Page 9 of Unworthy Ties
I stifled a laugh at her words. “Unlike my brother, I haven’t slept with every attractive woman in Manhattan.”
“Don’t say that about him,” Gabriella said, her eyes flickering with hurt.
There it was again, that small flame of jealousy that ignited within me each time she defended him. It was as if she thought he was a saint while I was the devil himself.
Looking at her flushed face, the small flame burned brighter than I had ever imagined, until a raging inferno in my chest took its place. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her lips into mine, my other hand snaking around her waist, pulling her closer. The surprise in her eyes only fueled my passion.
I kissed her hard, my tongue exploring the sweetness of her mouth. Gabriella stiffened, then melted against me, her arms wrapping themselves around my neck.
Gabriella’s inexperience was evident; her lips fumbled against mine, her movements uncertain. But there was a passion there, a raw hunger that matched my own. It was intoxicating.
I hardened at the sensation of her against me, her taste, her scent, all driving me into a fevered frenzy. I had to end this now before I took it too far.
I broke away from the kiss, and she gasped for air, her chest heaving against mine.
Her eyes were glossy, dilated, revealing a mixture of fury and desire. “I hate you,” she said, still breathing rapidly from the intensity of our kiss.
“Hm. Your body tells a different story.” I flicked my gaze down to her pebbled nipples, which were painfully obvious even with a bra and t-shirt.
“Ugh! Just take me home,” she said, breaking away from me and storming through the front door.
“Don’t want what you were looking for?” I asked, looking at the pile of boxes.
“No,” she responded, not bothering to face me.
Gabriella saw me as a devil indeed, but she seemed to forget that even some devils could be angels to the right person. Unfortunately for her, that devil wasn’t me.
Chapter 5
Gabriella
Today was all wrong.
Not that I was expecting a good day; it was my wedding day after all. In less than an hour, I would officially be married to the wrong Marchioni brother.
The wedding was being held at my family’s estate; our sprawling gardens had a sea of cream and pastel roses, their sweet scent wafting through the arched windows of the manor. Gilded chairs were arranged meticulously amidst the verdant expanse, gleaming under the sunlight, while a string quartet played soft, mournful melodies that echoed around the manicured hedges.
My bridal party was sure to be in one of our spare rooms on the first floor, gathering together to prepare for walking down the aisle.
I, however, was pacing around my room, a nervous wreck. In moments like these I would normally talk to Giuseppe, but mystuffed cat had gotten packed in the mass amount of boxes I took to Rocco’s house, and I hadn’t been able to find him before I left.
I scribbled a drawing of Giuseppe on printer paper and taped it against my vanity, hoping it would do the trick.
“I can’t believe I have to get married to him,” I said, talking to the poorly drawn picture of Giuseppe. “Who does he think he is? Just randomly kissing me like that!”
Heat flared on my cheeks. Rocco was actually a really good kisser. Not that I had much experience in that area, but there was a level of certainty in his kiss that threw me off balance.
“It’s fine,” I continued. “I just have to say ‘I do.’ And then it’s over.”
Until you have to spend the rest of your life with him.Giuseppe’s poorly drawn picture seemed to whisper back in my head.
“He’ll probably just ignore me anyway,” I responded.
Not tonight he won’t. He’ll probably rip off your dress—I tore the picture off the wall before the thought could finish itself.
“You’re meaner than Giuseppe,” I muttered, crumpling up the piece of paper into a ball.
“Talking to your cat again?” Fiorella didn’t ask as she opened the door to my bedroom and waltzed in.
