She was lying. She had to be.
Except he couldn’t be sure.
Dante grabbed the back of her knees and jerked, yanking her down to straddle him. Rose instantly tried to push away, but he just pulled her closer, sealing them together. “You never faked it with me. Admit it.” He might have held himself back during sex, but he’d always made it good for her. He was sure of it.
“Feeling insecure, baby?” She gave a low laugh. “Someone likes hearing me talk about fucking his enemy.” She rolled her hips, rubbing herself along his hard cock. “Poor Dante. It’s okay that you need to be told what good sex is. I’d say someday you’ll figure it out, but I’m going to kill you before you get a chance.”
She truly was glorious like this, even if every instinct he had demanded he punish her for the shit she spewed. She was lying. Dante dug one hand into her mass of dark hair and forced her down to press her forehead against his. “Let’s get two things straight, Rosa.”
“That’s not my name.”
He ignored that. “First, I don’t give a fuck if you’ve slept your way through the entirety of New York in the last three months. It’s over now.”
“The fuck it is. I—”
“Two.” He stroked his free hand up her thigh and brushed his knuckles against her lower stomach just above the line of her panties. She froze, a little tremor lighting up her body. “You held back with me every hour that we were together. Kept your sharp edges blunted and your vicious little streak well hidden. Do you honestly think it’s any different with me, right down to the way we fucked?”
She jerked back and he let her. Rose stared down at him. “What?”
“I faked it.” He took entirely too much pleasure throwing her words from three months ago back in her face. “When I fuck you next—and I will—there will be no reason to hold back. You’ll beg me for more.”
“You bastard.” She said it slowly, almost in a daze. “You gave me mediocre sex on purpose.”
“Call it what you want.” Dante dipped his thumb beneath the band of her panties. Just enough to breach that barrier, but he didn’t touch her the way he really wanted to. Not yet. “Let’s not throw stones from glass houses. You never said a single fucking word, never complained, just took what I gave you and didn’t ask for more. So, if the sex was mediocre, I’m not the only one to blame.”
“I hate you.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” She pushed on his chest again. This time, he released her. Rose staggered to her feet and glared. “Touch me again, and I’ll make you regret it.”
He raised his brows. “Keep saying that, but I have a wet spot on my pants that makes a liar out of you.”
She turned away. “Sounds like a you problem, Dante.”
He watched her put a swing in her step as she walked away from him, disappearing through the door into the room with the bed. Only then did Dante allow himself a small smile. “Game on, Rosa.”
Chapter 6
Rose closed the door between her and Dante and stopped short. There, sitting in the middle of the bed, was a cell phone. She stared for a long moment and then moved around the bed to the bathroom. It took a few minutes to take care of business, but she had no more clarity by the time she returned.
At least Dante hadn’t followed her in.
She snorted. Of course, he hadn’t followed her in. Why would he press her when there was a neatly laid trap just sitting on the bed, waiting to be sprung? This phone was obviously left here on purpose. She stared at it, feeling like she was looking down the barrel of a gun. Rose was so fucking tired. Her thoughts felt sluggish and, at the same time, too zippy to focus properly. Dante had outplayed her at every turn, and even though she was pretty sure she’d made the right call back at the church, she couldn’t be sure.
She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
What motivation could he possibly have for her to call home? She was his prisoner, his captive. Better to keep her isolated until he accomplished whatever he’d set out to do. No matter what Dante said, she didn’t honestly believe he was there for her.
To disrupt her marriage with Romeo Capparelli and send both the Capparelli and Romanov families tailspinning into a war? Definitely.
Because somehow he’d seen her shooting him as foreplay? Absolutely not.
Or…
She barely dared think it, but she wouldn’t get through this by shying away from her deepest thoughts. She took a slow breath and faced the most unrealistic of the options.
That it had felt real for him, too. That maybe he’d gone and fallen for the pared down version of her the same way she’d fallen for the false version of him. How much of what they’d shared was real?