Page 37 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

The flash of indignation in her eyes was unexpected. Endearing, almost.

For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with me, her wounded pride was telling.

I've spent enough time reading people to recognize when someone surprises even themselves with their reactions.

What did she expect? That I'd force myself on her? That I'd claim my "husbandly rights" like some medieval lord?

The thought turns my stomach. I've done many things in service to the family, things that would horrify most people, but that line I won't cross.

I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. Has she been touched by a man?

She’s twenty-five. Surely, she’s been with a man.

Then again, Don Ferraza kept a tight leash on her.

God. Could she still be a virgin?

And what the fuck am I doing thinking about Isabella’s sex life?

The sheet drapes over her body, outlining the perfect curves of a woman’s body, and I can’t look away. I’m suddenly aware of a familiar heat spreading through my body straight to my dick.

Fuck.

I shouldn't be looking at her like this. She's a job. A responsibility. A potential threat.

But my body doesn't seem to care about what she might be. It only registers the soft curves beneath the sheets, her scent, theway her eyes flashed with indignation when she thought I didn't want her.

What would it be like to touch her? To trace the line of her jaw with my fingertips, to feel her pulse quicken beneath my palm?

To claim those full lips properly, not the chaste kiss we shared at the altar, but something real. Something hungry.

The images come unbidden.

Isabella's dark hair spread across my pillows, not in sleep, but in pleasure.

Her back arching as my hands explore her body.

Those defiant eyes softening, surrendering.

My cock embedded deep inside her.

Christ.

I thrash out of bed abruptly, stalking to the bathroom. This ends now.

I'm not some teenager who can't control his dick. I'm Roman fucking Ginetti.

I've stared down men twice my size without blinking. I've negotiated million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. I've killed without hesitation when necessary. I can damn well control my libido.

The bathroom door closes behind me with a soft click. I strip quickly, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and step into the shower.

The cold water hits me like a physical shock, exactly what I need to regain my composure.

As the icy spray pounds against my skin, I force my thoughts away from the woman sleeping in my bed.

Away from soft curves and her summer scent. Away from her parted lips and defiant eyes.

I have a job to do. A daughter to protect. A family to serve.