Page 15 of Caruso

What’s happening?

He retrieves my dress from the floor and commands, “Step into the dress.”

A huge ball of shame lodges itself in my gut as I do as he says. He pulls the zipper up, covering my naked body before facing me, gripping my shoulders as he stares into my eyes with a soft expression.

“Not like this.”

I say nothing and must resemble a wounded animal because he strokes my face lightly and whispers, “I will not take your virginity as if it has no value. You are too good for that.”

“You don’t want me.”

It comes across more as a statement than a question, and he shakes his head.

“I didn’t say that. The point of this is—I do. I want you—badly, in fact—but not in this way.”

He grips my hand, and he laces his fingers with mine and nods toward the penthouse.

“Come, we must finish our meal. A lot has happened to you today and you may not be of sound mind.”

I’m shocked, and for some reason tears fill my eyes, and he wipes them away with a concerned smile.

“What’s up, baby girl?”

“Nobody has ever been so kind to me before. I’m not used to it.”

He chuckles softly. “Listen, the last man who touched you inappropriately ended up with his neck snapped in half. Call it self-preservation.”

It drags a smile out of me.

“You’re afraid of me.”

He nods. “Terrified. Now, the main course will be waiting. Shall we?”

He offers me his arm, and as we head back inside, my heart actually flutters. Who knew that a man like this would be a gentleman? I certainly haven’t met many of those in my life, and now I’m interested.

The candles flicker on the table as we enter the room, and two domed dishes are waiting, our glasses refilled and gentle music humming in the background.

It’s almost a seduction scene, and a shiver passes through me as I experience something new—something addictive.

It’s as if I am special. I’m not. Nobody has ever made me feel special before, and yet here we are now. It’s addictive, enthralling and disarming, and I never want this to end.

As he pulls the chair from the table, I take the seat, his fingers brushing against my neck, which is quickly replaced by his lips as he whispers, “You merely have a reprieve, angel. Call it thinking time.”

“In case I change my mind?”

“No. Anticipation for what will definitely happen when the meal ends and the next one begins.”

A shiver of expectation passes through me as his words dance around my virginity. Taunting it, informing it of its last few hours, or is it minutes? It could be.

The starter has been replaced by two more domes, and as we lift them, I note the braised beef with creamy mashed potato and succulent vegetables. I can’t help smiling with happiness at the sight and Matteo chuckles softly.

“So, you’re not a vegetarian.”

“No.” I shrug as if it’s of no consequence. “When you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, choice is a luxury you can’t afford.”

His eyes darken, and the easy atmosphere shifts. I falter as I lift my silverware, and his low growl startles me.

“You don’t eat, why?”