Giving in, I look up to meet his eyes. They are impenetrable ice, he doesn't believe me. He still thinks I want to kill him. He still thinks I'm somebody to worry about.
I take a deep breath, wondering what happens now. His eyes flick to my chest, I feel them instantly. Even cold, his eyes affect me like a touch. It flashes instantly, the memory of what happened. He knew I wanted to kill him when I walked into the room. It hadn’t mattered to him, he wanted me. Tony Sabatini still wants me.
I want him too. Not just want him, that’s too soft a word. I need him, ache for him in a way I’ve never known before. If he does kill me, I want him to be the last thing I feel. I'm pretty sure I could die happy with Tony Sabatini as my last everything. I’ll take that. If it’s the only thing I can have, I’ll be happy with that.
“If you're going to kill me, I have one last request.”
An eyebrow goes up, yet he says nothing.
Meeting those cold blue eyes, I take a deep breath. “I want you to be the last thing I have. The French call it la petite mort. I would like a little death before the big one. From you.”
His jaw hardens, his hands go into fists on the table. It’s the moment in the room all over again. But he doesn’t say a word.
“Can you not deliver? Lisa said you could deliver.” I’m intent on getting a response, on getting what I want. I stand and take off my shirt, his eyes are on my breasts. The clasp of my bra is in the front, I flick it open. “It doesn’t seem fair. I took your cock down my throat, and you left me wet and aching, feeling so empty, Tony. I wanted your cock inside me—”
He moves so fucking fast I swear I never see it. One moment he’s sitting, unmoving, the next, his hands are on my arms, pulling me across the table. The clatter of the plates and glasses falling to the floor are dim against the roaring of the blood in my ears as his mouth crashes down on mine. It’s back, that painful electricity explodes throughout my entire body. So powerful that it’s painful. And it hurts so fucking good.
My hands are around his neck, needing to hold onto something. His tongue is velvet soft yet hot and hungry as it ravages mine. Taking, demanding, owning all of me. He tastes of black cherries and sin, of smoke and a million things I’ve never known before.
Tony pulls his mouth from mine, and I gasp from the loss. I only now realize there’s another man talking. I’m working so hard to breathe, though, I can’t hear anything above my frantic panting.
“Get the fuck out of here. I’ll be right there. Send Carmine to my office until she’s in my room.” Tony growls.
“What?” I mumble as he tries to pull away, my arms are locked around his neck. He’s sitting me down on the table. No, that’s too far from him.
His touch is gentle as he slides his hands up and down my arms once, twice, before grasping them and tugging them down. “I have to go, piccolina.”
My eyes are wide as I look up at him in disbelief.
Soft for the first time, his eyes run over me, and I shiver at the way they make me feel oddly safe yet hot and melty at the same time. “If I had a choice, it would be to stay here and be buried deep inside you already. I’ll give you what you want, have no doubt about that. First, business needs to be taken care of.”
The suit jacket from the back of the chair is wrapped around me. “Keep this on, so Carmine and Joseph don’t see you. No one sees your body but me. Go upstairs and wait for me. My room is directly across from the one you were in.”
I blink, and he’s walking away. Seconds later, I hear the front door close behind him. In a daze, I look around at the mess of broken glass and plates. Crap, I’m not wearing shoes. There doesn’t appear to be anywhere safe for me to put my feet to make it out of the kitchen without hurting myself.
Sighing, I give in and yell for Carmine about a half dozen times. Finally, the guy who drove my car appears in the doorway of the kitchen, eyeing me warily. “What?”
“There’s broken glass and stuff on the floor. I need shoes.”
He looks at the floor and frowns, then back up at me. It’s obvious he’s not sure what to do.
“Or you can clean it up? I don’t really care either way, but there is too much crap on the floor for me to take a chance.”
Frowning again, he nods and goes toward the pantry. He comes back with a broom and a dustpan and starts sweeping everything up. As he bends down, I swear it was never a plan, which is probably why it fails badly. I spot the empty bottle of wine at my side and his head is right there. Without thinking, I slam the bottle on the back of his head. Unlike in the movies, nothing happens that I think will. I try to jump off the table, and I land on a piece of glass and cry out as I fall on my face. Carmine grabs my ankle and drags me toward him.
The fucker hefts me over his shoulder and carts me upstairs. He tosses me on the bed, and before I know what’s happening, he’s tying me to the corner bedpost with a silk tie.
“Ouch, you fucker. I’m bleeding here.” Fuck, he tied it way too damn tight.
“Yeah, well, so am I.” Taking his hand away from the back of his head, I wince at the sight of the blood.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I don’t even know why I tried to do it.”
“Tell it to Tony when he gets home. He’s going to kick my ass for you getting the drop on me and seeing your tits.”
Oh god, I only now feel the suit jacket is wide open. Before I have time to be embarrassed, he slams the door behind him as he leaves. Shit. I’m in so much trouble. Tony is going to be so pissed off at me.
Weirdly, I’m not truly afraid...okay, I am not looking forward to him being cold and angry, but I don’t have any actual fear of Tony. What in the hell is the matter with me?