Page 29 of Thorns of Death
“Fuck,” we both muttered at the same time. He rubbed his chin while I massaged my scalp.
“You okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned, but I refused to fall for it. That suave, handsome Italian face, strong body and—fuck, that mouth. It was all a mask. The guy was a cheater.
“I’d be better if you weren’t here,” I hissed, pissed off that my body warmed up under his scrutiny.
He ignored my biting comment, picked up the rest of the items from the ground, and took the bags out of my hand.
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe that,” he remarked calmly. “Open the door, Isla, or we’ll end up fucking in this hallway, and I don’t really feel like giving your neighbors a show.”
My cheeks burned. The nerve of this man. Yes, he had charisma, and I knew the most mouthwatering body hid under that custom-made suit. But the cheater was a scumbag no matter what body you put him into.
“Mr. Marchetti—”
“Enrico,” he said, cutting me off and dipping his head with a breathtaking smile. “Please call me Enrico. You’ve screamed it plenty of times before. Too late to revert to formalities now.”
I blinked, my mouth parting in shock. I couldn’t decide whether that was being crude or hot. I needed to be smacked so reason would return. But there was nobody else around, and I couldn’t very well smack myself. That might just send off some weird alarms—to this Italian daddy and to my own self-respect.
Someone cleared their throat and both of us lifted our heads to find Louis, my odd-as-fuck, creeper-peeper landlord watching our exchange with interest. All he needed was a chair and some popcorn.
Shaking my head and muttering under my breath, I finally pushed the key into the lock and opened the door. I kicked off my flats and continued into the apartment. Enrico shut the door behind him with his foot and followed me into the small kitchen with my bags.
I could feel him scoping the place out. It wasn’t luxurious like the place my brother kept in the city, but this was mine and my best friends’ home. It was our sanctuary—paid for with our own money—and nobody could tell us what we could or couldn’t do.
He set the bags on the kitchen counter. I started to unpack them, hyper aware of the presence behind me.
“What do you want, Mr. Marchetti?” I asked, never pausing my movements. I didn’t bother to look at him. It was too tempting to drown in his dark gaze. Maybe I was a weak woman, or maybe I was too susceptible to his practiced charm, but I couldn’t risk standing chest to chest and falling into his arms.
The oddest part was that nobody had ever impacted me like this man.
“How much longer are you going to ignore me?” His deep voice carried a cold tenor, giving me a glimpse of the ruthless man Reina believed him to be. I silently cursed myself for being impulsive and falling into his bed.
I’d been so damn eager and willing.
I shut the fridge door and slowly turned around, facing him. My eyes skimmed over his broad shoulders and down his impeccable suit. He studied me, his gaze burning with lust as it singed my insides while butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach. My heart stilled for several beats, then sped into an unnatural rhythm.
“You have my attention, Mr. Marchetti,” I said, keeping my voice toneless and sticking to formalities. I didn’t want him to see the impact he had on me. “Now what?”
He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne reaching me. Instinctively, I took a step back, my back pressing against the fridge door. He took another step, and suddenly, all I could feel and smell was him. The scent of his aftershave seeped into my lungs, intoxicating and overwhelming. It was worse knowing how his mouth felt on my skin. How good he felt inside me.
His hand slid up my neck, fisting in my hair. He watched me through eyes too obscure to read, and though there was this lethal energy surrounding him, there was so much sex appeal too. I could taste it on my tongue. I could feel it in every fiber of my bones. I feared I’d combust into an orgasm just from the light brush of his body against mine.
“Now, we’ll talk,” he said, his mouth brushing against my earlobe. A hazy wave swarmed my mind and my eyelids grew heavy. “And then we’ll fuck.” A shiver ghosted my spine, and to my horror, I tilted my head to allow him better access.
His lips skimmed down my neck and a moan climbed up my throat. My heart was beating in my ears, and I hated myself for feeling this incredible desire for this man. His heat overwhelmed me while his touch seared through my skin, leaving my pulse crackling like sparks on the pavement.
“No.” My voice was weak. He was too close. Not close enough. I turned my head to the side so I could breathe in air that wasn’thim.
His mouth stopped trailing a burning path over my skin, and I hated myself for the pang of regret I felt. I didn’t want him to stop, but Ineededhim to stop. I didn’t want scraps. I wanted a love so deep that I’d feel it in every cell of my body. And being the other woman never led to being the love of someone’s life.
Enrico’s lips pressed against my ear, words rough and his accent thick. “Tell me,dolcezza. What is stopping us?”
I let out a frustrated breath. “For starters, your wife.” I couldn’t even believe he’d ask the question. “I already told you I don’t fuck around with married men.”
He pulled away, his dark eyes finding mine. “I’m not married. There is no wife in my life that you need to worry about.”
Disbelief filled me, and I fought an eye roll. “Right.” I scoffed. There was still a small—very small—part of me that hoped Enrico Marchetti’s wife was indeed dead and this was her delusional evil twin sister. Did it make me a good person to wish for something like that? Fuck no. Did it stop me from wishing for it? Unfortunately not, and fuck if I’d apologize. So I tested the fucker. “That’s why your wife has been following me around all week. Because I have ‘nothing’ to worry about.”
His shoulders stiffened and his gaze flickered with so much loathing that I felt myself pause at his strange reaction. He focused on my face, but something dark and dangerous in his eyes had me reeling.
