Page 70 of Brutal Legacy

“Thanks for the uncouth reminder of the mistake we made on the plane,” I bit out, embarrassment rushing in.

“Uncouth? No, Signora Conti, uncouth would be reminding you of how you came so hard when I finger-fucked your asshole and your pussy that the flight attendants probably think you wet the bed.”

I gasped, shocked by his filthy words.

“Uncouth would be reminding you how you rocked your tight ass on my fingers and took what you wanted…”

“Okay, I get it. Stop, please.” My voice felt strained, like something was sitting in my throat.

He pulled in the lowest ribbon of the corset, cinching my waist. I gasped a little.

“Hold onto something,” he advised. “I’m not known for my gentle touch.”

I swallowed a knot in my throat the size of my fist. Was I nervous at his touch? I sure was, but worryingly, it wasn’t the kind of nervous I should be. It was something else.

“Believe me, I know.”

His fingers worked the ribbons, tightening the dress bit by bit.

“You’re good at this,” I remarked, feeling like the silence needed to be broken, in case he could hear my heart beating as loud as a drum.

“Mm-hmm, restraining people is a talent of mine,” he murmured.

His hot breath warmed the very top of my spine.

“But not usually for fun, right?” I blurted and then flushed hotly. “I mean, of course, you can tie people up for fun all you want… it’s just you have experience in a professional capacity,” I rambled on.

He continued, unfazed, while I agonized over my words.What the hell?

I twisted my fingers together this way and that. An old habit.

“Are you nervous?”

“Me?” I forced a laugh. “Why would I be nervous?”

His hands left me. He was done. I turned around slowly.

“I’m just a captive in a heavily guarded Mafia compound, my father is going to prison, and tomorrow I’m being forced to marry the most loathsome man I’ve ever met, probably at gunpoint. What’s there to be nervous about?” I finished, my voice rising higher and higher until the last word.

“You seemed calmer ten minutes ago.” My mercenary raised an eyebrow in question.

“That was before you started touching me,” I snapped back, then realized what, exactly, I’d just said. What I’d revealed.

He tilted his head down farther, bending forward to look in my eyes. “Are you saying I make you nervous?”

“Have you seen you? Of course you make me nervous. I’m a perfectly rational person with a working endocrine system… a man like you will always make me nervous. You’re dangerous,” I added, in case it sounded like I was admitting how insanely hot he was.

His gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips and back. The heat that had been flushing through me, building with his every touch, was creeping up to my face.

“You’re no picnic to be around either,cara.”

Cara. Dear one. Another word lifted from the past. Sure, it was a common enough endearment in Italian, and this man’s tone made it clear it was sardonic, and yet, it reminded me again of him. Mycittaiolo.

“Damn it, and I was trying my best to be a good little hostage. I wouldn’t want to make your mission to ruin my life difficult,” I ground out.

The shadow of a smirk pulled at his face. It made a startling transformation; a split second later, it was gone.

“Well, you might want to try harder.” Then he did something that shocked me. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from my forehead, guiding it back behind my ear.

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