Page 28

Mariano dug through the bag, pulling out a t-shirt and slipping it over his head.

It messed up his hair, making it wild. As wild as he was.

The urge to tame it was strong, but I did not feel comfortable touching him.

He was as hard as an ancient marble statue that had settled into its design.

When he turned toward me, our eyes met, and for a flash, scalding hot heat seemed to make his eyes glow.

“You are mine,” he said in Italian. “You are in my system. As vital as the heart in my chest. The blood rushing through my veins. The air in my lungs. You take you out of my system, and I am no longer able to live.”

I went to open my mouth but closed it, knowing anything I said could not recover how deeply I had wounded him. He leaned down, picked me up, and carried me down the hill, his silence as cold as winter.

It seemed the longer we walked, the colder Mariano got. His muscles seemed even harder than before. He had put up a wall between us.

I wanted to say something to break the ice, but I knew nothing I said would crack it. I felt chilled to the bone, trembling in his arms. He kept me closer when he felt it. It did nothing to calm the shakiness. It only made it worse.

This seemed to piss him off even more.

The closer we came to the guest cottages, I could see Mariano’s men loitering around. Before we were close enough to reach them, Mariano barked out an order in Italian for them to move. He wanted them far away from me. Perhaps because underneath his sweater, I was naked.

At my cottage, he let himself in, setting me down on the bed.

He stormed the place, making sure it was safe, and that was when I realized…

he must have done it before. Small changes I had noticed, such as a door being left slightly open when it had been closed.

I sighed, staring at my hands, as if my nail had suddenly cracked.

He said nothing to me as he stormed out. I braced for the slamming of the door, but it never came. He had shut it softly, the light click of it making me flinch.

Sighing again, I stood and went to the bathroom. Ran hot water for a long shower.

All I did was think.

Think and feel panicked.

It was as if a storm was inside of me, and I could not function until there was peace between us again.

I did not recognize this version of me.

She was not me .

I was a capable woman who depended on no one. I did not pine and feel…all these emotions that made me feel unsteady in my own skin. It was a powerful swirl creating an eddy inside of me as strong as the one that had pushed me into his thighs. Right into his arms.

As if nature was telling me… this is it .

This is fate.

I could not remember if I washed my hair or not when I got out of the shower. I wrapped myself up in a robe and paced the length of the small cottage. I did not know whether I should go after him and argue it out or wait for him to return to argue it out.

Growling at myself for being so…pathetic, I picked up my leather bag, all the designs I had been working on tucked inside. My family demanded that I still work while on “vacations.” My grandfather and father could create my designs, but not the same as me.

I could not concentrate. I rested my head on the desk, attempting to calm my breaths.

It was official.

My heart was pining.

Aching.

My thighs and vagina too.

A slight knock came at the door. I leaned back some, hoping to see who it was through the window next to the front entrance. Although a curtain shielded the glass some, it was sheer and breezy.

Marciano waved at me.

I really liked Marciano. He reminded me of Romeo Fausti, who I always enjoyed designing for, although my father took care of that generation more than I did.

Romeo seemed to be the most genial of Luca Fausti’s sons, although I had heard plenty of stories about him as well. He might have been slow to anger, but he was still a dangerous Fausti. As dangerous as the lions tattooed on their flesh.

I could never deny that the family lived up to the hype of being dangerous.

No matter how far the branch, all the men seemed to share a lion’s spirit.

Perhaps years ago, when at the start of the lineage, a Gladiator ancestor had traded his spirit for a lion he had battled in the arena, and that spirit had been kept alive through the ages.

Marciano was another perfect specimen of that lineage.

He was darker than Mariano, and…bigger somehow.

It looked as if he could pop a man’s head with one squeeze of his bicep.

He wore a black t-shirt that looked close to ripping.

It jarred me for a moment. I was not accustomed to seeing them in such relaxed clothing. It was usually custom-made suits.

I cracked the door, since I was not dressed, and gave him a shot at my best smile. His eyes narrowed and his face fell into what seemed more natural for him and his brothers—a serious look.

“You okay, Spicy Sissy?”

Despite myself, and the turmoil churning inside of me, my smile relaxed into a more natural one. “ Sì. Just…”

My eyes widened at the sight of Mariano charging behind him. I was too slow. Marciano had heard him coming, and he seemed to be bracing himself. Of course. In their family, hierarchy was king. Marciano was behind Mariano.

Mariano had a sweatshirt on, the hood pulled up, and a pair of sweatpants and running shoes.

He was covered in sweat. It ran down his face in crystal streams. He looked between the two of us before he stopped in front of his brother.

Only a breath existed between their bodies.

In the coldest and hardest voice I had ever heard Mariano use, he basically ordered his brother to get the fuck away and go to his own accommodations.

Marciano nodded to him as a soldier, not a brother, would, then turned and left. Remo met him to show him the way.

I opened the door a little wider. “That was rude!”

He looked me over, the ice in his eyes not melted, even with the flash of heat for the silk robe. I pulled it tighter, fighting the urge not to take steps back. He was intimidating this way. If it would have been cold out, he would have been breathing smoke.

He said nothing.

He said nothing for so long, I did not understand what we were doing. Then his eyes flashed to the door, and somehow, I understood. I opened it wider. An invitation to come in.

As soon as the door closed, we turned on each other.

“I was only suggesting!” I shouted, picking up where we had left off at the hot springs.

“Fuck that suggestion!” he roared, waving his hand.

“I am new at this.” I waved a hand, almost crazily. “I did not mean it, or I did, but…only because I do not want to see you in trouble. The law between my family and yours dictates blood, almost.”

He moved closer to me, so close that his breath washed across my face. I took a few steps back, and he took advantage of the space. His body overwhelmed mine, but something told me that, if I held a hand up, he would have bowed down to me.

“The only wounds I cannot recover from are the cuts you dole out, whether from your mouth or your hands,” he said in Italian.

I swallowed hard, my eyes frantically searching his. “All right,” I breathed. “Take me then. Take me to bed. Not to get it out of our systems, but to wash us in each other, so the entire world knows we belong to each other.”

He smiled, and my heart picked up. He had a hunter’s smile. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Annie. Not right now.”

“Not right now,” I repeated, my voice so lame compared to his.

“Not right now.” He stared into my eyes so long, I started to squirm, and with a step away, he one-handedly removed his sweatshirt, going for the bathroom.

I gulped in air, not having been aware that for more than a few seconds, I had been holding my breath. I was Italian, passionate as well, but I had nothing, absolutely nothing, on the blood that ran through that man’s veins.

The scent of him snuck out of the door in clouds of steam, overwhelming my small cottage. I stopped right outside of the bathroom, then sighed as I made it to the bed. I plopped down, relieved not to have to carry my bones for a while.

He came out, a towel around his waist, drying his hair with another. It was wild, and somehow, I knew his hair connected to his moods.

My breath caught for a second, because I knew in that moment, looking at Mariano Fausti, I was looking at my future. Perhaps the look on my face had changed. One of his eyebrows quirked up in question. All I could do was shrug and curl up in the bed.

After a few minutes, I turned to look. He was waiting.

Just as he was waiting for me to invite him inside.

I pulled the covers down on the opposite side, and he slipped in next to me.

Although there was tension lingering between us, the storm had passed, and all I could feel was peace—his body was next to mine as he pulled me close, keeping me wrapped in his warm arms.