Page 39 of Her Dark Salvation

I didn’t want to be involved in anything illegal. I didn’t want to put myself in danger. But a part of me I found appalling was excited, intrigued, and wanted answers. What was real and what was fantasy? What was the truth and what was my imagination? What would it feel like to be touched by a man whose very presence made my body come alive?

Anger and comfort. Outrage and lust. Fear and excitement. Marco DeVita caused such a conflict of emotions, I almost forgot he was my boss. He’d done what I’d grown to believe impossible. He made me feel, and I couldn’t go back to unremarkable.

ChapterTen

Anna

Mr. DeVita walked off the elevator Tuesday morning dragging a leather carryon behind him, a coat draped over his arm. He wore a pair of dress slacks and a long-sleeved button-down, which, despite him having clearly come from the airport, looked perfectly pressed. The only hint he’d traveled across the Atlantic was the thick stubble covering his jaw, and the sexy salt-and-pepper growth gave him an even rougher, don’t-mess-with-me look than he normally wore.

He didn’t spare me a glance, though I watched him like prey might track a would-be predator. He stopped in front of the double, wooden doors on the opposite side of the foyer and rifled through the top compartment of his carryon.

“Anna.” My name on his lips was a command, and my body obeyed, coming to life in answer, desire zinging through my belly.

“Good morning, Mr. DeVita. Welcome back. I wasn’t expecting you until after lunch.”

“The pilot made up time in the air,” he mumbled, distracted by his search. “Customs were fast. No traffic.”

He triumphantly extracted a set of keys from the carryon, wiggled one into the lock, and pushed open the door. He glanced over his shoulder, finally making eye contact. “I’ll take my Americano and a cornetto,” he said with unadorned demand. “Pistachio if they have them this morning.”

His eyes slid down to the neckline of my red sweater, and for the beat they lingered on my breasts, I could have sworn they grew darker, almost glowing in their intensity. He blinked and walked through the door, closing it behind him.

Ordered around and ogled like a personal serving wench. But the really messed up part? My body was tingling with the anticipation of being submissive to his demands and the subject of his desire. I grabbed my coat but left my scarf and gloves, needing the winter air to ice my fiery insides.

The walk to the café and back burned off most of the heat, and I returned to Terme and my second week of work with Mr. DeVita determined to keep things professional.

I set his breakfast on my desk to fluff my hair, straighten my skirt, and smooth the fitted lines of my red sweater. The sweater I’d worn the first day we met. The sweater I knew would draw his attention. The sweater I’d washed the night before so I could wear it.

Oh, yeah. Totally professional.

I knocked on Mr. DeVita’s office door.

“Yes,” he called.

I balanced the coffee and cornetto in one hand to open the door and closed it behind me, impressed by my new-found stability in heels. I transferred the pastry back to my other hand and?—

My breath caught and I froze.

His face was cleanly shaven, and the musky scent of expensive aftershave and cigar smoke filled the office, a custom aphrodisiac meant just for me. He leaned back in his chair, feet resting on the edge of his desk, one ankle crossed over the other. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and dark hair peeked out from beneath the dip of his undershirt. His elbow rested on the chair arm, and he held a cigar aloft between the first two fingers of his left hand and his thumb. His sleeves were rolled up and an intricate pattern emerged from beneath the cuff of his white shirt, a winding track that traveled down his muscled forearm and stopped at his wrist.

All plans for focusing on work died with black ink etched into tan skin.

Smoke trailed from his parted lips making him inexplicably more sexy. He surveyed the length of my body through the cloud, and my nerve endings sparked from the unapologetic appreciation behind his hooded eyes.

I forced my legs to move and set his breakfast on the desk. I wiped my sweaty palms down my skirt, and his eyes followed my hands to my hips, reigniting the heat in my belly.

He tapped the glowing end of his cigar on the ashtray.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow and brought the cigar back to his mouth. He bit its end and held it between his teeth while he took another puff.

“You shouldn’t smoke.” The challenge flew past my lips before I could cage it. I’d never say something like that to anyone but Jeff or Michael or my parents. But Mr. DeVita baited my boldness and made me reckless.

“Why not?”

I frowned. “It’s not good for you.”

He smiled around the cigar. “I’ll take my chances.”

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