Page 16 of Depths of Obsession
His eyes are locked on mine but my mouth goes dry, so I lick my lips. His gaze follows my tongue. I swear he hisses at me.
“Get. Dressed. Now.” His tone is definitely a growl.
The heat from his body on my chest burns. He’s close enough that his breath caresses my cheek. My heart rate ticks upward.
I clear my throat trying to speak. “Luca—” I start.
“Time’s up.” His eyes seem to glow from within as he reaches down and grabs me around the waist, picking me up out of bed. I struggle with him as he tries to put me over his shoulder, but I am no match for his strength.
“Put me down,” I yell as I pound on his back.
“You had your chance. Now we do it my way.” He turns and heads to the door.
“Luca—” I thrash, kicking my legs and trying to push myself off his shoulder, but his grip is unyielding.
He clamps one large hand on the backs of my thighs, the other on my butt. “You’re an asshole, Luca!” I shout, my voice muffled against his back. The solid muscles beneath his shirt, unmovable like stone, shifts as he stalks toward the exit. It only makes me angrier. He’s not even struggling to carry me, like I weigh nothing at all.
“I promised Mia I would protect you. I’m doing what I have to do to keep that promise, Pippa,” he growls, his voice strained, but not from the effort of holding me—from the frustration of dealing with me.
Did he just skim his fingers near my pussy?God, his palm is so warm on my ass, I’m getting aroused, dammit.
We reach the door, and the man with the scar—Luca’s security—moves aside, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s enjoying this, I realize with a huff. The humiliation of being carried out of a hotel room by Luca, wearing next to nothing, with this stranger watching—it’s too much.
“I hate you,” I spit, my words filled with venom.
Luca lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, get in line.”
The hallway is empty, thank God. He strides down it with me still draped over his shoulder, his security guard following closely behind. I lift my head enough to glare at that asshole, but he just smirks. I try to catch my breath, my face still flushed with embarrassment. The cool air against my exposed skin does little to soothe my anger.
“I can walk, you know,” I mutter, trying to calm myself. My voice sounds small, even to my own ears.
“Too late for that,” Luca snaps. He stops at the elevator, pressing the button with one hand while still holding me securely with the other. “I gave you every chance to do this the easy way, Pippa. You chose this.”
The elevator doors slide open, and Luca steps inside, his security trailing behind us. He sets me down, finally, and I straighten up, tugging on the edge of my lace bra in a futile attempt to cover more of myself. I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
The security guard takes pity on me, I guess, and shucks his windbreaker to drape it over my shoulders. Still, I scowl at him. I shouldn’t be in this position.
“This is ridiculous,” I hiss, my voice dripping with indignation. “You’re treating me like I’m some kind of prisoner.”
Luca’s eyes lock on mine, and I see a storm brewing there. “You are not a prisoner, Pippa, any more than you are invincible. Gazzago is not someone to underestimate. If you think I’m being overprotective, then you clearly don’t understand just how much shit could be coming your way.”
His words hit me harder than I expect, and I swallow, suddenly unsure of how to respond. The tension in the small elevator is suffocating, and my anger begins to deflate, replaced by a creeping sense of dread.
The elevator lurches to a stop, and the doors slide open to the underground parking garage. Luca’s grip on my arm is firm, but not painful, as he leads me out. His security guard follows, scanning the area, his eyes sharp and alert.
Luca’s car is parked in the corner—another sleek black Porsche only this time it’s an SUV. It screams power and wealth. He opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in. I hesitate, my pride warring with the realization that he might actually be right.
The weight of everything—Gazzago, the threats, Luca’s obvious concern—suddenly crashes down on me.
My shoulders drop and with a sigh, I climb into the car, sinking into the cool leather seat. Luca closes the door behind me, and I watch as he walks around to the driver’s side, his movements sharp with frustration. He slides in beside me, starting the engine with a low growl. Rocco goes back to the elevator.
“Where’s he going?” I ask.
“To get the rest of your things. You’re not coming back here.” The finality of his tone brooks no argument but makes me want to scream.
The silence between us is thick as he pulls out of the garage, the tires squealing slightly as he accelerates. I stare out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my thoughts spinning in a million different directions.
“Clothes,” I finally say, my voice small, barely containing my frustration. “I need clothes. I didn’t go back to my place, so the only things in the room are the bloody clothes I was wearing.” The words stick in my throat, each one reminding me of how vulnerable I’ve become. It kills me, but I know if I don’t behave in a semi-responsible manner, Luca will treat me like I’m a child—something I can’t stomach. I curl my hands into fists, fighting to keep my composure.
