Page 20 of Thorns of Death

The scariest thing about this guy wasn’t that ruthless, lethal energy that I could see clearly now. It was his deranged mental state. Because the Italian was L-O-C-O. Shit, was that Spanish? Either way, Spanish or Italian, it made him extremely dangerous.

“Listen, it was one night.”And you are married, you crazy fucking dipshit. “I have standards, and there are certain lines I don’t cross. I don’t knowingly sleep with married or unavailable men,” I spat. Nor criminals, but it was better not to push it too far. Criminals killed; cheaters didn’t. I had a good enough excuse already. “To each their own, but you and Iarefinished. Finito!”

That had to be Italian, goddamn it!

“So youhavemet Donatella.” Yes, that was his dead wife’s name. Fuck this bullshit, I wanted out of this goddamn triangle. I didn’t need more problems in my life.

“Excuse me, my friends—”

“No.”

My eyebrows rose to my hairline. “No?”

“We are not finished.” Something about him thinking that it was okay to use me as his disposable pleasure toy had my spine snapping into a painful line.

“Yes, we are,” I hissed. “I don’t have time for this shit, nor your deranged ass.”

It was as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Have dinner with me, Isla.”

“I’m not interested in having dinner with you,” I sputtered.

Did he not hear that I wanted nothing to do with him? His face remained an inscrutable mask.

“Fine, then let’s go straight to fucking.”

“What?” I snapped, bewildered. Did I sleep with a lunatic? “I don’t think so. You go… go and do your thing. As long as it’s not with me. I am not the ‘other woman,’ and I’m not interested in being one,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.

“You won’t be the other woman.”

I bared my teeth, my patience running thin. “My answer remains the same.” Then, in case he hadn’t grasped it yet, “I. Am. Not. Interested.”

I went to sidestep him when his hand wrapped around my wrist. My eyes lowered to where his strong fingers gripped me like a band of fire. Unlike most of the men I’d met, Enrico’s hand wasn’t smooth nor soft. It was rough, calloused, and it sent something boiling hot leaking into my bloodstream.

His touch—just like two nights ago—was heavy, firm, and experienced. It made me hyper aware of his proximity. The aftershave he used had my body tingling with sensations that I knew only he could extinguish. Or ignite into worse flames.

No, no, no.

I shook my head. He was married. It was a hard line for me. Everything in me revolted at the idea of being the other woman. I was an illegitimate daughter—an Evans, not a Konstantin, because my father had refused to marry my mother—and although I had no intention of having kids, we were nothing if not made of principles.Right?

He closed the small distance between us, towering over me, and it took all my courage not to cower. My senses were so heightened that his scent shot straight to my head and goose bumps broke out over my bare arms. He smelled so damn good—like citrus and spice. And I knew the man was spicy.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice was dark. Seductive. It made it hard to process his words.

“What do you mean?” I breathed, blinking. He was intoxicating. If I didn’t get away from the cheating devil, I’d ravish him in the first dark corner I could find.

“I want another night.” I had no doubt this man got everything—fucking everything—he ever wanted. All he had to do was snap his fingers, and people obliged. I refused to be one of them, if not for the simple reason that it was wrong.

“Well, go have another night,” I said sweetly. “With your wife. Or someone else. But it won’t be with me.” His grip on my wrist tightened. “Let go of me, or I’ll make a scene.”

The moment the words slipped through my lips, I knew it wouldn’t matter to him. If he was in the mafia, I’d wager causing scenes was right up his alley.

His gaze traveled over me, slowly and sensually, and damn it, my body responded to the heat radiating from every inch of his big, muscled frame. My pulse kicked into high gear, and I watched as his gaze locked on the throbbing vein in my neck.

He smiled, those full lips curving smugly, but still his eyes flashed with darkness. The consuming kind that would refuse to let me go. I shivered in response. My eyes, half-lidded, met his, unable to break this pull he had on me. I imagined he knew it too.

He took a step closer, his sculpted body barely brushing against mine. Unable to move, I held my breath—waiting—as a hazy rush of lust pooled in my lower stomach. It pulled at my muscles, stretching me thin, and suddenly I worried whether I was strong enough to resist this man.

“Enrico, we have a—” The interruption was welcome. By me, at least. Judging by Enrico’s expression, it wasn’t perceived well by him. He was pissed off at the intruder. Fucker thought he got me.