“Will you hurt me if I refuse to sign?” I asked, forcing down more whiskey, unsure why or where that particular question came from.
He studied me, then shook his head with a snort. “That’s enough,” he said, standing. “Up to bed.”
“I’m not done.” I reached out for the bottle, but he gripped my wrist.
“I said it’s enough.”
I looked at his huge hand wrapped around my tiny wrist. He could snap it in a second. It probably wouldn’t even cost him that much effort or energy.
“Come on.”
He walked around the table to my side. Could he see what I was thinking? Perhaps, because he released my wrist and slipped his hand down to take mine instead.
“I’ll take you up to bed.”
He pulled me to my feet.
“I mean, you’re going to hurt me anyway, aren’t you?” I tugged myself free and sat back down. Well, more like fell into my chair, my legs too wobbly to hold me up.
He watched me with a deep exhale.
“What about our wedding night?” It came out a whisper. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”
“Remind me to never give you whiskey again.”
I wiped my eyes clean. Would he answer?
“Did my grandfather think you’d bed me?”
“Come on, get up.”
“I mean, you can make me do whatever you want. You’re bigger than me. Stronger than me.” My eyes wandered over the now blurry expanse of his chest. “Maybe you even like that kind of thing.”
“I’m not used to forcing women, Sofia, and I have no intention of making you do anything you don’t want to do.” He paused. “I told you already, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Maybe you like having power over me. Making me submit.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Will you? Is that what you want? To make me?”
He chuckled. With one hand on the edge of the table, he leaned over me, his eyes seeming to forever study me.
“I think you’re curious, sweetheart, more curious than you like.”
Had he just called me sweetheart? My head felt heavy.
“But tonight is not the night for this discussion, although I’d love to have it with you. Come on. Get up.”
“I’m not tired.” Why did my words sound slurred?
His smile spread across his face, and he winked as he reached down for me. “Hell, maybe I should give you whiskey more often, not less.” And he pulled me to my feet.
Chapter Six
Raphael
Sofia looked so completely confused sitting there, it was charming. Almost endearing, even.
“Up. I’m taking you to bed.” I hauled her to her feet. It was the first time I’d really held her, and she felt smaller, lighter than I expected. More fragile.
“That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”
She tried to stand on her own and stumbled, her little hand shooting out to grab hold of me to steady herself. The moment we made contact, we both stopped. I looked down at her hand, pale and delicate against my chest. I’d been working outside since late spring, so my skin had been tanned a rich golden brown, making her soft white a beautiful contrast.
I thought she’d pull away, and maybe if she hadn’t drunk that whiskey, she would have. Hell, she’d be smart to. I’d been messing with her up until now, but something about her innocent, maybe naive directness, intrigued me. And when she let her hand move over my chest, softly feeling the touch of my skin, sliding it over to my shoulder, then bicep, then up toward my face, to the stubble at my jaw, I knew what I’d said was more right than she probably liked to admit. She was curious.
“You feel nice.” She swayed on her feet. “Softer than I thought.”
I smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You feel nice too, but you are so going to regret telling me that in the morning,” I said, lifting her up in my arms. Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again a moment later as I carried her out of the kitchen and to the stairs.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said, slurring her words, her eyes closing again.
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. I don’t like my women dead to the world.”
We were halfway up the stairs when she put her hand flat on my chest again and lifted her head. “A lot of women?” she asked.
“You’re drunk, Sofia.” We reached her door, and I pushed it open. She turned her face into my chest.
Her expression turned worried. “I’m a virgin,” she said, shaking her head. “Stupid, huh?”
“Not stupid. And for your information, I figured that out already.”
“It’s stupid.” She smiled. “You smell good, all worky and like a man.”
I chuckled. “I really, really hope you remember this tomorrow morning.” I pulled the covers of her bed back and sat her down, slipped her flip-flops off her feet and took her sweater off. I couldn’t keep my gaze from roaming over the little tank top and shorts she wore and all that skin they left exposed. I lay her down and drew the blanket up to her chin. I looked down at her, already asleep, snoring quietly. It made me smile and for some reason, I leaned down to kiss her forehead. She didn’t stir. I shook my head and walked out the door, closing it behind me, then headed to my bedroom, where I took a cold shower before climbing into bed.