Page 25 of Forbidden Vows

“Soon.” He gives my hand a firm squeeze. “First, I need a word with you. In private.”

Finally! I’m going to find out what went down. A hint of pride wells in my chest, knowing I’m the only one he trusts with the truth. Off we go, an unstoppable team. He’s pulling me through the dining room, down a hallway off the lobby.

Just being alone with this man makes my heart race. He looks and smellsthatgood. “Where are we going?”

“Here.” He opens a door, pulling me into a small windowless room with gray walls and minimal furniture. He flips the deadbolt, locking everyone out. He gives me an intense look. “I’m not telling the others what's gone on—not yet. Ma and your dad are the only ones who need to know, so I’m going to let them enjoy this party, say goodbye to their guests, and then we are out of here.”

A million questions zing in my brain. “Out of here? Where are we going?”

“The four of us. On the Bachman jet and getting out of New York. You’re all coming back to Italy with me. I know change is difficult for you, but it’s what’s best for now.”

Suddenly, the mafia stuff isn’t so fun. “Blaze, you’re not making any sense. And what happened back there at the church? Where did all those SUVs come from? Why did we have to get out of there so fast?”

“Haze called and told me about a threat at the church.” His hands rest on my shoulders, their warm weight bringing me comfort. His intense green eyes lock with mine. “I need you to trust me.”

Have you ever noticed how rare green eyes are? Not like the hazel-flecked ones, but pure green eyes like his. I have only seen them in the movies.

He gives me a little shake. “Cleo?”

“Yeah?” I blink out of my sexy man trance, coming back to the present situation.

“Do you trust me?” His brows raise, and his earnest look does something to me.

Not sure what, but I want to keep feeling it. “I trust you,” I say.

“Good. Thanks.” He shakes his head, relieved. “I thought you were going to have an issue with going?—”

“I trust you, Blaze. But I’m not going to Italy with you,” I clarify. “That’s crazy.”

“You’re coming with me.” His hand drops to his side. He narrows his gaze, his tone heating to hot coals. “And that’s the end of the discussion.”

“Can’t you just ask one of your mafia lackeys to drive by Seraphina’s occasionally?” I offer.

He moves in, his hand cupping my face as he intensifies his gaze. “Do you think there’s a world where I leave you unprotected for even a moment?”

The cup of his palm tingles my skin as he stares into my eyes a beat too long. I’m the first to break our gaze. “I…um...I appreciate that you care. I can’t just pick up my entire life and move to Italy.”

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine.” His eyes flash, daring me to challenge him. “And I’ve already made my decision. You’re not safe here. You’re going with me. And you’ll be under my eye and by my side every moment until I know you’re out of danger.”

And while this all sounds very sexy in a screwed-up kind of way, “I’m not going, Blaze. I’m sorry. I’ll check in with you daily, so you don’t have to worry, but I’m not leaving the city.”

“I know I can’t tell you more right now, but I’m telling you two things, and you need to trust me. You are in danger. You are going with me.”

I donotappreciate how his stern words make my knees go weak and my heart pound in my ears. But now the heat is starting to turn into annoyance—even anger.

I may have been weak with Keith, trying to stay when he didn’t want me, but that sad little Cleo is gone.

I’m named after a strong queen, and I have a backbone. I straighten my spine to prove it, pulling to my full height (still a foot shorter than him), plant my hands on my hips, and stare up at him with determined eyes.

Steadying my voice to match his commanding confidence, I say, “Blaze Bachman, I am not going with you.” I give a curt nod, a final period on my statement, and turn on the heel of my ballet slipper shoe.

My fingers are brushing against the cool handle of the door when strong hands grab me around the waist, pulling me back. He holds me against him, my back pressed into his chest, my ass precariously close to his cock.

His arms wind around me, a prison of muscle and Armani, and the clean, intoxicating scent of cologne and him—a smell I got pretty used to when we lived together. He has his scent, warm skin, and man and sex, and the smell makes me remember who gave me my newfound strength.

It's intoxicating. When I was a teenager, it confused me. Now, as a woman, his scent enraptures me. Body heat, protection, safety—but I can’t let him tell me what to do.

I know he wants to keep me safe, but my life is already too upside down with the breakup, the revenge porn, our parents’ surprise second marriage, and whatever the heck organized crime debacle happened at the church.

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