Page 391 of Rosetti Family New York
"Can't help it." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "You're fucking stunning."
The crude word makes her cheeks flush, but she doesn't look away. Instead, she runs her hands over the silk, smoothing it against her curves. The gesture is innocent, but it makes my blood burn.
A young male assistant approaches with a tray of jewelry, and I watch him carefully. He's good-looking in that harmless way, but when he moves to fasten a necklace around Isabella's throat, his fingers brush her skin. Linger longer than necessary.
I'm across the room before I make a conscious decision to move.
"She doesn't need help," I say, my voice carrying just enough edge to make everyone in the showroom freeze.
The assistant's hands jerk back like he's been burned. "Of course, sir. I was just..."
"You were just leaving." I don't raise my voice, don't change my expression. But something in my tone makes him take three quick steps backward.
Isabella watches this exchange with interest, her head tilted slightly. "Possessive much?"
"When it comes to you? Absolutely." I move closer, until I'm standing right behind her. Close enough to see her pulse fluttering at her throat, to smell the subtle perfume that makes my mouth water. "Problem with that?"
"I didn't say it was a problem." Her voice is breathless, and I can see her watching me in the mirror. "I said it was possessive."
"Good. Because you're mine while you're with me." I reach out, fingers tracing the neckline of the dress where it dips low enough to show the swell of her breasts. "And I don't share."
She shivers at my touch, and I can see her nipples peak through the silk. The sight makes my cock throb against my zipper, and I have to fight the urge to spin her around and kiss her until she can't breathe.
"We'll take this one," I say without looking away from her face. "And whatever else she wants to try."
"Sir, that's nearly..."
"I don't care what it costs." I finally turn to look at the designer, who's gone slightly pale. "Package whatever she chooses. Send it to the address I gave you."
Isabella catches my wrist as I turn back to her. "Matteo, this is too much."
"No." I cover her hand with mine, feeling the warmth of her skin. "This is what you deserve. Silk and beautiful things and people who know how to treat you properly."
"You kidnapped me," she whispers, her voice so low only I can hear it.
"And now I'm spoiling you. I'm complex like that." I lean closer, until my breath stirs the fine hairs at her temple. "Change back. Unless you want to drive me completely insane."
"Is that what's happening?" Her voice is soft, teasing. "Am I driving you insane?"
"You know exactly what you're doing to me." I step back before I do something that will scandalize the staff. "Five minutes, bella. Before I forget we have an audience."
She disappears into the changing room, and I'm left standing there with my blood on fire and my cock hard as stone. The designer busies himself with paperwork, pretending he didn't just witness a kidnapper and his captive flirting like lovers.
When Isabella emerges, she's back in that gray silk dress, but something has changed. She moves differently now, like she's remembered something important about herself. The way she holds her head, the set of her shoulders, the confidence in her step.
"Have everything sent today," I tell the designer.
I pull a small velvet box from my jacket pocket, something I had my jeweler send over this morning. Inside is an emerald pendant, the same color as the dress, as her eyes when she's angry or aroused.
"It matches," I say, fastening it around her neck. My fingers brush the nape of her neck, and she shivers. "Something that's yours."
She touches the pendant, eyes bright. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." I guide her toward the door, my hand possessive on her lower back. "The day's not over."
As we leave the showroom, I catch our reflection in the window. She's stunning in that gray silk, every inch the queen she was born to be. And I'm the man who gets to walk beside her, who gets to watch other men want what they can't have.
The elevator ride down is silent, charged with electricity. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, can smell the subtle scent of her arousal mixing with expensive perfume. My hands itch to touch her, to slide that silk up her thighs and find out if she's as wet as I think she is.
