Page 7

7

GINEVRA

A shocked gasp leaves my lips, my hand stinging from the hard contact with his face. I can’t believe I just slapped him. I’ve never hit anyone in my life, but this man seems to bring out the worst in me.

I’m seething, my breaths coming in sharp, rapid bursts. My chest heaves, but I try to steady myself so he doesn’t see the effect he has on me.

Ugh! The nerve of this arrogant bastard.

I hate his ridiculously handsome face, his mocking smirk. I loathe how his green eyes hold amusement and mischief rather than anger as I challenge him. I hate that my words have no effect on him, that his eyes glint in satisfaction at my distress. I hate that this is all a joke to him. While my family suffers because of his actions, he gets to live happily and flaunt his stupid money everywhere.

I hate that he makes me feel weak, stupid, and powerless. And like a common whore.

My hands twitch, ready for another strike. How dare he insinuate that I want to...fuck! I can’t even bear to think about it.

I make the mistake of looking at his face before I swing again. His green eyes have darkened dangerously into a striking emerald shade. Anger simmers beneath them, swirling like a storm. His jaw ticks, threatening to give him away, but then he tries to hide it beneath that infuriating smirk of his.

“Oh, Feisty,” he chuckles, closing the space between our bodies.

His gaze sweeps over me, sending a chill down my spine. He’s so close I can count his lashes that are a little too long for a man, smell his expensive cologne, and feel his breath ghost against my skin as he speaks.

“Do it again, Ginny. Hit me again,” he murmurs, the heat of his body radiating through the little space between us. “I. Dare. You,” he adds lowly.

Damn it. That’s hot.

And I hate it.

I hate it being told what to do, but what I hate more is the stupid smirk I want to wipe off his lips.

I raise my hand to hit him again, but this time around, he’s faster. One large hand grabs my wrist firmly, twists my hand behind me, and the next thing I know, he’s spun me around, pressing my front against the cold surface of Lorenzo’s car.

“Did you really think I’d let you hit me again?” he asks, his voice deep and rough, vibrating along the length of my body.

His front presses against my back, and I can feel that he’s built like a tank. Through the layers of clothing—my thin dress and his plain, black shirt—I feel every ridge and dip of muscle. I feel every hard line that separates us. I feel the thud of his heartbeat against my spine, and my knees go weak. It feels wrong, like everything I should never touch. Yet so right.

“Let me go,” I demand. I need some distance from him to regain control and to remember the reason why I was angry in the first place.

He does the opposite, tightening his grip ever so slightly against me.

“Are you that brave, or are you just fucking stupid?” he whispers hoarsely against my ear. “When a man two times your size dares you to do something, what makes you think you can do it and get away with it?”

I blow out a frustrated breath and grit my teeth before struggling against his strong hold.

“I said let me go, asshole,” I ground out, but it’s all pointless. His body is flush against mine.

Still, I don’t relent. I try to twist and turn in an attempt to break free.

“Careful, Ginny.” His rough stubble brushes my cheek as he whispers. “You’re turning me on.”

That’s when I feel it, his undeniable hardness pressed against my ass. My body heats up at the realization, and a pleasant shiver rolls down my spine.

I remind myself that I hate him. That he’s the reason why our family business is on the verge of bankruptcy. That he’s the enemy.

“Your attempts at intimidating me don’t scare me, Dario,” I bite out, and I hear a low curse escape his throat.

“Say my name again, Ginny,” he rasps. “I love the way it sounds on your lips.”

Every attempt at reminding myself how terrible this man is falls flat at the thick desire evident in his voice. It’s my first time calling him by his real name since we met again, and I make the mental note to never repeat it. I have a string of more befitting nicknames for him.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His breath ghosts across my neck, and goosebumps rise on my skin as his hot breath fans my earlobe, causing the hair there to stand on end. I bite back a moan when he secures both my wrists in one hand before sliding his free hand over my stomach. I gasp as the big hand comes to rest directly under my left breast.

“What the fuck were you thinking coming here without wearing a bra, Ginny?” he rasps, and I swallow, feeling my insides clench and twist.

I clearly wasn’t thinking at all. I’d been so eager to sneak out of the house that I didn’t even realize I was only in a flimsy dress. And when I saw him earlier, the way his eyes zoomed in on my exposed legs, only then did I feel naked under his gaze.

“I was fucking pissed,” I hiss, finding my voice.

“And are you still pissed, Ginny?”

My toes curl in my flats, and I feel wetness pool in my panties. He only calls my name when he’s serious, and I can’t decide if that makes this situation better or worse.

“Let go of me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says before chuckling. “Perhaps I should take that as my answer, that you’re no longer pissed.”

“Fuck you!”

“Maybe later I’ll let you do that, Princess. How would you like it? Gentle, hard... Rough?”

I groan inwardly. How does he manage to twist every single thing I say?

“Does overpowering people you’re physically stronger than make you feel better about yourself? Does it make you feel like more of a man when you exert your power over others?” I say in a mocking tone.

I want to annoy him, to infuriate him the way he does me, but my words only earn me a chuckle.

“What do you think?”

At this point, I’ve almost relaxed into his hold. His hand is still under my boob, now tracing idly under the curve of my breast.

A low hum escapes my throat.

“Let’s see. I think you should listen when a woman tells you to leave her alone. Can you do that for me?” I say it in a sickly-sweet tone, like I would tell a kindergartener.

As I expect, he laughs again. For a man as intimidating and dangerous as he, laughing comes easy to him. Or maybe he’s just doing it to spite me. He knows exactly how to get under my skin.

“Is that why you’re no longer fighting against me? Because you want me to let you go?” he mocks.

My body burns, and I remember why I hated him in the first place. I know it won’t end well if I keep fighting, and I hope maybe that will push him into loosening his grip. But a part of my brain, the one that’s dirty and unhinged, likes the way his fingers are dangerously near my nipples, the way his warm breath tickles my neck when he taunts me.

“It’s getting late.” I harden my voice. “My brother will soon notice I’m gone, and I don’t want him to get worried.”

“You should have thought about that when you decided to physically confront the man you think planned to kill you,” he says through gritted teeth, and I hate that his words are true.

Coming here was a stupid mistake.

“Never try something like this again, Ginny.” The warmth is now gone from his voice. Instead, he snarls coldly, “If you were someone else, I would have made you pay heavily for stalking me--”

“I didn’t?—”

“Finding the address of someone you met once at a party and waiting for them at their house is exactly that, Princess,” he harshly interrupts.

It sounds so bad when he says it like that, but that’s because he’s a master at twisting the truth. And twisting people.

My breath leaves in a sharp woosh as he pushes himself off me. I suddenly feel cold from the lack of contact. A shiver wracks through me, but I refuse to cover myself from his gaze.

“Go home.”

A simple order, one that makes me want to do the opposite just because he tells me to.

But yeah, that would further prove to him that I’m stupid.

Huffing, I raise my head before looking at his face.

“Step away from my car, asshole,” I hiss. “If you think you’ve succeeded at intimidating me, think again. Unlike every other person you’ve come across, I don’t scare easily.”

And then his smirk returns. He takes a step back for me to pull open my door. When I get into the car and turn on the ignition, the annoying tilt is still on his lips.

I make a show by revving the car’s engine before finally pulling out onto the road. As I drive farther away from him, my hatred returns, burning hotter and brighter than before.

Nothing, not even a few heated touches and whispered words, can change the way I feel about him.