe slip further, revealing more black lace and creamy skin that my hands still burn to touch. “But maybe it shouldn’t have started.”

She slips out of the study before I can respond, leaving me with the ghost of her taste on my lips, rage building in my chest, and a hard-on that begs to be dealt with. The trace of jasmine in the air mocks me, as does the scattered paperwork on the floor. Every nerve ending in my body screams for her return.

Johnny Calabrese wants to play games? Fine. But he’ll learn what happens to men who threaten what belongs to Matteo DeLuca. And Bella, whether she admits it or not, is mine. That kiss proved it. The way she responded to me, melted for me, needed me—that wasn’t political. That wasn’t about protection or duty or any of the other lies we’ve been telling ourselves.

That was pure, undeniable desire. The same desire that’s still coursing through my veins, making it hard to think about anything except following her upstairs and finishing what we started.

But first, I have a message to deliver to Johnny Calabrese about the consequences of threatening what’s mine.

I straighten my clothes and put my shirt back on, but I don’t bother trying to erase the evidence of what just happened. Let them see the marks from her nails on my chest, the bruise forming on my neck from her mouth. Let them know that the woman they’re threatening belongs to someone who will burn the world down to protect her.

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