Page 362 of Rosetti Family New York
"You think a smile and a fancy car are enough to take me?"
The question hits differently than I expected. There's steel in her voice, a core of strength that makes my pulse spike. It's intoxicating. Challenging. Exactly the kind of thing that makes me want to push her further, see how far that control extends. Having her here, trapped and furious and trying so hard to hide her fear, sends heat straight to my cock.
"No, Isabella." I reach out and touch her chin, tilting her face toward mine. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm with anger and adrenaline. "But now that you're mine, I don't need charm."
She jerks away from my touch, eyes blazing. "I am not yours."
"Actually, you are." I settle back into my seat, watching her process the reality of her situation. "For the next few days, at least. Until your uncle learns to play nicely with others."
"Chase will kill you for this."
"Chase will try." I flip my coin between my fingers, metal catching the light. "But first, he'll have to find you. And I'm very good at hiding things I want to keep."
The SUV turns onto the highway, heading north toward the safe house. Toward isolation, toward the place where I'll have Isabella Callahan completely to myself. The thought sends heat through my veins, dark anticipation that has nothing to do with leverage and everything to do with possession.
She stares out the window at the city falling away behind us, her reflection ghostlike in the tinted glass. I can see her hands clenched in her lap, knuckles white with tension she's trying to hide. When she speaks again, her voice is perfectly controlled, but I can hear the fury underneath. And beneath that, just barely audible, the fear she's working so hard to suppress.
"You have no idea what you've just done."
"Enlighten me."
"You've started a war you can't win."
I laugh, and the sound fills the confined space between us. "Sweetheart, the war started when your uncle decided to threaten my family. I'm just evening the odds."
"By kidnapping an innocent woman?"
"By taking something he values. There's a difference."
She turns to look at me again, and the expression in her green eyes makes my breath catch. Not fear, not even anger anymore. Something colder. More dangerous.
"You're going to regret this."
"Maybe." I reach out and brush a strand of honey-blonde hair away from her face, despite her effort to pull away. "But I doubt it."
The highway stretches ahead of us, carrying us north toward the lake house, toward isolation, toward whatever comes next. Isabella sits rigid beside me, her perfume mixing with the leather scent of the car, creating an intoxicating combination that makes me want to pull her closer.
But there's time for that later. Hours of time, with nothing but wilderness and silence around us. Time to discover what lies beneath her perfect surface, time to see how far I can push before she breaks.
Time to find out if she's as untouchable as she pretends to be.
4
Isabella
The door handle turns easily under my palm, but the door itself doesn't budge. Electronic lock, of course. The kind that requires a code or keycard. I test it again, pressing my shoulder against the solid wood, but there's no give at all.
My heart kicks against my ribs, a sharp staccato that I force myself to breathe through. Sweat pricks at the back of my neck despite the cool air. The reality of my situation hits like ice water. Trapped. Actually trapped.
I move to the windows next, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. The windows are floor-to-ceiling, offering a view of deep woods that stretch endlessly in every direction. No buildings, no roads, no escape. Just trees and sky and silence so complete it feels suffocating.
The windows open three inches and stop. Some kind of safety mechanism preventing anything larger from fitting through. Safety. Right.
I catalogue everything while my hands work systematically along the window frame, searching for any weakness. The room is beautiful in the way only serious money can buy. Modernfurniture in shades of cream and soft gray, all clean lines and expensive fabrics. A sitting area near the windows. Another door that probably leads to a bathroom.
My clothes from yesterday are wrinkled but intact. Blouse twisted, trousers rumpled, but I'm still wearing everything except my heels. Small mercies.
The memories crash into me as I check the bathroom door next. Unlocked, but windowless. The SUV. Matteo Rosetti's dimpled smile and those fingers that never stopped moving that silver coin. The way his voice dropped when he said I was his.
