Page 41 of Sins of the Father
A chill crept over her skin. This was her future now. Whether she lived in his house or fled to some distant corner of the world, she would always be bound. A Valachi.
The priest’s voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the waves, his words solemn and eternal against the hush of the ocean. Mia’s bare feet pressed deeper into the wet sand, the hem of her gown lifting as the tide kissed it. She tried to still the trembling in her hands as Luc slid his fingers through hers, his grip steady, unyielding.
“Do you, Luciano Valachi, take this woman to be your wife—before God, before family, before all who stand here—as long as life shall last?”
“I do,” he said, his voice low, resonant, a vow and a warning all at once.
Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs. The priest turned to her, his expression softened by candlelight and twilight shadows. “And do you, Mia Bonino, take this man to be your husband, as long as life shall last?”
Her throat closed. For an aching heartbeat, she could only stare at Luc—his storm-gray eyes locked on her, daring her to refuse, daring her to try and run. Her lips parted, and though her voice trembled, it carried over the waves.
“I do.”
The priest blessed their union, hands lifting in benediction. “What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.”
Luc’s hand slid to her nape, tilting her face up. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that stole her breath and left her knees weak. The crowd erupted—cheers, clapping, even Gabriella’s bright whistle breaking through. Rosina’s faint smile lingered; Antonio’s approval was marked with a curt nod. And from farther back, Mia glimpsed her aunts, their faces wet with tears, as cousins held hands and cheered too.
When Luc finally drew back, he didn’t let go. Instead, he bent, swept her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, and straightened with the ocean roaring at his back. Mia gasped, a furious blush flooding her cheeks at the sight of so many eyes upon them.
“Luc!” she whispered, clutching his shoulders. “This is indecent. We haven’t even greeted or spent time with our guests.”
He looked down at her, smile sharp and hungry. “A few minutes,” he murmured, his hand brushing her waist. “Then I will have you.”
Together, they made the rounds along the shore, Mia perched on his arm as he greeted the guests with effortless charm. Laughter and champagne clinked around them, but hermind was elsewhere, every glance at him setting her pulse racing. Luc whispered in her ear, voice rough as smoke, “Just a little longer, my Mrs. Valachi.”
Finally, the last of the guests drifted toward the main pavilion, and Luc’s grip on her tightened. With a stride that brooked no argument, he carried her from the shore, steps measured but relentless. Once inside his bedchamber, he lowered her gently to the floor, his hand lingering at her waist.
“Mrs. Valachi,” he murmured.
The name—his name—sent a shiver through her chest. Her lips parted, and before she could think, she rose onto her toes and kissed him—fierce, desperate, pouring all her fear and longing into that single act.
He answered her with a hunger that stole her breath. His mouth claimed hers with heat, his tongue coaxing, demanding, devouring. Her heart thundered as his hands moved with ruthless precision, sliding down her back, curving around her hips, drawing her against the hard lines of his body.
Mia trembled, not from fear but from the startling truth that she wanted this. Wanted him.
Luc broke the kiss only long enough to trail his lips along her jaw, down the fragile column of her throat. She arched helplessly, the bodice of her gown suddenly too tight, too stifling. He turned her slowly, his body a solid warmth at her back. His fingers found the intricate row of buttons that ran down the spine of her exquisite wedding gown. One by one, he worked them free, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of her back. Each touch was a tiny spark, a promise of the intimacy to come. The heavy silk and lace sighed away from her body, pooling at her feet like a fallen cloud until she stood in only a whisper of white silk panties and stockings, the cool air a shock against her heated skin.
He turned her back to face him, his gaze a physical caress as it traveled over her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, the delicate curve of her waist. There was possession in his look, yes, but also a reverence that stole her breath.
His gaze swept over her, gray-blue eyes dark with possession, yet softened by something she could not name.
“You are… beyond beautiful,” he said, the words low and reverent, as though dragged from him against his will.
His hands, which had ended lives with chilling efficiency, came up to cradle her face. They were surprisingly gentle. His thumb stroked her cheek as his dark eyes, usually so unreadable, searched hers. “You are my wife now,” he said, as if testing the weight of the words.
“I am,” she whispered, understanding the surreal feeling.
“So beautiful,” he breathed, lowering his head to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. A slow, deep exploration that left her dizzy and clinging to the solid strength of his shoulders.
He walked her backward until her knees hit the edge of the massive bed. He sat, pulling her to stand between his spread legs. Still kissing her, his hands roamed her back, her hips, settling on the curve of her bottom, running his fingers down to her sex and pressing against the silk panties. She moaned at the contact, a jolt of pure, primal need shooting through her.
Breaking the kiss, he looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. “I need to feel your mouth on me,moglie mia,” he coaxed, his voice husky.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She was inexperienced, a virgin in every sense, and the thought sent a flutter of nervousness through her. But the raw need in his eyes, the trust he was placing in her to give him pleasure, overwhelmed the fear. She nodded, a shy, tentative movement.
He guided her to her knees on the plush rug. With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt, the rasp of leather loud in thequiet room. He freed his cock from his trousers, and her eyes widened. The faint memory she had of the night before did not prepare her for him. He was thick and hard, velvety skin over steel.
“Just follow your instincts,” he encouraged, his hand stroking her hair. “There is no right or wrong.”
