Page 81 of Beauty and the Daddy

"When you first offered this arrangement, I felt like cattle being traded," I spill, now that I've started.

Luca's breath is a low tide behind me. He doesn't interrupt, and I want to slap a gold star on him.

"It was a deal shoved down my throat. I was pissed. I was stubborn. I fought it. Then you happened, and I got to know Sofia. I started to see that maybe this forced marriage doesn't have to be a prison sentence. That maybe it could be..."

I trail off, trying to make sense of this complicated mess I call feelings.

"Could be what?"

"Something real," I finish. "Something good."

Luca moves behind me then, his chest against my back, arms sliding around my waist. I lean into him, my body recognizing its match before my brain can catch up.

"Something real," I whisper. "Something that matters."

He moves behind me, solid warmth against my back, arms circling my waist like he's afraid I might disappear. I melt into him because my body knows what my mind keeps fighting.

"I'm terrified," I admit.

"Of what?"

"Of falling in love with the man who was supposed to be my prison." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Of wanting this life when I know how easily it could all disappear."

His hands rest over my belly, and my heart stutters. The touch is easy; the guilt knocks the air out of me. On one hand, I'm coming clean. On the other hand, I'm keeping a big, deep secret from the one man I shouldn't keep it from.

My throat burns.Not now. Not in front of him. Not on a balcony with a hundred cameras blinking.But my stupid eyes go glossy anyway.

He feels it. Of course he does. "Belle," he says, soft as a bruise.

I turn. I step into him like I'm stepping off a cliff. His mouth meets mine halfway, and the relief is so violent it's almost pain. The kiss starts like playing with cotton candy and turns into arson in three seconds flat.

His hands climb—waist, ribs, jaw—and the world narrows to heat, breath, and the way he tastes like I could live on him for a week. I bite his lower lip, and he groans into it, low and wrecked, the sound taking life in my bones.

The night air is cool; his body is not.

My dress is suddenly a bad idea, and I wish I was completely naked.

The kiss deepens, turns molten. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I open for him, greedy for more. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us.

We're gasping when we break apart, but he doesn't let me go far. His forehead presses against mine.

"Belle," he growls, his palms sliding under the hem. His touch is rough-fine, the kind that brands, and when his fingers find the place no one else gets to map, my spine bows to the cause.

My back hits the stone, shoulder blades to balustrade, the estate sprawling behind him in audience.

He keeps me caged with his hips, kisses me, and works me with a rhythm that makes me sound embarrassing. I clutch his shoulders. I choke on my dignity and forget we can be watched.

"Say it," he demands, mouth at my ear.

"I want you." My voice is sandpaper and sin. "I want all of it."

Something wild takes over, flooding my veins with liquid heat. I want him. Right here. Right now. Under the stars with his kingdom spread out below us.

I drop my hands to his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. He groans, a deep, feral sound that sounds right on the beast he is.

"Here?" he asks, even as his hands slide up my thighs, bunching my dress around my hips.

"Yes," I hiss. "Here."