Page 18 of The Bonventi Secret

And just like that, I'm alone with Enzo Bonventi.

Enzo turns back to me, his blue eyes intense. "Now, cara mia, where were we?"

Now that I'm alone, my fight-or-flight instincts take hold, and I stand.

"I—" I say and am cut off.

"You must be tired from the overnight flight. Let me show you to your room where you can shower and rest."

"I am," I say, the words coming out of my mouth. It's true, so much has happened in the last 12 hours, I feel like a walking zombie. But then I remember the reason why I'm feeling this way, and I look up at Enzo.

“I’m not just going to accept this,” I say, my voice firm with everything I've got.

Enzo's lips curve into a smile that's equal parts amused and predatory. "I would expect nothing less, Livia. In fact, I'm counting on it."

ENZO - 6

Iturn the doorknob and step into my study. Gabriel is there, standing awkwardly by the bookshelf, his face stern and full of anxiety, but it's not him I'm here to see. My eyes scan the room and are immediately drawn to the woman seated before me.

Livia Falcone.

My future wife.

The sight of her catches me off guard. Beyond photos, it's been years since I've seen her, and I now realize images haven't done her justice.

The first thing that strikes me is her disheveled appearance. Her chestnut brown hair, which in pictures is long and flowing, is up in a messy bun. A few strands gently lay on her cheeks, framing her face almost perfectly.

Her eyes, a deep, rich brown, are red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears. There are faint tracks on her cheeks where earlier tears have dried. Her full lips are slightly parted, a soft, tempting pink that begs to be claimed.

I wonder what they taste like.

She's beautiful, even more so in her vulnerability.

I find my gaze drawn to the soft, gentle side of her neck, the rapid pulse I can see beating there. My eyes trace the curve of her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts, the fabric of her wrinkled shirt pulled taut across them. She's a captivating blend of strength and fragility, her posture rigid with defiance yet trembling with the effort it takes to maintain it.

My gaze continues its descent, lingering on the flare of her hips, the way her jeans cling to her slender legs.

An unwelcome heat of arousal, a spark of raw interest that has no place in the strategic outlook of my life. But there's no denying it. Livia Falcone, with her tear-stained cheeks and fierce brown eyes, has awakened something primal within me.

I force myself to speak while maintaining my composure.

"Livia," I say, my voice steady despite the unexpected surge of desire. "Welcome to my home."

She doesn't respond, just stares at me with those wide, frightened eyes. I move further into the room, focused solely on her, almost unable to look away.

After some back and forth, I get a taste of the fire within her. However, I'm unsure if it's there because her brother is standing 10 feet from her or if it's a part of who she is. I need to find out, so for the first time, I look up and acknowledge Gabriel.

I walk over and lean into him to tell him in a low tone so she won't hear, "I will take care of her from now on. You've done your part."

Leaning back, I dismiss him loudly so she knows she'll now be alone with me.

Let's see if the fire dies.

Once Gabriel leaves, she stands.

“Look, I —” she tries to speak, but I cut her off, “Let us go —” to which she interrupts me and responds with, "I won't make this easy for you."

Hmm, maybe the fire is part of her.