Page 47 of The Red Queen

Antony stepped closer and dropped his voice, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear. “Your son is damaging your reputation. Some of the other families sense the blood in the water and are already circling like sharks. They will not hesitate to strike if they see a crack in the foundation of house Savino.”

Giovanni nodded thoughtfully. “I take your words seriously, but there’s nothing for you to worry about. I will be here long into my old age, shaking the foundations of Rome and all of Italy.”

Antony grinned and slapped Giovanni on the back. “Make sure of it, old man. I cannot fight off these sharks alone.”

“And so you will not,” Giovanni assured him. “In fact, you may expect a wedding invitation soon. I hope you can attend on short notice?”

“Of course!” the other man exclaimed but looked shocked. “You’re remarrying?”

“Si, to an unparalleled beauty with teeth sharp enough to make a man jump. I consider myself lucky.”

They talked until meeting was called to order. Dino stood respectfully behind his boss’s chair despite the injury he’d suffered only an hour earlier, and the meeting commenced.

Chapter Twenty-One

Giovanni couldn’t help himself. He had to see her. The three days he’d spent in Rome were enough to make him realize he didn’t want to be parted from his captive fiancé for any amount of time, let alone seventy-two hours.

It was a strange feeling. He’d always been an independent man. No woman, not even Antonia, had held his attention for long. Yet for weeks, Desi had battered at his brain and stolen too many of his thoughts.

He sat on the bed next to her prone body and reached out to touch her back.

She rolled over, long hair tangling about her, and sat up, the blankets falling to her waist. She held up a butcher knife, the lethal tip pointed toward his chest.

He grabbed her wrist before she could stab him. “It’s me, Desi.”

“I know,” she whispered.

His eyes dropped down her body and he almost wished he hadn’t looked. She was wearing an extremely brief red silk nighty. It dipped low into her cleavage and one strap had dropped, catching the material against her peaked nipple. He could see the darkness of her areola peeking over the top.

He took the knife from her and set it on the nightstand next to her bed.

“Why did you take a knife, Desi?” he asked, turning back to her. “You’re safe in my home.”

She licked her lips, her pupils dilating as she looked him over. “Old habits.”

“You don’t need your old habits here.”

She smiled slightly. “Give me time, Giovanni.”

“Gio,” he reminded her, reaching out to trace the strap that had fallen. He slid it back onto her shoulder.

“Gio,” she whispered, then said, “You smell like the Venice night.”

He chuckled. “What does a Venice night smell like,bella?”

She was sitting with her long, tanned legs bent on top of the covers, her nighty stopping at her thighs. She wasn’t wearing underwear and the idea of it sent the blood pumping faster through his veins, racing like fire and igniting everything in its path.

“It smells like…” She buried her face in his shoulder, then looked up at him, her dark eyes velvet in the moonlight, “… flowers, ocean, wine… and you.”

He hadn’t meant to touch her. He’d simply wanted to check on her. Make sure she wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but seeing her like this, awake, watching him with those gleaming black orbs, her seductive tone calling to him, he couldn’t help himself. He would die if he didn’t touch her, kiss her, take her.

He gripped her by the shoulders and dragged her to him, covering her mouth with his in a fierce kiss. It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t struggling, wasn’t trying to push him away. She was pulling herself closer, opening herself up to him, wrapping her long legs around his waist as he deepened the kiss.

Together they fell back on the bed, Giovanni over top of Desi, clutching her, while her arms wrapped around him, exploring his back, and shoving at his jacket, trying to yank it from his shoulders. He sat up, shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it away.

She dragged him back down, her lips meeting his in a sizzling explosion of pheromones and heat. She moaned into his mouth and clawed at his shirt, yanking the collar against his throat until she was half strangling him. He gently moved her hands without breaking their kiss and unbuttoned it faster than he’d ever done, yanking it down his back.

Free to explore, Desi ran her hands over his chest and back, sending showers of ecstasy through him. He hadn’t been touched like this in over a decade when he’d decided prostitutes were no replacement for real intimacy. Now he knew he had been waiting for this, for Desi.

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