Sweet and Vicious(Margarelli Brothers 1)

“What were you doing? You think you’re going to get away from me?”

He was staring at me again, done with his phone call. I wanted to call my mother. I wanted to talk to her so badly.

But maybe Vincent was right. If my mother were here right now, it would be hard not to tell her everything. Including how mixed up my feelings about my captor were.

He’s scared for me. Scared I could get hurt. Scared I was trying to get away.

I blinked up at him. It was hard to imagine the huge, confident, rough yet elegant, extremely masculine, authoritative man in front of me nervous. And it was more than that. He wasn’t merely nervous. He was terrified.

“I wasn’t going to fall. I wasn’t trying to get away. I promise. I just wanted some fresh air. I miss it, okay?”

He stared at me, a muscle ticking in his jaw. I could feel the energy coming off him in waves. It was almost like the air around him vibrated.

Then he sighed, pushed his hand through his hair, and let it go. His shoulders dropped. He gave me a wry smile that made him look almost boyish.

“Okay.”

He reached out and brushed his knuckles over my cheek. I wasn’t used to him touching me. I wasn’t used to any man touching me.

But somehow, it didn’t scare me. It did make me feel like I was going to melt into a puddle at his feet. His hands were gentle as he brushed the hair back from my face.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, stepping closer. I couldn’t breathe as he held my face, looking down at me like I was a work of art. His thumb brushed my lower lip once. Then again.

That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Because I wanted him to kiss me. This man, this criminal. I wanted his mouth on mine and his hands on my body. I wanted more. I wanted all the things I’d never done before.

I was afraid of him, yes, but part of me wanted him more.

You lied to Vincent. You really aren’t a smart girl.

Not smart at all.

stared up at him, not able to think, barely able to move. The only thought that penetrated the heavy thud of my heart was that he wanted to marry me. Somehow, this impossibly dangerous and sophisticated man wanted to marry me.

It wasn’t love. It was a means to an end. But it was more than just paper. He wanted me in his bed.

Naked.

A chill went through me at the thought.

I was way too inexperienced to be with a man like him. Even the thought was mortifying. I knew the basics, but that was it.

If you marry him, you won’t be inexperienced for long.

“I got you something.”

“You did?”

“Later,” he said, dropping his hand and turning away. “I need to do something first.”

I stared at his broad back, once again encased in a very expensive-looking suit. He paused at the door, barely looking back at me.

“Stay away from the window.”

I nodded. He hesitated and then shook his head.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And then he was gone.

“What just happened?” I asked nobody as I sank back to the window seat. The room felt empty without him there. I swallowed and touched my lips with my hand. He had been so close to kissing me. He’d wanted to. Some very confused part of me had wanted him to, as well. No matter what he’d done, or was doing, he had saved me that night. And even though he had scared me, he had been trying to protect me from falling out of the window.

He wasn’t all bad.

He couldn’t be.

Because I was pretty sure I was going to have to marry him.

Chapter 19

Antonio

“Come on,” I said to the beautiful girl who was currently staring at me as if I were insane. I knew deep down that she was probably right. Definitely right. But I needed her to do what I asked, anyway. “It’s okay.”

She was wearing one of the dresses I’d gotten her. A silk number in emerald green, with tiny pink and gold flowers winding their way up and down her stunning figure. But instead of displaying her curves like I’d hoped, she’d managed to find the one baggy thing I’d bought her.

A big, wooly, warm cardigan.

And she was hiding her delectable body inside it. It swamped her. I was pretty sure she was using it like a security blanket, to keep a layer of insulation between us. It’s open, at least, I consoled myself. I could see her collarbones and the swell of her breasts. The gorgeous curves of her ankles and calves. But the rest of her was swaddled in dark brown wool.

She looked absolutely gorgeous all the same.

The look suited her, somehow. Like she was a fashion model who’d gotten chilly on a shoot, and someone had thrown a man’s sweater on her during a break. Or a rich girl who wanted to walk down to the beach after a fancy dinner at her private beachfront house and grabbed the closest thing.