Page 59 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
“Well, now you’re going with me.” I ignore Sav’s recommendation to invite her entire family over to save me the inconvenience of actually speaking to her. I’ve already made the decision that while she’s under my protection, I’m keeping her to myself.
“Are you hungry?”
She hugs the towel around herself and chews her lip while she thinks. Then she shakes her head.
“You haven’t eaten a thing all day.”
“I’m not hungry.”
It’s becoming increasingly difficult to see her standing in front me with nothing but a towel separating the heat of her skin from mine. I turn my back to her and walk to the refrigerator.
“I’m making you dinner. Go get dressed.”
“I don’t have any fresh clothes.”
I take out tomatoes and place them on the island, along with olives and some garlic. She watches me warily.
“Fetch a shirt and some shorts from the master. I’ll have more clothes for you by the morning.”
“You don’t know my size.”
I coast my gaze over her. “I can hazard a guess.”
She swallows and clutches the towel even tighter.
I jerk my head toward the master bedroom. “Go.”
One of her brows arches, and I can see the old Castellano emerging. “You’re going to let me rummage around in your room?”
I lift a sharp chef’s knife from the drawer and turn it in my fingers. “I have nothing to hide.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Great. I may be a while.” She spins on the balls of her feet, sending droplets of water flying in every direction.
When she’s out of my sight, I rest my hands on the island, stretch out my arms, and let my head fall. I’ve never envied my brother. I’ve never wanted what he’s inherited as the firstborn son. But she’s the one thing he has that I want—that Icrave.
Savero has never been the most amenable brother, but now I know he has something he doesn’t deserve, I’m finding it even harder to like him.
I shake the thought from my head, take a few long breaths, and then straighten and get to work.
Trilby
I step inside Cristiano’s bedroom and close the door behind me, letting my towel drop to the floor. Standing beneath his scrutiny wearing only a square of fluffy cotton felt obscene, but I couldn’t bring myself to slip the black dress on—not now it carries the memories of being back at that church, sitting in a car, with a gunman right outside, and having my jaw held tightly by a ravenous man who apparently wants me as much as I want him.
Standing naked in his bedroom feels wrong and rebellious. He could walk in here at any moment. He could touch me in any place he wanted. My cheeks grow hot at the realization I’d let him.
Or ... he could simply stare.
I know what it feels like to be turned on. I’ve read plenty of kissy books and let my fingers wander south enough times to know what triggers it, what draws it out, and what kind ofpressure brings relief. But I’ve never felt the space between my legs weigh so heavily until Cristiano’s disinterested gaze lingered on that part of me. I’ve never felt scorching blood course through my pelvic bone, making me throb in places I didn’t think possible. I’ve never yearned for another person’s touch like I did when I stood beneath his waterfall shower.
I can feel myself getting hot and heavy again, until I remember. He isn’t the one I’m marrying. I shake my head, but no matter how brisk, he won’t leave. So I shove the image of his burning eyes to the back of my mind and get back to the task at hand.
I head to the closet. Light illuminates the rails as soon as the large doors open. This is the closet of someone with a serious case of OCD. The hangers are spaced at equal distances apart, and the clothes are pressed to within an inch of their life. Suits are ordered by shade: black to charcoal, steel to midnight-blue. Shirts, too, in only two color groups: black and white. His ties hang on the inside of the door, again ordered from dark to light and largely monochrome.
No sign of a T-shirt or shorts.
I close the doors and open the next set. Another downlight illuminates five rows of shoes, all luxury Italian leather and polished until I can see nearly a hundred of my faces reflected back at me.
I swallow.
