Page 41 of Veil of Vengeance

“What can I help with?” I feel kind of useless just standing in the middle of the kitchen.

“In there, you’ll find milk and eggs.” She tilts her head at the two large fridges near a closed door. I look around, debating whether to try to escape. Once I reach the fridges, I decide against it, because Mara will be blamed and she’s just being nice. And the possibility of no guards being at the door is slim to none. So instead, I open one of the fridge doors and grab the milk and place it on the counter, before heading back and grabbing the egg carton. Mara eyes me, but she doesn’t say anything. I go and stand beside her and start pouring the dry ingredients into the bowl. I can see from the corner of my eye that she has moved to the edge of the counter and is pressing something.

A song comes on. I quickly recognize it. It’s “Fly Me to the Moon”

by Frank Sinatra. She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she sways from side to side. I laugh and shake my head at her and turn back to the bowl. The music floats around the kitchen, making my skin tingle and my stomach fill with butterflies. I whisk the dry and wet ingredients together as Mara continues to dance around while whisking a second batch. She spills some of the mixture on the floor, but she just steps over it and continues to dance.

By the time we’re done and have the cookies in the oven, we’re covered from head to toe in cocoa powder and Mara has some chocolate mix on the tip of her nose. We sit on the counters after we’ve wiped them down and mopped the floors. Our legs dangle as we talk about how different New York and Chicago are, when the absolute bane of my existence walks into the kitchen with his nose buried in his phone, his eyebrows pulled together so close he looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. Oh God, I really fucking hope he does.

An idea crosses my mind and I turn my head to look at Mara to see if she’s thinking what I’m thinking. The corners of my mouth lift in a twisted smile as we both nod and get off the counters with a thump. Emiliano’s head snaps up and his eyes narrow into slits once they land on me. I return his glare with my middle finger, at which he scowls before slipping his phone into his pocket.

Mara and I each grab a handful of flour when he comes close enough. He realizes his mistake too late and growls as he lunges at us, now covered in flour. Me and Mara scream as we try to get away, but only Mara manages to escape out of the kitchen with her giggles drifting behind her. I try to move to the end of the counter nearest to the door, but he blocks me by going to the other side as well. I move left, he follows. I move right, he follows. I huff out a breath when we continue this little dance a couple more times.

“This isn’t fair, you let her go,” I argue. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“What isn’t fair, ragazza mocciosa, is the fact that I’m covered in fucking flour,” he growls.

I shrug my shoulders. “Come on, it's not that bad. Don’t be dramatic. At most, you're just dusted with flour.”

He clearly doesn’t like what I said because he lunges forward and is able to catch me off guard. Grabbing my wrist, he twists it behind my back, effectively trapping me between his body and the counter. I see his hand reach for the flour and scoop a handful of it. Oh my God.

I try to wiggle to get out of his grasp, but it’s no use. His laugh echoes in the kitchen, making my cheeks heat in the process as I watch his face break out in a breathtaking smile. Dimples digging into his cheeks make my breath catch in my throat. His usual dark and cold eyes are light and warm as he regards me with humor, and my chest constricts, an ache settling in between my breasts. Fucking hell. I’m not blind; heisan attractive man, but I cannot actually be attractedtohim. A mischievous gleam enters his gaze and the corners of my eyes pinch as they narrow at him. He returns it with a smirk.

His hot breath is in my ear. “I wouldn’t call you dramatic if you were covered in flour by someone you barely tolerate, Valentina.” My name rolls off his tongue like a caress, and I like that way too much. I can feel his smirk as he presses his lips over my ear.

“Now, should I cover you in flour as well?” he purrs, and I shake my head feverishly. He lets out a breathless laugh and whispers, “I’m afraid that isn’t good enough. I need you to use your words.”

“No.”

“No, what?” he asks, and I grind my teeth.

“No, please, don’t cover me in flour.”

He sharply inhales a lungful of air.

“Why would I do that?” he asks, his hard body pressing into mine.

“Because you want to be nice?” I wince at the stupidity of my words. He huffs out another laugh. I try to get out again by wiggling, but he whispers harshly.

“Try that again, and I’ll drench you in flour and eggs, and then fry you in oil.”

I freeze, his flippant tone gone.

“This isn’t fair. I wasn’t the only one to cover you in flour.” I’m resorting to whining, and if that gets me out, then I don’t care about anything else.

An idea comes to me so prominently that I grasp it and act it out before thinking. I use my free arm to elbow him in the stomach, but all that does is result in him huffing out a breath. Before I know it, I’m twisted around and pressed up against his front, my chest heaving. I search his face for any hint of an explanation, but I’m rudely disrupted when he wipes the full hand of flour down the side of my face. My eyes widen, and he bursts out into laughter at my expression.

“This isn’t funny, asshole,” I admonish, but he just laughs harder.

He wipes the corner of his eye as he says between laughs, “No, it really is.”

His laughter dies down, his eyes searching my face, scrutinizing, before they dip to my mouth. A shallow breath escapes from my lips and his throat bobs, his eyes still fixated on them. My stomach tightens as I feel his fingertips dance across my back.

“You know that your fiancé must be devastated by you being kidnapped.” As his breath fans over my lips, I swallow, feeling my throat dry. He leans into me farther, and I involuntarily arch my back to be closer to him. Heat radiates off his body in waves.

“I don’t have a fiancé,” I breathe. With his lips hovering centimeters over mine, they slightly graze as I say each word.

“Not yet,” is all he says before his lips meet mine. My skin heats and my cheeks burn as my brain feels fuzzy. The kiss is savage, all I could ever want. I loop my arm around his neck as his hands roam over my body, every touch lighting me up inside. A gasp escapes from my mouth when he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, before swiping his tongue to soothe, making my thighs clench. Cheeks flushing, he swallows my moan as his hand rolls over my hard nipple. I press myself into him, wanting more,needingmore. He releases a groan when I grind into him, not breaking the kiss. God, if he could kiss like this, then how would?—

---