Page 37 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

I pause, eyes narrowing. “You’re seriously turned on by the fact that I nearly stabbed you?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and brutal. “I’m turned on by the fact that you didn’t blink. You walked into a room full of men who’d kill for the wrong look and didn’t flinch. You were chaos wrapped in class. And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

The air gets hotter, and it’s too thick to breathe. He’s reached my heart. And it’s racing. He’s honest and real. It’s so overwhelming, and I have to look away. Because if he sees me, he’ll know he’s broken my defenses.

My voice is quieter now. “You let me believe you were my enemy.”

“Because I was. Until I wasn’t.”

I stare at him. “What changed it?”

He meets my gaze. “You.”

That does something to me—something I hate.

I shift again, gripping my towel tighter, as if that could hold in everything I’m trying not to feel.

“And if I hadn’t changed your mind?”

“I’d still want you. I’d just lie better about it.”

We stare at each other. There’s no banter left, only the heat of two people who want each other but are too stubborn to give in.

And the terrifying realization that he’s not playing anymore.

And neither am I.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady. “This was supposed to be a ten-date test. ”

He tilts his head, eyes still locked on mine.

“It still is,” he says. “I’m just not the one being tested anymore.”

And that’s the moment I crack. Hell, it’s a raven, and damn him for chipping away at my defenses.

And for the first time in a long time… I don’t have anything clever to say.

His words linger in the room like smoke. I’m not the one being tested anymore.

I swallow, but the saliva won’t go down. The steam curls around us, softening the edges of the room—but not of him. Not of this.

I should say something. I should stand. I should run. But instead…I shift again, slowly, and rest my hand on my leg, leaning in.

“Do you always make declarations of obsession while naked in a sauna?”

He grins, lazy and dangerous. “Only when it works.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. But he sees it.

Of course, he sees it. In one slow, deliberate motion, he slides off the top bench and lowers himself onto the stone seat beside me.

Too close. Far too close.

“You’re playing with fire,” I murmur, even as my thighs tighten under the towel.

“I am fire.” But it lights something in me I can’t name.

He shifts again, closer, but never touching more than that grazing fingertip, and leans in until his mouth is next to my ear.

“If I kissed you right now,” he says, voice a whisper of heat against my skin, “you’d let me.”

My breath catches. I should say no. I want to say no. But my head tilts on instinct, ever so slightly toward him.

“You’re really sure of yourself,” I say, voice soft.

“No,” he replies. “I’m sure of you. ”

His hand brushes my jaw. His thumb barely skims my lower lip. And for one suspended moment, I’m right there. Wanting him. Ready to fall.

His mouth is inches from mine. And then— Knock knock.

“Mr. Petrovi?,” a voice calls from outside. Female. Bright. Incredibly inconvenient.

“Your time is up.” We freeze. I blink like I’ve been shocked out of a trance. He exhales, slow and tight, resting his forehead against mine for half a second before pulling away.

“I’m going to have that woman exiled,” he mutters.

I laugh—sharp and shaky, but real.

“I’m going to thank her,” I counter, standing too quickly and clutching my towel like a lifeline.

His eyes drag down my body, molten and unbothered.

“This isn’t over,” he says, his voice a low growl.

And I know it’s not. Because with one more second...I would’ve let him kiss me. And maybe it would have led to more.

And I still want him to kiss me.

And I want more. God help me.

I stare at myself in the mirror like I’m about to go into battle. And I guess I am. Because this dress rocks.

It’s the one I bought with Joanne—the Ravella piece. It’s a deep emerald silk, covering me like Italian clay, and it’s sexy as sin. The back dips scandalously low. The slit rides higher than necessary. And the neckline? Let’s just say I’m not bending over tonight unless I want to be in the news.

I pair it with black stiletto heels sharp enough to start a war, a swipe of red lipstick, and gold cuffs at my wrists like armor.

Joanne’s voice echoes in my head. If you’re going to lose control, at least look like the reason he does, too.

Game on.

I apply a deep red that looks almost brown and stand back to admire my handiwork before I walk out of the bedroom with the kind of pace that says I’m in control—even if my pulse is trying to crawl out of my throat.

And then I see him standing near the floor-to-ceiling window, phone in one hand, glass of something dark in the other.

Wearing the tailored black Brioni suit that looked like it was sewn onto his body by the devil himself.

His jacket hugs broad shoulders, the shirt collar casually open at the throat, just enough to tease skin and promise power.

His hair’s still slightly tousled, still damp from the shower, and the light catches the edge of his jawline in a way that makes me want to do something very unholy.

And then he turns and smiles.

It’s slow and knowing, and so damn lethal. It’s as if he already knows I’m not wearing panties under the dress.

I haven’t even breathed in properly yet.

Then his scent hits me–musk and sandalwood.

Clean smoke. Something deep and heady that shouldn’t be legal in confined, small spaces.

He smells like sex and sin, the perfect combination to ruin me.

He’s become everything to me that I’ve ever told myself I shouldn’t want. And right now, I’m a liar in heels.

He drinks me in from head to toe. His eyes drag over the dress, my legs, my mouth. But they don’t linger in one spot too long.

Because he’s savoring me, a nd it wrecks me. There’s no way I can resist him.

None.

But I’m going to try, so I lift my chin. “Staring is rude.”

He takes a step closer, and his gaze locks on mine.

“So is showing up in that dress and expecting me to behave. ”

I swallow hard, because damn—that doesn’t level me.

“Dinner?” I manage to eke out.

His voice drops. “Only if I get dessert.”

And just like that—the battle starts all over again.