Page 25 of Sins of the Son

I raised one eyebrow. “Are they? Can you honestly tell me you could walk off the winery grounds without Barone sending a guard to watch over you as well, ‘for your own protection’?”

She didn’t have to say anything. We both knew the answer.

I sighed. “They may look respectable to the rest of the world, but the Cavalieris are dangerous men who aren’t exactly used to hearing the word 'no'.”

Amara laid her head on my shoulder. “What am I going to do? I love him, Milana.”

I hated to hear the desperate sadness in her voice, but knew I had to use it as a warning to myself. Last night had been a terrible mistake, one I could never, ever, repeat. There was a fine line between love and hate, and Cesare had shown me how easily he could twist that line around my wrists, secure me to the bedpost, and then fuck me senseless until I found myself hopelessly in love with him. Trapped.

I rested my cheek against the top of her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

CHAPTER 9

MILANA

I wasn’t allowed to return to the cottage. Instead, late in the day, after the harvest labor had finished, I was escorted to Cesare’s home. He lived in an annex attached to the larger villa by a walled-in courtyard. It wasn’t so much a home as a lair. The one-story structure was made mostly of massive panes of shaded glass and natural beams of wood designed to blend into the mountainside and overlooked a private, heated pool created to look like a natural grotto. It was obnoxiously beautiful and an obscene display of his impossible wealth. I hated the fact that I loved it.

My guard ushered me through the door and disappeared. The interior was utterly masculine. All dark wood and natural stone. I inhaled the scent of pine furniture wax, cigar smoke, and leather. There was also an impressive number of bookshelves. Real bookshelves holding mismatched books with broken spines. Not those fake bookshelves you see in the homes of some rich people, with rows of perfectly matched, gilded leather volumes of titles they’ve never read. In the center of the lounge space was a table where you would expect to see an ornate chessboard carved out of some obscure and rare piece of Italian marble. Instead, a checkerboard was set up, ready to play.

I pressed my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. Cesare had always loved checkers. It was such a silly, childish game. I remembered playing it with him when we were teenagers. I would refuse to say, "king me," instead insisting on "queen me." He would always oblige, often jumping up and making a big show of bowing to me whenever I got a queen. I ruthlessly suppressed the memory. That charming and sweet Cesare was long gone, if he had ever even existed.

Looking around the open floor plan, I spied my two suitcases and purse near the kitchen. They were sitting in the center of the space, deeper inside his home, like pieces of cheese inside a mousetrap. I resisted the bait, staying near the exit.

Movement in my periphery drew my attention away from my belongings. Cesare appeared from a side hallway.

My eyes narrowed as I clenched my jaw.

He must have come from the shower, since small beads of water still clung to his perfectly chiseled, bronze chest and abs. He had on a pair of black silk pajama pants which hung low on his hips. His head was canted to one side as he rubbed the edge of the towel slung around his neck over his wet, sienna brown hair. He padded toward me in bare feet over the gray slate tile. Dammit. Even the man’s feet were sexy, which just wasn’t right.

I arched one eyebrow. “It’s not going to work, you know.”

He mimicked my facial gesture. “What’s not going to work?”

I gestured to him with a sweep of my hands as I sneered, “The whole casually sexy, wet billionaire, Fifty Shades thing you have going on here. It’s not going to work.”

He kept his sharp gaze on me as he lowered his head, intensifying his stare. He threw the towel to the floor and charged toward me.

I stumbled. Too afraid to turn and run, I kept moving backward until my body slammed against the wall. Cesare followed with his body. Placing his forearm high above my head and splaying his open hand on the wall near my face, he leaned in close, imprisoning me… but not touching me.

My arms and legs went numb as I struggled to expand my lungs enough to breathe. Delicious, traitorous heat pooled in the pit of my stomach. I could feel my heartbeat with every pulse through my veins.

Raw, kinetic energy crackled between us as his dark gaze moved from my eyes down to my mouth and back.

He moved his head closer. So close his lips were only a whisper from mine. I could feel the brush of his breath like a caress as he spoke. “Are you sure about that, la mia piccola gattina selvaggia?”

He pushed away from the wall and turned his back on me.

Through glazed, unfocused eyes, I watched him swipe his towel from the floor as he passed me and made his way into the kitchen.

I kept my palms flat against the wall for support. It was all I could do not to slide down to the floor and curl up into a little ball. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing my heart to return to a normal, steady beat. Santo inferno!

Marshaling my anger like a shield, I shoved off the wall and stomped after him. “I want you to call off your guard dog.”

He was standing next to an obsidian marble island, pouring two glasses of Vino Nobile. He lifted one up and tried to hand it to me. “I thought for a change of pace, we might drink this bottle instead of decorating the walls with it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to take it.

He placed my glass on the marble countertop and picked up his own glass, leaning his hip against the island. He crossed one arm over his bare midriff and studied me as he took a sip. “What’s it going to take, Milana?”

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