Page 57

We're strolling back to the room when she offers me another smile. "I'm Brandy, by the way."

"Karissa," I say. "So you and Raymond have been married for five years?"

She laughs. "Oh, we're not married. We've been together that long, though."

"Oh… I figured he was married."

She pauses at the entrance to the room as we are welcomed back inside, casting me a peculiar look. "He is. I'm just his girlfriend."

Brandy takes her place back at Raymond's chair, her hands on his shoulders. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, but he brushes it off, too focused on the card game to pay any attention to her.

I hesitate for a moment, watching them, my stomach in knots when it strikes me that this girl is his mistress. She seems nice, and it's not my place to judge, but it worries me.

A lot.

My gaze shifts to Naz.

I wonder what being his girlfriend means.

As if he can sense my gaze, his head turns my direction. His brow furrows as he stares at me, questions in his eyes. I smile and start toward him, pushing back my worry, but he's already noticed my mood shifted.

Tossing his cards down, he stands up. "I'm out."

"Already?" Raymond asks, surprised.

"I'm down over thirty grand," Naz says. "That's probably a sign."

"A sign your good luck charm isn't as good as you thought?" a guy jokingly calls out, a guy I recognize from the plane, the same one who upset him on the way here. Naz doesn't humor that with a response as he's cashed out. He slips his money away, not bothering with any goodbyes.

Naz is halfway to me when Raymond laughs dryly. "Strike two."

That makes Naz's expression soften a bit.

He reaches me, taking my hand, and pulling me with him toward the exit. He says nothing until we're out in the hallway alone, away from prying eyes. He stops, turning to me, raising his eyebrows. His expression is so serious I balk. "What did she say to you?"

"What?"

"You're looking at me like you think maybe you don't know me," he says. "What did that girl say to you?"

It stuns me how easily he reads me.

I stammer for a moment until he reaches out with both hands, cupping my cheeks and forcing me to look at him. "Tell me."

"Nothing really. She just said nobody calls you Naz, not since… you lost your family."

I expect anger—toward her, or me, or somebody. Instead, what I see is hurt, a slight flinch before his eyes close, like what I said stings him so much he can't even look at me.

He stays that way for a moment, but it fades when he opens his eyes again. He lets go of my face and grabs my hand, bringing it up to press it against his chest. "I told you what happened."

The scars.

My chest aches at his words. Guilt nags at me for bringing it up. I start to apologize, start to change the subject, but he silences my words by leaning down and kissing my lips. It's soft and sweet, unhurried, as his tongue sweeps along my bottom lip before meeting mine. I moan into his mouth, earning a soft chuckle when he finally pulls away.

Naz is quiet as we head upstairs, so close I can smell his cologne, yet he feels a thousand miles away. He's lost in his mind, consumed by thoughts I can't begin to understand.

When we make it up to the suite, there are chocolate covered strawberries waiting on the table and a bottle of champagne chilling in a fresh bucket of ice. He obviously planned something, but it's disregarded as he strides right by and heads upstairs.

Wordlessly, I follow him, keeping my distance to give him some space, but we eventually meet in the master bedroom. He steps toward me, quiet as he speaks. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Say it," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

He cups my cheek. "Say it again."

"I love you."

His hand drifts lower, wrapping around my throat. "Again."

"I love you."

He squeezes lightly, not painfully, just enough to make me gasp. "Again."

My voice is barely a whisper as the words pour out of me. "I love you, Ignazio."

His expression hardens when I say his name, his eyes darkening. The monster is peeking through, peering at me from behind his mask. He wants to come out. He wants me to play with him.

He says nothing, though, letting go of my neck. His hand drifts lower, down my chest and across my breasts. He gropes them through the fabric before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of my shirt, pulling up on it. I raise my hands in the air, letting him pull it off. He unbuttons my pants, tugging down the zipper, and I step out of them when he pulls them off of me.

Slowly, his eyes scan me then, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before trailing back up again. He meets my gaze as he takes another step forward, standing right up against me. I can feel the heat emanating off of him, his cologne intoxicating.

It makes me dizzy.

"If you could read my mind..." He pauses, laughing darkly. "You'd be trembling."

I nearly tremble from the insinuation. "What are you thinking?"

He steps around me, stopping behind me, and sweeps my hair out of the way. A hand grasps my hip, pulling me back to him as he leans down to kiss my neck.

"I'm thinking the only way you could possibly be any more perfect right now," he says against my skin, "would be if I were fucking you so hard the people in the lobby could hear your screams."

That does it.

I shiver, but he isn't finished yet.

"I want to push you to your limits, Karissa. Push you so hard, so far, that you hate me for it."

"I could never hate you."

As soon as I say it, his hand is around my neck again, pulling my head up, forcing me to look back at him. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

"I mean it," I whisper. "I love you."

He stares down at me for a moment before leaning over to kiss my lips, tugging me back so far it's almost painful so he can reach my mouth. "I love you, too. Promise me you'll remember that."

"I promise."

"Good," he says. "Because I'm about to fuck you like I don't."

My voice is little more than a shaky breath. "Okay."

"Remember your safe words."

"I will."

He lets go of my throat, lets go of me, as he takes a step back. I stand still, trying not to shake, and peek over my shoulder to see him unfastening his dark tie.

"And if you really love me," he says, pulling off the tie before looking at me again. He looks furious. The sight of his anger, the icy tone of his voice, makes my knees weak. I'm definitely trembling now. "If you mean it, you'll fight back."