Page 24 of Sins of the Father
Mia blinked, uncertain if he jested. The dangerous glimmer in his eyes made her wonder if he truly could. A surge of longing ached in her chest for all she had missed—simple, ordinary things that felt like distant dreams. She shoved the thought away, clinging instead to the gratitude she owed the sisters for their love and care. Yet a small part of her couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like to live, really live, beyond those walls.
“We’ll be married in a few days,” Luc abruptly said.
Mia’s breath tangled in her throat. “So soon?”
“Is there any reason to wait?”
“I suppose not.”
Her fingers tightened on the railing, her pulse fluttering. “Are we… are we to have a… wedding night, or will you give me time?”
He chuckled, low and indulgent. “You sound like one of those heroines Gabriella loves in her Gothic romances. Almost prudish.”
“That is not an answer.”
“There will be no waiting. I’ll enjoy turning you out.”
Heat flared low in Mia’s belly, unbidden and betraying. She had read enough books to understand his provocative words—the allusion that he meant to corrupt her carnally, to strip her of every trace of prudishness until she was left trembling in shambles beneath his touch. Shame curled through her chest, tangled with something darker, more dangerous—a spark of want she despised herself for feeling. “I… I think I need some time.”
To Mia’s shock, he vaulted over the railing to stand on her balcony. She backed up until she flushed against the wall, and he followed. He lifted his hand, and his thumb traced the frantic flutter in her throat, his touch deceptively tender.
“There will be no waiting.”A dark chuckle.“I’ll have you under me on our wedding night,mia colombina.”
Luc’s gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering. Then his hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back with a sharp tug. A reminder, even here, of who controlled the angle of her breath, the pace of her pulse. Mia’s body was a traitor—skin flushing where he’d touched her, muscles tensing not to flee but to press closer. She pressed trembling palms to his chest, nails biting into the fine fabric of his shirt—half-shove, half-clutch—as if her body hadn’t yet decided whether to fight or beg.
He kissed her, his mouth hard, his tongue sliding hotly inside to claim hers. The shock of it stole her breath, but then the heat surged, pulling her under. His tongue tangled with hers, coaxing, demanding, until she had no choice but to yield.
Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, desperate for balance as the world tilted. He tasted of smoke and whiskey, dark and forbidden, yet devastatingly addictive. Every stroke of his mouth sent shivers racing down her spine, until her body arched helplessly closer.
When his knee pressed between her thighs and pushed upward, friction sparked like fire at her core, a sudden, scorching burst that made her gasp into his mouth. The sound only made him kiss her harder, deeper, as though he could devour every protest she tried to hold.
God, I hate how much I want this.
When he tore his mouth from hers, she swayed, knees buckling beneath the weight of her own traitorous need. Luc caught her waist, his grip iron beneath velvet.
His knuckles grazed her collarbone, following the frantic jump of her pulse.Luc bent, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear—a lover’s caress, a blade’s edge. “I want to feel your pussy on my tongue.” His teeth scraped her earlobe, just shy of pain.“Open up,mia colombina, and let me eat you.”
Mia didn’t know where the strength came from, only that suddenly she tore free of his arms and fled into her bedroom, his mocking laugh chasing her like a shadow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Luc hadn’t planned for his mother to find him pacing the solarium at dawn, but Rosina Valachi had an uncanny way of catching her sons with their guard down. She slipped in, a cup of espresso in each hand, her charcoal robe cinched tight against the coastal chill.
“Another sleepless night?” she asked lightly, though her winter-storm eyes missed nothing. She pressed a warm cup into his palm.
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
“You’ve never paced for a deal, Luciano.” Her slipper crushed a fallen camellia underfoot. “Tell me about Mia. I want your impression. She seemed fragile to me.”
“She is stronger than she looks,” Luc murmured. “Stubborn. Fiery even when afraid. She hasn’t lived outside those convent walls, and loneliness has been her only companion. She even had the nerve to run from me, and she almost succeeded.”
Rosina clicked her tongue, faint amusement breaking her composure. “So she has spirit. Do you think she will try again?”
“She will give me a year. And in that time, an heir,” he said coolly. “At the end of the year, she will be allowed to leave.”
His mother stilled, fingers tightening on her cup. “You and I both know there is no way out of this life.”
“Yes.”
