It matched the choker at her throat.
And the studs in her ears.
Christ.
Which took his gaze right back up to her face. There, he found her lips were a stark red, and she had somehow managed to paint her innocence away with dark strokes of kohl that smoked her eyes, and mascara that fanned her lashes.
“Beautiful,” Corrado murmured.
Entirely unable to stop himself, too.
He just said it.
It needed to be said.
Like he needed more reminders of just how fucking attractive this woman was because apparently, his body didn’t let him know enough on a daily basis. Like their little moment that morning in the gym wasn’t a huge fucking mistake that he suddenly wanted to make again. Or the fact that as he stood across the hall from her bedroom doorway, listening to her as she got herself off, that he considered breaking her door down because he wanted to be the one doing that.
Guilt.
Lust.
It warred inside him.
He was so fucked.
Not that it mattered.
He was determined to do nothing—say nothing.
It was better this way.
“You think so?” Ginevra asked, coming to stand in front of him. “I didn’t know if this was going to be appropriate for whatever—”
“It’s perfect, and so are you.”
Her stare lifted then to meet his, and he didn’t quite know what to make of what he found there. Confusion, mostly, but desire, too. That was his fault—he pulled her in only to push her away, and she probably felt like a fucking ping pong ball, now.
He’d been wrong.
Ginevra was not a mess.
He was.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Corrado had to physically hold himself back from reaching out to touch her. Because if he did that, there was no telling what might happen next. He couldn’t trust himself around this woman, and as it was, he had already crossed a big line.
Jumped it, really.
“And you look quite handsome,” she said, her hand coming up to flatten the edge of the lapel on his suit. “Your vest and tie matches my dress ... was that planned?”
“Probably. I had it sent up by the same woman who picked out your dress.”
Ginevra made an appreciative noise. “Just how much money do you have, Corrado?”
He laughed, grateful for the change in topic. “Me, specifically? Or my Guzzi money?”
“Is there a difference?”
Corrado smirked. “A little, yeah.”
“Which has more?”
“The Guzzi side of me. Saying the Guzzi family is vastly wealthy does not even come close to describing how much money we have.” Corrado tipped his head toward the door, saying, “Come on, then, and we’ll get going.”
Corrado couldn’t help but put his hand to her lower back, all the while becoming painfully aware of the crisscrossed opened back of the dress she wore at the same time. Doing his best to control the darker urges climbing through his body, he directed them out of the penthouse, and toward the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.
Ginevra said nothing as the elevator dropped lower. He figured he should probably give her a heads up about what to expect for the night, or rather ... the rules he needed for her to follow so that she was safe, and so was her identity.
“If anyone asks, you give your nickname or first name,” he said, “but absolutely not your surname, do you understand?”
Ginevra nodded. “Sure.”
“Say you come from New Jersey, they won’t know the difference. We’re old friends. That’s all you need to say. I will handle my family, if they ask, and I’m sure they will. Nosy bast—”
“Be nice.”
His gaze cut to her.
She winked.
Corrado chuckled. “You say that now.”
“Actually, I say it because I think you must have an amazing family that they’re willing to throw you a birthday party when you’re ... how old are you again?”
“I turned twenty-three twelve days ago.”
Ginevra nibbled on her bottom lip.
Corrado’s cock felt that.
Fuck.
Tonight was going to be hell.
Absolute hell.
He could see it already. Stuck between his fucking guilt, and the constant want he felt for this woman who had no clue what he had done here. Even as he conversed with her, or spent day in and day out with her, his mind was on constant loop of thoughts revolving around Alessio.
Back and forth.
Ginny.
Les.
One he missed desperately, and knew something wasn’t right because Alessio hadn’t called in days. And the other, he was desperate to know, and who he thought Alessio should know, too, but the way this had happened would be enough to end it before that could begin. Corrado was most sure of that.
More nails in the coffin.
Corrado didn’t ask for this.
None of it.
Back and forth he went again.
It never ended.
Christ.
“Anyway,” Ginevra said, oblivious to the battle in his mind and heart, “I think they must love you a lot, and your brothers, if they’re willing to throw you a party at this age. And not just any party ... look at us, this feels like an affair.”
As she said that, the elevator came to a stop, and opened up to the front lobby of the building. Parked right in front, in full view of the windows, was the white Maserati he’d had taken out of the Toronto storage unit where he kept it when he wasn’t in the city visiting.
“And that’s ours, I bet,” she said beside him.
Corrado sighed. “It is.”
“Like I said, a whole affair.”
He really wished she would stop using that word.
But not for a reason she would know.
• • •
Corrado helped Ginevra step out of the Maserati, and her eyes widened at the sight in front of them. Parked at the very end of the long, winding drive that led up to the three-level, two-wing monster that was the Guzzi Mansion, they had a way to go yet before they properly arrived.
Not that it mattered.
She could see now.
The wealth was on full display.
“Is this your—”
“Childhood home, yes,” he said. “It sits on several acres of private land, and the mansion itself could house a good hundred people or more ... living wise. It has a pool, ballroom, three dining rooms, a library that, in all honesty, is bigger than most public ones, and well, that’s just scratching the surface.”
“Who is the reader?”
Surprising him again.
Those damn questions.
Corrado almost said Alessio before he caught himself, and realized she meant in his family. Although, Alessio was his family, too. “My mother. And you should know, this place ... this night, despite being for my brothers’ and my birthdays, and all of the rest of it, is my father’s doing. Like the library, and the tiled rose design at the bottom of the pool. Anything my mother wants, my father gives her. She is the queen here, and expect that she’ll be treated as such. If she wanted to sit on a throne during the party, trust that one will be provided for her to do that.”
Ginevra smiled slyly.
He didn’t miss it.
“What?”
“I was just thinking you don’t sound at all bitter about that fact. Your mother being spoiled, and loved, I mean.”