Page 52 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
Contessa Castellanois not safe.
From me.
Contessa
The freeway passes in a blur of Fleetwood Mac and Chanel Mademoiselle as the wind whips up my hair.
I allow my senses to tune out my neurotic thoughts. It’s helping to cover up the guilt I feel at leaving Cristiano’s for a pool party instead of accompanying Trilby to her gallery. And, handily, it’s softening the urge to scream the words “I fucking hate you, Bernadi” at the top of my lungs.
Howdarehe? He insists on following me around when I never asked him to, and I hate that he’s doing it under the guise of defending me from myself. He looks at me like he hasn’t eaten any solid food for days and is prepared to try human for the first time. Then he just goes ahead and ignores me, like I don’t even exist.
I shake the image of hisburnt bronze eyes from my head and my gaze catches in the rearview, and something—someone—is driving like an absolute lunatic, seemingly in pursuit of my car. I glance at the road ahead. Thankfully it’s clear. Looking in my rearview again, I see a black BMW getting closer, faster. Whoever’s behind the wheel must be driving at a hundred forty miles per hour, at least.
I look straight ahead and press my foot to the accelerator. My hair whips around my face and I wipe it away with a shaking hand. I suddenly wish Bernadiwasfollowing me.
I jab at the dash, trying to locate a number to call. Papa, Cristiano, Trilby…anyone.
In the corner of my eye, I see the car closing in. It’s too close now. My foot is flat to the floor but the BMW has power that my car simply doesn’t. It sails past and pulls in front of me. Then it slows right down.
I jam my foot on the brake and the rear wheels skid to the side. I scream, my hair rushing forward and obscuring my view of the road.
I’m a dead woman.
In seconds, my car finally screeches to a halt. Through my beating heart and hazed vision I can just about form an image of a man stepping out of the BMW and running towards me.
Mentally, I surrender. He’s got me, whoever he is. There’s no way I can get out of this vehicle and walk, let alone run. I’m a mass of shaking limbs and lightheadedness.
The door to the driver’s seat is yanked open and astrong hand wraps around my neck, hauling me out of the car, pressing my back against the black metal.
I’m half-panting, half-sobbing when a face rams up against mine and I almost faint with relief.
“What theFUCKwas that?” Bernadi yells, his saliva hitting my cheek.
The relief is so immense, my chest feels too light. So light that I laugh. Ilaugh. In Bernadi’s face. I can’t help myself.
If I thought I’d seen darkness, I was mistaken. Bernadi’s glare thickens like molasses and a growl rolls out from somewhere deep within him.
“I swear to God, Contessa, if you don’t shut the hell up now, I’m going to either slap you or fuck you.”
My mouth snaps closed.
I search his eyes for some suggestion he’s spoken out of turn, that he’s said something wildly inappropriate to his boss’s sister-in-law—something he absolutely has to retract, but his gaze only thickens. That’s when I realize… he might be a paid consigliere but he answers to no one. If he wants to slap me, he will, and not even Cristiano can stop him. And if he wants to fuck me… I swallow.
He shoves his hips into me, pressing me flat against the car. Something hard presses into my pelvic bone. The thought of what it might be tears breath from my lungs. The pain of the pressure is quickly overtaken though by an intense heat that crawls over my clit and up through my core. If he wasn’t pressing me into the car, I might’ve crumbled to the ground.
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, my hoarse throat aching with the effort.
He slips a hand into my hair and fists it at the follicles, taking a never-ending breath that expands his chest until my mine feels like it’s about to collapse under the force.
When he speaks, it’s as though his voice has been taken over by wolves. “Try. Me.”
My thighs tremble and I become distantly aware that my panties are starting to feel damp. I should be cold with fear but I’m burning hot…everywhere.
“Wh—” My throat feels scratchy when I swallow. “Why are you here?”
His gaze drops to my lips where I’ve just wet them with my tongue and he rolls his shoulders as though he’s holding himself back.
“I’m taking you home.”
