I open the drawer and avoid the underwear. There’s no way in hell I’m wearing some other woman’s panties. Disgusting. I slip on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and head into the kitchen. The aroma is mouthwatering.
One look at Enzo, and I feel like a Mack Truck has hit me. He’s so handsome that he takes my breath away. He’s no longer in the three-piece suit. Instead, he’s wearing jeans like me and a button-down black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, displaying a scattering of black tattoos. He’s humming as he plates food like a fuckin’ artist. It’s hard to believe that the same hands that kill so callously are capable of anything else. “Smells good.”
His head shoots up, a sexy, lopsided smirk appearing on his handsome face. “One of the three things I’m good at.”
“Kill, cook, and what’s the third?”
“Fuck, principessa. I fuck well. But you already knew that.”
Heat creeps up my face, and I’m positive I’ve turned beet red.
“You’re cute when you blush.” He winks before moving the plates to the kitchen table, gesturing for me to sit down.
“I’m surprised you cook.”
“Why?” He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “All men should know how. I plan for my women to be naked, willing, and able for fuckin’, and I need to make sure she’s well fed for the activities I like to partake in.” He winks at me before taking a bite of his pasta, and I want to beat the shit out of the pasta for having his lips on them when they aren’t on mine. “Eat your food.”
Chapter Six
ENZO
She’s playing with her food, and it’s pissing me off. She needs to fuckin’ eat. My temper is rising, and I am about to take her fork and shove the food down her pretty throat. Keeping my monster at bay is hard, but for her, I’m trying. I’m trying fuckin’ hard, but she keeps testing my paper-thin patience. “In some cultures, it’s rude to not eat the host’s food.”
“You, insulted?”
She has such a smart fuckin’ mouth. “Better watch that mouth before it gets punished. I technically own you now.”
“Oh, is that what I am? Your personal sex slave?”
This fuckin’ girl. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, frustrated and not sure what to do about it. I could force her onto her knees and let her body take over, shut her mind off, let her feel me and me her, but I don’t want just sex from her. One fuckin’ taste six months ago ruined me for her. The irony is I’d been fine. I’d been so focused on bringing down the man who ruined my family that I hadn’t sniffed around a woman in years. I’d also never wanted a woman for more than a night, but Reese had consumed me. I used to make fun of my buddy Vance about his obsession with his wife, but now I’m fuckin’ burning in the same inferno. “You’re not my prisoner.”
“Great, so I can go, then.”
Fuck. “No.”
“That’s not how it works. So I’m a prisoner, since I can’t leave and all.”
“You’re my guest, but you can’t leave.”
She has the nerve to huff, as if I’m the frustrating one. Has she seen herself in the mirror? “Where you gonna go? Back to your father, who wanted to sell your virginity to the highest bidder?”
“How’d you know about that?”
“My business is to know. It’s how I’ve kept myself alive for twenty years.”
“You married? I’m not into that shit.”
The girl is certifiable. Makes sense for me to be into the crazy one out of the pack. “What?”
Her bottom lip juts out. She looks so fuckin’ adorable as she crosses her arms across her chest, making my eyes focus right on her perfect, round tits. “Are you fuckin’ married?”
Married? Where the fuck did she get that lunatic idea? “Good God, no. What gave you that idea?”
‘'Maybe it’s the fuckin’ closet full of woman’s apparel.”
Leaning back, I tip my chair and take her in. satisfaction rolling through me. If she has even a fraction of the possessiveness over me I have for her, I’ve got something to work with. “You jealous?”
She shakes her head, but she is lying. “No. I just don’t fuck married men or men with girlfriends. Whatever the fuck she is.”
“Don’t worry, princess. There’s only one woman for me.”
Her eyebrows knit together. She looks like a little kitten trying to play with the big boys. “Then what am I doing here?”
“You’re the woman,” I state matter-of-factly.
She points towards the hallway. “Then who the fuck owns the clothing in that room?”
I’m so stupid. I didn’t even think about how it looked to her to walk into that room and see all of that shit. “My sister. They belong to my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. She’s away at college. She’s younger, your age. She got adopted into a really nice family when we were kids. They didn’t want to take in an older kid, but they took in a two-year-old no problem.” The words pour out of me, and I’m not sure how to stop them. It’s like my tongue is working against my brain. “They weren’t all bad. They let me see her on holidays and talk to her on the phone.”