Page 27 of Immoral

Happy to do something, I take a sip, fully aware he's still studying me. Then I sit in the armchair facing the window, cross my legs, and try to slow my racing heart.

Several moments pass. Gianni's tone gets rougher, but I'm used to it. He never speaks English when he has work conversations. I've never pried into his business. In some ways, I'm happy to pretend to stay ignorant, but the pieces of his conversations usually give me a good idea about what's going on.

I take another sip of champagne. He hands me a luxurious white robe then barks out something that could be an order.

I put my flute on the table, rise, then take off his coat. My back is toward him, yet I feel him watching me. I quickly slide the robe on. He takes his jacket and hangs it up. I return to my seated position, noting how quickly the darkness is rolling in.

Several more moments pass. I'm halfway done with my champagne when he sets a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries on the table and refills my glass.

My heart stammers. This is the Gianni I know and love. The one who makes sure to take care of me, no matter what else is happening. He can dote on me while focusing on something else like a boss. Not once have I ever felt as if his attention wasn't on me even a little.

When I don't pick up a strawberry, he does. He holds it to my lips, rattles something else off, and moves the phone away from his mouth. "Eat, tesoro."

I don't argue, suddenly hungry and wondering how long it's been since I ate last. I take a bite of the hard chocolate shell, and the juice of the strawberry rolls over my lip and down my chin. Before I can wipe it, Gianni holds his phone between his shoulder and cheek. He swipes at the juice. Then he shoves his finger in his mouth, sucking on it and staring at me while unbuttoning his shirt.

My butterflies spread their wings. It's another problem I have. Everything about Gianni Marino reeks of sexuality. His ripped pecs and torso, sculpted from years of boxing workouts, peek out under his blue shirt. I lift my eyes and realize he's caught me gawking at him.

His lips twitch before he barks more Italian. He takes my hand and pulls me off the chair. He leads me to a closet and opens the door. He holds the phone away from his ear again and says, "Get dressed for dinner."

I peer in the closet, gaping at the handful of designer dresses, shoes, shirts, and pants.

"Cara," he calls out.

I spin, and he taps the dresser, then opens the drawer. The inside is full of delicate bras and panties. I glance over at Gianni. His back is to me, and he's tugging on his hair. I wonder again how long he knew Uberto's plans. It's hard to know for sure. Gianni knows how to make things happen, so a closet and drawer full of clothes isn't out of his ability to make happen.

Still...

He spins, arches his eyebrows, then covers the phone. "Is something missing?"

I slowly shake my head. "No."

He points to the clothes. "Then get dressed. You need to eat." He returns to his call, belting out orders.

I glance at the drawer. Delicate lace and intricate patterns weave through each piece. Most of them are solid black. Some have other colors mixed in, like the gold and black set I'm wearing right now.

I pick an all-black set then study the clothes in the closet. I choose another black piece. It's an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeve minidress. I take everything into the bathroom and freeze.

My hair products are in the shower. My brand of makeup sits on the counter. Part of me likes how Gianni paid attention over the years enough to know what I use, but the question still lingers.Did he know about my kidnapping and the auction longer than he claims?

There are no definitive answers. I would never have questioned Gianni's role in this situation years ago. But the last few months, he was unhinged. He had me followed. I think he even had a tracker on my phone. I confronted him numerous times. He never admitted or denied it, but that's the thing about Gianni—he rarely shows his cards. He has a poker face the best player in Vegas wouldn't stand a chance against.

Gianni kept showing up places Uberto and I went. He threatened Uberto several times to stay away from me. It's what made Uberto crack—not that I'm giving him an out for kidnapping and auctioning me off.

I shudder, still trying to comprehend what happened.

Thank God Gianni did save me.

But did he know longer? Was this just a trick of his to get me to marry him?

I pull out the vanity seat and sit. If only it were a few years ago, and he hadn't left me with that note in Italy. I wouldn't be questioning any of this.

I sigh then pick up the hairbrush. I twist my hair into a messy bun, securing it with the bobby pin someone left for me. I don't usually wear a ton of makeup, so it doesn't take me long to finish. I slide out of my current undergarments then put on the fresh ones and the dress.

When I leave the bathroom, I go back to the closet and select a pair of red stilettos. They're strappy, but there is a zipper on the back, allowing me to easily put them on. I spin into Gianni.

His scent envelops me, making me once again crave everything about him. He wraps his strong arms around me, placing one hand on my ass and the other on my back. In a quick move, he tugs me even closer to him. "You look great, tesoro."

My heart beats faster. I tilt my head up, taking in everything I've always loved about him. His hard body. The way his lips curve when he's being his cocky self. The streaks of gray running through his hair and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. They only recently popped out, but it makes him even sexier.

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