I nod. “Just tired, I guess.”
He graced me with a smile that warmed me in places it shouldn’t have. “Good girl,” he said.
I didn’t know him, this stranger who rescued me in the middle of the night. What was his ulterior motive?
“I can tell you’re a very good girl, Eva. You’ve just had a rough go of it, that’s all.”
I liked how his words melted my insides and leaned sleepily against his chest.
No way a man like Roberto fell for a girl like me.
But for one moment his smell, his reluctant smile, and his huge arms wrapped around me felt like the closest thing to refuge I’d had in years. Even though common sense told me otherwise. My grandma told me a million times, “Still waters run deep. And dangerous.”
That may be true, abuela, I thought.
But if he calls me “good girl” again, I’m going skinny dipping in his deep waters.
6
Roberto
Her scent entered my nostrils, and I knew right then—pheromones were real.
One whiff of her aroused me.
It wasn’t perfume or expensive cologne. It was her essence.
Only desire’s timing was off.
My family practiced clan collaboration, where every member pledged loyalty until they died.
Eva would not be a part of that, not even for just one fuck.
Besides, the urges I had for her went beyond fucking. She’d bend to my will and follow my directions to a t, until she was no longer a frightened girl, running from something. Her focus only on obeying me.
I could feel her rapid pulse against the creamy skin of her wrist, which I held in mine. She was too tired to resist, and I wasn’t above pressing that advantage. Everyone on this mountain and beyond knew the Moretti name. Eva wouldn’t be looking up at me with those shiny eyes that softened the longer she peered up at my face, if she knew who I really was.
She trembled in my arms.
Christ.
She was soft and warm, and I could tell she wanted my hands on her.
No way she’d get out of this evening unfucked if she kept looking at me like that.
So I went into defense mode.
I cocked a brow at her. “You ready to tell me what you’re running from?”
As predicted, she was none too eager to tell me her story.
She shook her head and got stiff in my arms. “I’m tired. Can’t the inquisition wait until tomorrow?”
That small amount of cheek was all it took for my dom to kick in. My hand flexed with the urge to spank the sass right out of her. Teach her to address me with respect.
“Why should I wait?” I pulled her closer to me, into my arms, so close I could taste the delicate vanilla scent that clung to her.
Her cheek rested on my chest and I knew right then I’d kill anyone or anything that tried to harm her. “Because you’re a kind man, as exhibited by your actions tonight. Picking me up on the side of the road, bringing me to your home, feeding me. Giving me a place to stay.”
I laughed out-loud. “Eva, I am not a good man. I’m an exacting man. A brutal man.” I allowed myself to stroke her silky hair beneath my hand. “One who protects what belongs to him.”
“Like Livia said, ‘bossy.’” She swayed in my arms.
“Let’s go, piccolina.” I pulled her into the guest room.
“Piccolina, what’s that?” she asked.
“Little one, in Italian.”
“But I’m not little. I’m a grown woman.”
“It’s a term of affection.” I yanked back the coverlet and unzipped her before she saw it coming. She was too tired to argue and stepped out of her dress. I got on my knee to remove her shoes. Next, she slid under the covers and snuggled into the pillow, her eyes shut.
The sound of her breathing slowed and her upward turned palm twitched on the pillow next to her face.
Since she was asleep, I told her a bed-time story. Maybe she heard it, maybe not.
“And when you are ready, baby, we can go over your lessons in safety.” I brushed her hair back from her forehead, enjoying its splay across the pillow. “Lessons in punishment,” I said, hoping she’d remember some of this tomorrow. “Punishment to keep you in line and teach you to show proper respect when you address your Dom.”
Her shoulders were slender, but the swell of her breasts were all lush curves, and my pulse picked up speed from the sight.
For two years I’d controlled the Moretti family. One random incident in the night, and my grasp on self-control had flown out the window. This girl was kryptonite. In my line of business, a hot body was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
Tomorrow when I woke, I’d resist the urge to be with Eva. My sisters could tend to her and keep her entertained. She’d be safe with them. Not so much with me.
I wouldn’t demand submission of a woman who wasn’t ready.
Ever again.
Something told me that Eva didn’t know my kind of passion even existed.
7
Eva
“Ugh!” I said and cringed away from the intrusive light.
Morning wasn’t my thing.
Sunlight blasted through the window, piercing my eyes. Last night’s storm had blown by, leaving a swath of blue sky in its wake.
Shoving my feet into slippers, I ducked into a generous terry-cloth robe left at the foot of the bed. I gave thanks for being safe and warm, beyond the reach of Lyle and his threats.
The bedroom door swung open, and Gia was standing there with a breakfast tray, Livia held a white gift box with a rose gold ribbon adorning it. “Hey, good morning, you two. How did you sleep?”
“Great. Can we come in?” asked Gia.
“Of course,” I swung an arm out in welcome. “It’s your freaking house,” I said.
Livia’s expression looked grave, “The Moretti family invented the saying ‘mi casa es su casa.’ You’d better get used to it.” She leaned over the tray and picked up the silver coffee pot, “Are you a coffee drinker?”
“Am I?!” Thank dear baby Jesus. It was a strong, dark roast. The brown water some people referred to as coffee was a crime. Give me a brew that’d put hair on your chest any day.
“Where’s Mr. Broody this morning?” I asked.
Livia did a spit take with her coffee. “You mean, Roberto?” She laughed. “You’re right. He is so gloomy. But he’s also gentle and generous. Case in point, he told me to give you this.” She handed over the white box. “Open it!” She made a silent air clap in front of her, palms never touching.
I pulled at the thick satin bow, heavy in my hand. Quality. Even I knew quality when I felt it.
The layers and layers of rose gold tissue paper crinkled as I dug through it and came to a rusty-orange colored box printed with Hermes. The sisters “oohed and ahhed” in chorus.
“He got you the Emerald Birkin with Palladium Hardware. He must like you,” said Gia.
“What’s inside?” Lucia asked, leaning forward on the couch next to me.
“I doubt there’s anything inside. I mean, look at this thing. It’s a work of art.” The front latch was heavy and cool in my hand when I opened up the bag. Inside was a small leather rectangle with a smaller metal clasp on the front. Silver.