Page 319 of Rosetti Family New York

"Then we stay," I say simply. "But tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?"

I stand, holding her face in my hands. "Tomorrow, I remind you why you're worth fighting for. Why you're worth choosing over everything else."

Her breath catches, her eyes widening as she sees my intent. "Emilio..."

"You promised you wouldn't run again, Mara. No more hiding or pretending this is just about survival." I lightly kiss her lips, sensing her uncertainty and fear. "Tomorrow, I court youproperly. Show you what it means to be claimed by someone who sees you as more than just a conquest."

"And tonight?"

I grin against her mouth, my smile filled with promise. "Tonight, we survive. Together."

As I pull her onto the rough mattress, I make myself a vow. Tomorrow, I'll surround her with luxury so she remembers what it's like to be cherished. I'll break through her defenses with pleasure and comfort and the kind of care that makes a woman forget why she was ever scared.

18

Mara

Le Bernardin glowed in soft gold. Empty tables were set with crystal that caught the warm light. Emilio had arranged it all. The whole restaurant was closed just for us.

"The entire restaurant?" I look around the lavish space. "How did you—"

"Money opens doors." He sounds pleased as he watches me. "Sometimes it's the only language that matters."

The maître d’ appears with polished confidence. "Mr. Rosetti, everything has been prepared according to your specifications."

We sit at a corner table, private with a clear view of the entrance. I can’t quite believe we went from that motel room to this temple of food.

"You didn't have to do this," I say as Emilio settles across from me, his dark eyes watching my face in the candlelight.

"Yes, I did." He reaches across the table and brushes my fingers. "After what happened with Matteo, after what I said... I needed you to understand something."

"Which is?"

"That choosing you wasn't desperation or obsession." His thumb traces my knuckles. "It was the sanest decision I've ever made."

The sommelier brings a bottle of wine and explains where it came from. I barely hear him, too focused on how Emilio's touch sends a thrill up my arm, how his eyes never leave mine.

When we're alone again, the first course arrives. I look at him in the soft light: dark jeans and a black cashmere sweater that fits his slim build. Other rich men dress to show off, but Emilio moves as if he has nothing to prove.

"Tell me about Paris," he says as we begin eating. "The gallery opening where you wore the red dress."

My fork pauses. "I forgot you were watching."

"Always." No shame, no apology. "You stood by the Monet for twenty-three minutes. What were you thinking about?"

I remember that Paris gallery, thinking about the man who taught me to see beauty. "You, probably. I was thinking about you."

His lip curves. "Even while you were running from me."

"Especially then." I sip wine that tastes rich and complex. "You were everywhere I went, Emilio. Every beautiful thing reminded me of what I'd walked away from."

The next course arrives, but I barely taste it. My mind races for a way to change our dynamic. I want some of the power I had in that penthouse, when I made him watch without touching.

An idea takes shape. Risky, dangerous, but exactly right for this moment.

Under the white tablecloth, I take off my heels. The carpet feels thick under my stockinged feet as I stretch my leg toward his chair, testing boundaries.