Page 64 of Pietro

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PIETRO

"Where are we going?" she asks when I turn away from the route to the compound.

"The office."

She turns to me, confusion creasing her brow. "The office? Why?"

I pull into the underground parking garage of Sartori Import & Export. The security guard nods as we pass, not questioning.

"Because I need to be alone with you," I say, killing the engine. "Not with my entire family listening through the walls."

The compound has too many ears, too many eyes. Whatever's haunting Nora, whatever made her pale at the gala, I want her to tell me without fear of being overheard.

The elevator doors close behind us, sealing us in silence. Nora leans against the wall,. The dress was made for her. I can't imagine seeing it on another woman.

"Whatever you're running from," I say, watching her reflection in the polished doors, "whatever you're afraid of, I can help you."

Her eyes meet mine in the reflection. "Pietro?—"

"Just give me a name." My voice drops lower, darker. "One name, and I'll make him disappear. Whoever hurt you, whoever you're hiding from—they won't breathe another day."

The elevator stops at the executive floor. Neither of us moves.

"It's not that simple," she whispers.

"It is that simple." I turn to her, cupping her face. "You're mine to protect now. Nothing touches what's mine."

Something flickers in her eyes—fear, guilt, longing—I can't decipher it before she closes the distance between us. Her lips press against mine, soft and desperate.

I know what she's doing. Using this to avoid whatever truth she's hiding. I should stop her. Should demand answers.

But her mouth is heaven, and I'm a damned man starving for salvation.

My hands slide to her waist, pulling her against me. She tastes like champagne and secrets, sweet and intoxicating. Her fingers thread through my hair, nails scraping my scalp, and a groan escapes me.

Fuck. I've wanted this since she walked into my office. Wanted to claim that defiant mouth, to feel her surrender. Now she's pressed against me, soft curves against hard angles, and it's better than any fantasy.

I back her against the elevator wall, my hands everywhere. Her waist, her hips, the bare skin of her back where the dress dips low. She arches into me, making a sound that shoots straight to my cock.

Her lips part, inviting me deeper, and I take the invitation. My tongue slides against hers, claiming, possessing. She's fire inmy arms, burning away the emptiness that's lived inside me for years.

I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her throat. "Tell me what you're running from," I murmur against her pulse.

"Not tonight." Her voice is breathless, her hands fisted in my jacket. "Please, Pietro. Tonight, just?—"

"Just what?" I lift my head, meeting her eyes.

"Just make me forget everything but you."

The words hit me like a bullet to the chest. No woman has ever looked at me the way she does. Like I could break her or save her, and she's willing to risk either.

I should say no. Should demand the truth first.

Instead, I reach past her to press the button for my executive floor.

"Tonight," I agree, brushing my thumb across her lower lip. "But tomorrow, no more secrets."