“You’ll learn,” I murmur.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I make you beg for permission.”
She lets out a harsh, breathless laugh. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Test me.” I dare her right back.
The silence stretches between us. The sexual tension is thick enough to choke on. It cracks like static electricity in the tiny space between our bodies.
I lower my head.
My lips hover a fraction of an inch from hers. I can taste the mint on her breath. I feel the blistering heat radiating off her skin.
Her lips part. A soft, desperate little sigh escapes her throat.
She wants this. She wants me to bridge the gap.
My free hand drops to her waist. I grip the thick, soft curve of her hip. I pull her flush against my body.
She lets out a soft whimper at the contact. Her fingers dig into the heavy nylon of my vest.
I tilt my head. I drag my gaze down to her parted lips. I am going to devour her. I am going to taste her right here against the cold metal.
“Nick.”
Heavy boots thud loudly against the marble floor.
Rafe’s deep, gravelly voice echoes from the hallway, completely shattering the silence.
“We need to talk. Now.”
3
LUCIA
Principessa.
The arrogant nickname still burns in the air between us.
I force myself to break eye contact with Nick. I turn my back on the three security contractors and start walking toward the East Wing.
I grew up in the Cosa Nostra. I am a Costa. I eat Sunday dinners with cartel bosses, hitmen, and ruthless enforcers. I know exactly how to navigate monsters wearing tailored suits.
But turning my back on these three men goes against every primal survival instinct I possess. Exposing my spine to apex predators is a fatal error.
My bare feet slap frantically against the polished hardwood floors of the grand corridor, the cold wood biting into my soles.
Three distinct sets of footsteps follow immediately behind me.
Nick walks with a measured, inescapable rhythm. His heavy tactical boots hit the floorboards in perfectly spaced, deliberateintervals. It is the sound of a man who never rushes because he knows with absolute certainty his prey can’t escape.
Rafe’s steps are aggressive. Heavy. His boots slam into the wood with restless, violent energy. He walks like a caged animal looking for something to tear apart.
Then there is Jude.
I strain my ears, focusing past the roaring in my head, but I can’t hear him at all. He moves with a silent, predatory glide. It is terrifying. He is a massive man wrapped in Kevlar and weapons, yet he makes less noise than a shadow falling across the floor.