Page 47 of Phantom Mine

I frown as I tighten my hand on his neck, confused as to why I keep feeling that way. For long seconds, I hear nothing but the sound of my own frantic heartbeat buzzing in my ears.

Then there’s a loud, ear-splitting noise.

The velvet-covered wooden armrests scream their pain as Matteo grips them in a desperate attempt to keep himself from using his hands.

When my tongue demands entry, nudging intimately at the seam of his closed mouth, he parts his lips. I push inside and search for his in return, dancing with it in lazy, sensual strokes that have pure need rushing through me. My other hand comes up to cup his cheek as I settle in his lap, arching into him. Thekiss is slow and carnal, every hedonistic thought I’ve ever had about him poured with abandon into one moment.

Matteo groans into my mouth, the sound feverish with frustration, almost bordering on anger. I feel his restraint straining at the edges. He’s letting me lead, but it’s costing him everything.

Even though my insides are screaming at me not to, I finally pull away.

Matteo immediately follows. His mouth chases blindly after mine in open revolt to the kiss ending, his chest pitching forward as far as it can in search of my lips until I’ve ripped myself off him.

His eyes remain closed as I blink up at him. His tongue swipes at his bottom lip before disappearing greedily back into his mouth. A deep, low growl erupts from his throat as he savors the taste of me.

My heart thunders in my chest. The beat is so loud that I can both hear and feel it in my ears. I’m dizzy, unsteady, and suddenly all too aware of my almost nude state.

Matteo’s eyes finally peel open. They’re slow to focus and unrecognizable when they do. The pupils are so blown, they’ve suffocated all the beautiful green color, leaving behind two near-black disks of hunger pinned searingly on my mouth.

His voice is nothing more than a low, guttural grunt when he demands, “How much for hands?”

The unrepentant desperation in his tone sends a fresh wave of lust shuddering through my body.

If this man touches me, I’m done for.

“I told you, I’m not a prostitute.”

Distantly, I hear the familiar voice of guilt singing the same song in my head. But where the voice was once too loud to ignore, I find that it’s drowned out by another that only needs to whisper to be heard. One that murmurs that Icantrust him.

“How much just to touch.” His voice dips impossibly low. “Nottake.”

My skin heats thinking about being taken by Matteo. The insistent press of his hungry lips against mine just now is the first time it’s felt like my world could be turned the right way up since Adriana disappeared. He was holding back and itstillleft that kind of mark on me. I know he’d ruin me for every other man, including my future husband.

“How much, Valentina?” he insists, hands still white-knuckling the armrests.

Telling him my real name was a mistake.

I throw out the most ludicrous number I can think of to dissuade him. “Two million.”

Matteo doesn’t bat an eye. His phone is up against his ear in the next breath, so fast that I miss it.

“Enzo?” His eyes move languidly between mine as he waits for his cousin to answer. “Wire two million pounds into Val– into Melody’s bank account.” He listens silently to whatever Enzo says, his eyes fixed on me. “Just do it.”

Nerves and anticipation course through me and tighten my entire body. I didn’t think he’d pay such an astronomical sum. I squirm, but all that accomplishes is grinding down on his still very obviously hard and throbbing cock.

He grunts, eyes flashing in warning, and reaches for me. He balls his fist before he touches me and pounds the surface of the armrest in frustration instead, growling “Grazie” angrily into the phone.

The call finished, Matteo leans back in his chair. Time ticks away. We stare at each other, the tension ratcheting up with every passing second.

He has the most beautiful eyelashes. Thick and black and long, darkly framing his emerald eyes like he’s wearing eyeliner. It makes his gaze smoky and sticky on me.

“When your phone dings, that means the money has hit your account,pavona,” he informs me. “It means you’re mine.”

Something darker and more primitive than possession grows in his gaze, something as claiming as a hot iron pressed into my skin.

My phone dings.

I gasp.

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