Page 99 of A Beautiful Crime

And it always does. My body has succumbed to him completely. It starves for his touch. Waits eagerly for his gaze. Begs with abandon to be owned by him.

Constantine Donati has brought my body back from the dead and the only thing that stands in his way is my mind, which has not yet succumbed to him.

I hastily twist my neck, offering him the side of my profile.

His knuckles then graze the outline of my jaw.

And still, my body reacts to the featherlight touch. An undercurrent of electrical wires that zap and charge beneath my skin.

Damn him.

Fucking damn him.

I find the anger in me once again. The anger for not being in control. The anger of being thrust into a life I didn’t want. The anger of being held down and beaten. The anger of only being seen as a pawn for the benefit of someone else’s gain.

And the anger for the reason I became a damn pawn in the first place.

Him.

All so my papa and Luca can gain more power. In hopes that one day they will throw Constantine off the throne and regain their position.

My voice I don’t recognize. It’s harsh and biting. “Touch me again and I promise you, you will regret it.”

CHAPTER 20

Carina

We haven’t said a word to one another.

And while I’m seething in my silence Constantine seems to be basking in it. Which only adds fuel to the fire coursing through my veins.

I’ve never known the true feeling of bloodlust before, but at this moment I’m consumed by it.

And I won’t be satisfied until I have a pound of his flesh.

Dangerously I eye the steak knife placed on the right hand side of my dish.

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Constantine says after biting into a piece of his rare steak. Even something as mundane as eating proves to be an aphrodisiac. And while it may have affected me greatly I’m still holding onto my anger.

And it comes out when I reply with snark, “I’m beyond pleased you can point out the obvious, Signore. Tell me, what more talents do you have?”

He hums without amusement. His head tilts to the side as his eyes assess me. I feel as if I’m under a microscope and he’s picking my wings apart. “Careful, Carina,” he warns me and Iimmediately want to defy him, “or you’ll be seeing yourself over my knee with my handprint on your delectable ass.”

White anger flashes through me like a live wire as I grind down on my teeth. “I’m not a child who needs punishment.”

He hums again. “Then perhaps you should stop behaving like one.” My eyes widen. When I go for a rebuttal, surely with my sharp tongue, he intercepts. “Except something tells me you would find pleasure in it.”

Oh, I am vibrating with fury. To even suggest I would like pain after the brutality I’ve suffered. “You are no gentleman,” I spit.

His eyes sparkle with mischief and the smirk on his face promises it. “I see pointing out the obvious is a talent of yours as well.”

I’ve never known a man as infuriating as him. It’s as if he knows every one of my buttons, buttons I don’t even know I have, and succeeds in pushing them all.

The man is provoking me on purpose.

He’s always provoking me. All to gain a reaction.

And I am giving it to him without resistance.

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