Page 34 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
ENZO
Ilift her into my arms, and the world narrows.
The sounds from the gala recede into nothing, replaced by the soft rush of her breath against my throat, the velvet heat of her thighs pressed to my sides, the scent of her skin wrapped in the ghost of roses and something wilder, something made only for me.
Her dress is still bunched around her hips, the fine fabric creased and clinging where I touched her.
Her lips are parted, kiss-bruised and damp, and when she looks at me, I see everything she's never been allowed to want crack open like lightning behind her gaze.
My quarters are just down the corridor, the estate winding in polished corners and hushed lighting, all opulence stretched over steel.
The Salvatore estate was built for defense as much as display, but tonight it feels like a palace turned cathedral, the floors echoing beneath each step I take with her in my arms.
The gala is in full swing downstairs, and that serves me well.
No one is up here except me and her, every inch of her body soft and pliant where it leans into mine, but I can feel the tremor under her skin, the way she's barely holding it together.
I'm not sure if it's because of what I just did to her against the door, or because of what she knows is coming next.
I kick the door open with one booted foot and step inside my rooms.
The lights are low. I left them that way on purpose.
The suite is quiet, large, shadow-drenched.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the cliffs beyond the estate, where the sea churns black and endless beneath the moonlight.
The curtains are drawn back, letting in the salt-flecked breeze from the water below, and it cools the heat still burning in my chest. But it doesn't matter.
Not when I'm holding her.
Not when she is this warm, this breakable, this mine.
I walk past the leather couches and the heavy marble table without stopping. I head straight to the bed.
The sheets are deep navy, the pillows piled high.
But all I see is the space where I'll put her.
All I feel is the fire that hasn't dimmed since the moment she walked through the ballroom in that dress, her chin lifted like a challenge I had no choice but to accept.
I set her down on the edge of the bed, and she leans back slightly, supporting herself on one arm.
Her legs part just enough to make me ache.
Her eyes meet mine in a silent dare, but also in surrender.
She knows I'm going to take her apart.
I don't give her time to recover.
My jacket hits the floor first.
Then my belt.
The sound of the leather sliding through the loops makes her inhale sharply, and I see the muscles in her thighs flex.
My shirt follows, buttons popping loose under my fingers.
