Page 15 of Relentless Refuge

Isabella starts to walk away, but I catch her hand and pull her backward into my chest as I stand. Her body leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her and pin her there, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Mi amore…” I slide my hands down her hips and grip them, then let my fingers walk across to her navel and lower, cresting her mound until she’s whimpering and putty in my hand. “I don’t take no for an answer. Soon enough, you’ll learn that. And while this marriage is a business transaction, you’ll find it’s beneficial for you to do things my way.”

Isabella pulls away from me and continues walking toward the door, but when she reaches it, she stops and faces me. “I’m not your object, Marco, and I’m not moving in with you. Mother needs me there to protect her.”

“The way you protected yourself this afternoon?” I ask, moving toward her. “Or should I remind you that you called on me to help you out of that situation?” I feel anger rising, but I know she doesn't mean to frustrate me. She just doesn't understand. “Let me remind you that you asked me to be your support, to ensure your Family falls in line. How will I do that if you don’t follow my lead?”

Her lips part, and she stammers out a few syllables that make no sense, then she sets her jaw and scowls at me. Her hazel eyes are full of fire as she purses her lips, and I want to kiss her and draw moans from those lips. I want to teach her how exquisite it can be to dive into the depths of ecstasy and let her inner demons out to play lustful games.

“I want to see you successful. What has you so fearful of me?” As I meet her at the door, I take her hand and bring it to my lips. I prefer to charm her rather than control her, but if disarming her by my charisma and a little chemistry is what it takes, I’m not above it. “You chose to marry me, Bella. I’m sorry if I come across so strongly, but I want to protect you.”

“I just don’t need your protection. I have my own men for that.” Again, she protests my aid, as if she can do this on her own, but I know she knows the truth. She will fail without my support.

“If you were capable of handling this alone, you would never have suggested marrying me, Isabella.” I pull her again into my arms and kiss her forehead. “I understand that you are strong and well capable of leading, but you can’t do that if you’re dead.”

She is stiff, holding herself away from me, but I don’t relent even when she says, “It’s a business transaction, as you said.”

“And what good partners we make, no?” I kiss her, finally disarming her, until her body grows limp in my embrace and she clings to me. “I want you in my bed every night. I want to wake not just to your scent on my pillows but with you in my arms. And I want to show you everything I know about how to lead your Family. They’ll never see it coming.”

She sucks in a deep breath and blows it out as a heavy sigh, then turns her head away. I can’t see the expression on her face, but I can tell by the way she resists my embrace that she’s not happy. “And you’ll ensure Mother is protected too?”

It’s the first crack in her weak façade, but I know I’ve won her over.

“We can’t be certain who within your Family is loyal and who will side against you. My men are objective and they follow my orders strictly. No one will even think of touching your mother. And since you’ll be safe with me, no one will come near you, either.”

I take her blinking as her agreement and release her. “I still think it would be fine if I were with my mother.”

“You’ll see. You can trust what I say.”

As she walks away, I watch her. She isn’t a woman to be rushed or pushed around, but I can’t let this alliance fall apart because her cousins take her out. And as much as I want this partnership to last, if only for the sake of my business, there is something about her that I want to hold on to. I’m not letting her out of my sight again. Isabella D’Angelo-Romano is my wife, and I intend to woo her until she believes it in every sense of the word.

12

ISABELLA

The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house awakens me. I’ve been here less than a week, and it’s too unfamiliar to me. Every little sound startles me, and every night, I’ve had dreams of my father and brother. I pull the covers up over my shoulder and stare into the room. It’s dim but not dark. Sunlight sneaks its way past the thick blackout drapes that hang from ceiling to floor.

Marco’s home isn’t as comfortable as mine—or rather, my mom’s. It’s no longer my home at all. This is my home now, even though it doesn’t feel like my home. It feels like a hotel, especially given the strange monochromatic furnishings that make every room feel the same. Mom’s house is full of vibrant-colored furniture and window hangings, and each room is a kaleidoscope of colors, from the carpet to the throw pillows and even the bedding.

I listen to the sounds of the house too. They’re all strangely different. This time of day at Mom’s house, there would be the echo of the washer and dryer running the linens while the dishwasher cleaned the breakfast dishes. Here at Marco’s, it’ssilent except for the hum of the bathroom ventilation fan and a bit of muffled shouting downstairs.

Mom built a home. Marco merely has a house. But maybe that’s because he has never had the feminine touch in his house to make it into a home. Perhaps he wants me to handle that for him, but I’m no Betty Crocker. I’d much rather spend my time at the gun range or working with our staff or customers. I’m not cut out for interior design and household chores.

My body longs to remain here in the bed where the satin sheets kiss my skin, but I have a big day ahead of me. We have another meet scheduled with our supplier, and this time, our buyer will meet with us as well. With a new face in the business, my own customer has gotten a case of cold feet, and I need to reassure him that I can run my father’s business without a problem. I’m a little nervous about how it will go down, but I’ve been preparing for it. Barring any catastrophe like last time, things should go off without a hitch.

I shove myself out of the warm bed into the crisp air-conditioned air and shuffle toward the bathroom. Marco keeps the thermostat set so low, my nipples harden beneath the nightgown I’m wearing. He asks me to sleep nude with him, but we’re still perfect strangers, and though we’ve had sex once, that doesn’t make it any easier. He’s lucky I haven’t asked for a separate bedroom to sleep in until I feel more comfortable with this arrangement, though he’s been nothing but a gentleman.

The pipes squeal to life in the old house as I turn on the hot water tap and wait for it to warm up. I shiver as I sit on the toilet to relieve myself and watch the steam begin to fill the room. My thoughts are on the day ahead of me and the meet up—what will the buyer think? Will the supplier walk the line this time? Toomany things could go wrong, and too many things have gone wrong the last few times. Today has to go off without a hitch.

I flush the toilet and peel off my panties and nightgown, then step into the flow of water, letting the heat relax away my stress. The walk-in shower stall has no door, no glass to steam up. The tile surround is exquisite, though, reminiscent of the bathhouses in Rome where I used to visit my grandparents before their deaths a few years ago. It puts me more at ease as I lather up my hair and shut my eyes to dip my head beneath the flow of water and rinse out the shampoo.

When I open my eyes, however, I’m startled. Marco stands in the shower with me with an expression of complete calmness. His hands reach for me, and my racing heart nearly leaps into my throat.

“What are you doing?” I ask him, suddenly feeling very exposed. Yes, I’ve had sex with him, but this somehow feels far more intimate. I’m completely naked. The light is on, and his eyes drink me in like I’m his addiction.

“I thought I would shower with you. Maybe you’d like me to wash your back.” He reaches for the soap, and I cover my chest. This is too much, too quickly. I’m not ready for this level of intimacy. I’ve only just lost my virginity, and now he’s acting like we’re an old married couple who’ve seen each other naked every day for years.

“Uh, Marco, I’m not so sure about this.” My feeble attempt at protest is met with his lips on mine. He walks me backward until my back is pressed against the tile wall. His hand rubs the soap between my legs gently, massaging my tender spot and lathering it up until it slides freely between my thighs.

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