“You’re going to carry me home?”
“I am, Princess.”
I circle my arms around his neck, and he smiles down at me.
“I like Bugattis even though that one just made me look like a fool,” he says, kicking the door shut with his heel.
“I like Miatas. They’re trusted cars,” I repeat.
He starts walking down the road. “I ride a motorcycle.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh,” he answers and then starts talking about his Ninja X2.
He actually talks to me, and I’m so taken with his words and the way his face lights up as he speaks that I barely talk about me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emelia
Before I know it, we’re back at the house. The gates open before we even reach them, and the guards at the gate watch us, watching him carrying me.
No one says anything. We just continue.
The doors open for us too, and I expect him to set me down, but he doesn’t. He continues carrying me. We head toward my room but branch off down a path I haven’t been shown.
“Where are we going, Massimo?”
“My room. I want you in my bed. You’ll be in my bed starting tonight. I’ll move your stuff in tomorrow.”
The spontaneity of that decision should throw me off kilter, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m looking at him. I’m treading those dangerous paths again, not just as a thought in my mind, but my heart. I’m placing my heart at risk because I keep forgetting who we are.
The idea of being in his bed has my head spinning, and my soul along with it, right into the arms of temptation.
We reach a door, and he opens it. Once he steps inside, he puts me down, and as the lights come on, I’m stunned to silence at the elegance of his room.
It’s as big as an apartment. I can see how he’d be M.I.A for days and not be seen anywhere. A person could live in this section of the house. There’s a chill-out area with a black leather sofa and a fifty-inch screen TV on the wall. To our left is an archway, and I see his bed.
Massimo takes my hand and leads me inside the bedroom when he sees me trying to get a better look.
Inside reminds me of a room pulled from a classic European home. It looks exactly like the type you’d find in Italy. A king-sized mahogany bed rests in the center, with all the furniture matching the bed. A wrought-iron chandelier hangs over the bed. The ceiling is high, and the walls are cream and navy. All except one wall, which is made of glass.
I can see the beach from here and realize that from what I’m looking at, the room can’t actually be that far from mine. There’s a door at the side, and I’d be willing to guess that it must lead to some sort of corridor that would lead to my room.
There was a door in my room too, that was always locked. I assumed it led outside. I think it leads here.
“This room is close to mine,” I state.
“Yes, it is. You look like you’re deciding if you should be mad at me or not.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Good, I don’t want to waste time disciplining you tonight. Unless you want me to. You were quite wet after that spanking the other week.” He smiles, and my entire body blushes from his scandalous words and the look he gives me.
“I didn’t like that,” I answer. He’s right to look back at me in disbelief because I was wet. The evidence was there that I was aroused in some way by what he did.