“The Tinder options must be slim if you have to resort to kidnapping,” I toss back at him, moving across the private, state-of-the-art gym Misha had installed in his penthouse, despite the fact that there’s a perfectly good one in his building a few floors down.
I grab my water bottle and take a deep swig. I didn’t hydrate properly when I first woke up this morning, and it’s starting to show. My routine has been all kinds of messed up ever since Misha forced me out of my apartment and into his place.
I guess brother dearest is afraid I’ll run away. Little does he know, it’s not before the wedding that I’m planning to run. It’s after.
Scorpion watches me drinking in a way that makes me too aware of what my lips are doing, wrapped around the straw of my water bottle.
“We both know I don’t need to use dating apps.”
I stop drinking. “I’m sure the women are just falling at your feet.”
The thought sends a sharp stab of something through me. I don’t want to think about all the skeletons in his closet and the women in his bed. I don’t want to know anything about him, really. Lord knows I don’t want to become his wife in a few short days.
“Women do have a tendency of ending up on their knees around me,” he quips.
That puts a sour taste in my mouth.
“I’ll just bet they do.” I shove the straw between my lips and continue chugging.
He prowls closer to me, trailing an inked finger over a leg press machine. “What’s the matter,cara mia? Jealous?”
I swallow. “Just like I’d be jealous of someone who has head lice.”
He laughs and pats his heart. “Ouch.”
Scorpion Andriani wears smug arrogance the way some men would a cologne. It’s the kind of confidence that says he knows he has enough good looks and money to have half the city eating out of his hand.
I set my water bottle back down. “So. What brings you here? I can’t imagine that you’ve come to practice yoga with me.”
He smirks. “I can’t pay a call on my fiancée just because I feel like it?”
I wish the smirking made him less hot. But since his taking me hostage didn’t seem to diminish the effect he has on me, I’m pretty sure nothing will make him a turnoff. It’s annoying. Good thing I’m determined.
I give him a look. “Please. Your middle name is ulterior motive.”
He moves even closer to me, invading my space. “Actually, it’s Gabriele.”
“Scorpion Gabriele Andriani? Your parents didn’t do you any favors, did they?” I wrinkle my nose, determined not to back down, even though he’s so close I can smell his cologne and I can practically feel the heat of his body burning into mine.
Or maybe it’s just hot in here.
“My first name is Lorenzo,” he corrects coolly. “Scorpion is my nickname.”
I’m not going to ask how he earned it because I can connect the dots.
“Which do you prefer?” I ask instead and then instantly regret the question.
It feels too intimate. Too…wifely. And I have no intention of being this man’s wife for longer than absolutely necessary. It doesn’t matter what name he goes by or why.
“Everyone calls me Scorpion.”
“Lorenzo, then.” I give him my brightest smile, determined to irritate the hell out of him.
To torment him any way I can until he gets tired and sets me free.
His eyes narrow to ocean slits. “You can call me Lorenzo if you’d like, but I’m used to only hearing my name when a woman is screaming it.”
“Because you’re murdering her?” I guess, moving past him to put some space between us.