Page 54

I step into the mansion and shut the door behind me, the familiar weight of dread settling in my chest. The smell of Elio’s cologne hits me before I even see him lounging on the couch like a king surveying his domain. His tie is loosened, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the sharp lines of his collarbone. He looks up, eyes gleaming with something dangerous, like anger.
“You’re home late,” he says. His smooth and low voice shows that he’s been drinking.
I drop my bag by the door and cross my arms. “Some of us actually work for a living. How do you have time to lie around when you should also be working?”
He grins, slowly and infuriatingly. “The difference between you and I, Princess, is that I delegate. You should try it sometime. Might make you less... tense.”
I ignore the jab and walk past him, heading to the kitchen. “I’m not tense.” My voice is clipped, but I can feel his gaze following me, stripping me down to the bone.
I grab a glass of water, focusing on the coolness of the glass against my palm, and the sound of the faucet running. Anything but the man sprawled on the couch across the room like he owns not just the place but also me.
“Elio,” I finally say, setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. “Why are you so invested in the Paterson case?”
He leans back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, his posture deceptively relaxed.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he counters. “It’s a high-profile case. Lots of real-life action. And I love action. It’s my favorite genre.”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to hold his gaze.
“Bullshit,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I know you’re not just asking me to nose around to gather evidence for the sheer fun of it. So, tell me…what’s in it for you?”
He stands up, slowly and deliberately, and closes the distance between us in a few long strides. He stops just close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his overwhelming presence.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, Princess,” he says softly, almost a whisper. “It’s a shame you don’t know when to keep it shut.”
The threat is subtle, buried beneath his silky tone, but it’s there. My heart pounds, but I refuse to back down.
He’s indirectly asking me to shut up about the case.
“And you’ve got quite the ego,” I shoot back, lifting my chin. “Maybe it’s time someone put you in your place.”
His laugh is low and dangerous, and he steps even closer, backing me against the counter. His hand brushes a strand ofhair from my face, and I can’t tell if the shiver that runs through me is from fear or something else.
“Careful, Aria,” he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear I can feel his breath. “Anyone who’s ever crossed me... well, they never got to tell the tale. Be careful not to betray me.”
My throat tightens, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. His words are like a noose tightening around my neck, a warning I can’t afford to ignore. But I can’t let him see my fear. Not now.
I tilt my head, forcing a smirk onto my lips as my breast presses forward towards his body.
“Or maybe,” I add, my voice dropping to a whisper, “they didn’t know how to distract you.”
Before he can say anything else, I slide my hands up his chest, letting my fingers trail over the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt.
His breath catches, just for a moment, and I feel a flicker of triumph. His hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer, and I let him, my mind racing even as my body betrays me. This is a game I have to play… a game I have to win.
My lips catch his in mine, pushing all thoughts of betrayal, of Mia, and of the secrets I’ve been spilling to the back of my mind. For now, I can’t afford to let him suspect me. For now, I have to survive.
I plunge my tongue in deeper, guiding his hands to my breasts to cup them while I undo the buttons on his shirt, running my hands over the firm contours of his body. Immediately, the shirt gives way.
I love the way his hands seize my waist, pulling me against himself as if he’s starving and only my frame can satisfy his primal hunger.
His hands move up to squeeze at my breast through my dress, fingers playing at the straps of its square-neckline to slide it off my shoulders.
A groan escapes my lips as he grabs me by my waist again, mouth still roaming my face, and guides me all the way to his study just a few feet away from the kitchen.
He pins me to the wall with his hulking frame, lifting my hands above my head and holding them there while easing my zip open.
“I want to touch you…” The words escape my lips before I can shut my mouth in embarrassment.