Page 9 of Trapped

Tingling pitted my stomach. “One time?”

“I’m not risking all this to get laid once. I’ll have you as often as I want.”

I balled the tissue in my hand. “For how long?”

A feline smirk tipped his mouth. “To be determined.”

“I need a timetable. I can’t be your plaything indefinitely.”

“You don’t make demands with me,” he warned, still smiling.

“What happens when you’re bored? I’m on my own, as far as Dimitri is concerned?”

He frowned. “I don’t take care of someone only to throw them away.”

My cheeks flushed. Hopefully, he’d blame it on the alcohol. My skin was too hot, and my mind kept racing. Did he mean that?

I drained my drink, and he refilled it. As soon as he finished pouring, I grabbed the glass and drank from it deeply.

“And when you’re done with me?” I asked.

He shrugged. “We go our separate ways.”

“But you’ll protect me? That’s…reasonable.”

“Nothing about this will be reasonable. I don’t share. I’m a jealous asshole. Once you’re mine, no other man so much as breathes near you. Also, this isn’t a business transaction. You don’t get to walk away when it’s convenient for you.”

I bit my lip. “And if I agree?”

“You’ll never see Dimitri again.”

“That’s all I want.”

His gaze didn’t leave mine. “Then it’s not a hard decision.”

Itwas, though.

Santino made it sound simple, like all I had to do was nod and my life would be fixed. I’d never have to face Dimitri or worry about my father’s wrath, but this clearly wouldn’t be an equal partnership.

What choice did I have?

I took a deep breath, reaching for the drink. I downed the rest in a gulp. My eyes met his again.

“When can you get me out?”

FOUR

DELILAH

Today was my wedding, but the man I planned to abandon at the altar barely crossed my thoughts.

I sat in my bedroom, playing with my phone. Inside the case was a slip of paper with a number I had to call but couldn’t. My soon-to-be ex-fiancé didn’t tolerate other men in my life, especially Italian men with seductive grins who lurked in dark corners.

Santino.

After I’d agreed to be his, he told me in explicit detail what he wanted. Santino hadn’t bothered with sweet words. He’d laid out his terms with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. It would happen tonight after he whisked me away from the wedding. I had to confirm that we were good, but I couldn’t contact him. Not with Zofia hovering and Dimitri’s men outside my bedroom.

I put my phone down. The stylist doused me in hair spray as I grabbed a half-filled bottle of vodka and swallowed a mouthful.

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