I still had to kill Vincent Margarelli.
The door opened silently at my quiet knock. It was obvious that he had been waiting by the door. He said nothing, simply waiting for me to walk in. As I passed him, I felt a shiver go through me that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning in the suite.
His eyes were huge as he stared at me, dark pools that somehow seemed to pull me in. I could feel an intense gravitational pull toward him. When he walked past me again, I trailed him into the suite without a word.
I had no choice but to follow.
He turned at the end of the long hallway and captured my chin in his hand, pressing me back against the ornate paneling of the wall. I gasped at the speed of his unexpected attack on my senses. He drew closer, his face clearly focused on my lips.
Just before he kissed me, he uttered five little words.
“Don’t slap me this time,” he murmured, barely a hairsbreadth away from my lips.
My mouth opened willingly as he urged my lips apart, his tongue exploring me at his leisure. This time was different. We weren’t outside. We weren’t being watched. We were alone.
There was a bed nearby.
Vincent didn’t have to worry.
There was no way I was going to slap him again. Not with the pleasure he was giving me. Not when my whole body was dancing with light everywhere his hands brushed me. Even the heat of his chest, inches away from mine, sent spirals of pleasure arcing through me.
“Francesca,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against mine, “we need to talk.”
“Yes.”
“But after . . .”
I inhaled deeply.
“I can’t . . . make any promises, Vincent. About anything.”
“You want me,” he said, dragging his thumb over my lip, “as badly as I want you.”
“Vincent. I can’t,” I said, deciding not to lie about it. It was better not to admit my feelings explicitly. It was better to evade but not deny. Not to lie.
“You can. But you won’t. Is that it?”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to lie to him again. I couldn’t do that. He must have read some answer in my eyes because he nodded curtly.
“Have it your way, Francesca. You always do.”
His anger was evident in the stiffness of his broad shoulders as he turned and walked into the living room of the suite.
Chapter Thirteen
Vincent
Does she have any idea of the power she has over me?
I stared at the beautiful woman sitting primly on an upholstered chair, looking anywhere and everywhere but directly at me. I noticed that she hadn’t chosen the couch. She was smart not to.
But her seating choice wouldn’t protect her from me. Nothing would. I knew in my gut that she would end up underneath me, calling out my name, come hell or high water.
But I was angry. Angry that she was lying. Angry that she was in this predicament to begin with. Angry that she hadn’t come to me for help long ago. Angriest of all that she was denying us both what we clearly wanted.
God, she was beautiful. Once again, I was struck that it almost hurt to look at her. The curve of her cheek. The way her hair curled over her collarbone. The delicate lines of her arms, wrists, and fingers.
Those huge eyes that said so much and so little, depending on her mood. Depending on whether her guard was up. The only time I’d ever seen it down was right before she knew she was being observed in the park by the river and right after I’d kissed her.
Goddammit, but I wanted to kiss her again. Having her there after all these weeks of wanting her was too much for me. I forced myself to hold my ground. I couldn’t exactly pounce on her like a wild animal, now could I?
But that was a lie. I hated lying, even to myself. My father had done enough of it for a thousand lifetimes.
I was a wild animal. My reaction to Francesca was entirely primal. Primitive. Instinctive.
Thankfully, my suit jacket did a little bit to camouflage my arousal. If I took it off, there would be no hiding it. I wondered what she would do then.
I certainly knew what I wanted her to do.
“Francesca.”
Her head jerked up, and she blinked at me, looking momentarily like the pretty little girl I remembered from so long ago. The shutters came down immediately. But I’d seen something in her eyes. She was scared and uncertain. That was good.
That meant she wasn’t in complete denial.
That meant I could still reach her.
“How long as this been going on?”
She frowned and looked away.
“Six months. A little longer.”
I nodded. That was when we’d started having issues. It lined up.
“Do you know where he is keeping her?”
“It changes. Usually, she is in his house just outside of town.”