đź’śNicole
The door had opened, and a distinct, but familiar scent of aged leather and expensive cologne had filled the room. I'd thought it was Sergei, probably coming back to convince me to allow him keep me company like he was doing few minutes ago. I was waiting for him to speak, assuming he was just waiting for me to finish the line I was sketching. Even when the silence stretched too long, even when the presence felt too heavy, too focused, even when the cologne made me remember someone else, it never registered that it wasn't him.
"Sergei," I'd said, my voice low and slightly husky, still focused on my charcoal lines. "I told you I'm fine. I just want to be alone, for real. You can go back to your post. Papa would be furious if anything went wrong and you weren't there."
And then I heard it. A voice that had no right to be up here, a voice that always played in my head with a kind of cold command.
"Does he come into your room without knocking?"
I jerked instantly, the shock ripping through my body like an electric current. The sketchpad clattered, paintbrushes went flying, and a drop of black ink spattered the cream-colored rug.
I scrambled around, my heart vaulting into my throat. There he was. Leonardo Greco, leaning against the frame of my door, perfectly composed in a charcoal suit, with a subtle, almost tired smile playing on his lips.
Was that awe in his eyes? Had he been standing there, just watching me?
"How long have you been standing there?" I managed to ask, my hand instinctively pressing against my chest to contain the frantic rhythm of my heart. The man was a walking, breathing heart attack.
I shot to my feet, the panic now fueled by the realization of my location and his. I pushed past him to check the hallway, making sure no guards were watching. I slammed the door shut and whirled back around.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I whispered fiercely. "No one that isn't family is allowed on this floor. This is a security risk! You could be a spy, a betrayal, and why the hell are you in my room?"
He simply shrugged, as if entering the forbidden territory of a rival don's daughter who he was trying to strike an alliance with, wasn't a monumental, life-threatening offense. "I heard you caught a cold. Felt guilty for throwing you in the pool."
I scoffed, the sarcasm kicking in instantly, a defense mechanism against the overwhelming attraction I felt for him. "Guilt? Does the devil even feel guilty, Leonardo?"
He chuckled. It was a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the floorboards and straight into my chest. He was amused. By me.
I stood there looking at him, staring straight at those stormy grays of his that held my heart captive with every passing second and then, out of nowhere he laughed. Like he actually laughed. It was a small, quiet, guttural sound, utterly unlike the cold smirks he usually wore. For a second, he looked less like the feared boss of the Italian Mafia and more like a man I might, foolishly, know.
"You have zero survival skills, Principessa," he said, his eyes darkening slightly. "I could be here to kill you, to kidnap you, to blackmail your father, yet you are standing there, staring at me like a kid looking at her favorite candy bar."
His words broke the trance. I finally looked away, feeling the heat rise from my neck. My heart was going to explode if I didn't get him out.
"Leave," I hissed. "Now. Or I will yell. The guards will swarm this room, they will see you here, and I will tell them you came here to steal information. You'll be lucky to get out alive."
He didn't move. He took a single, deliberate step toward me. I shrank against the door, my legs suddenly rooted to the ground. Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was the foolish, reckless part of me that desperately wanted him to close the distance, to lean into me, just like he had at the church.
He continued walking until he was right in front of me, his body heat radiating, forcing me to tilt my head back.
He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his stormy grey eyes staring into my dark ones with an intense, suffocating look. He was daring me. He was waiting for me to scream.
I couldn't. I tried to turn my head away, but his hand shot up, cupping the side of my face, his thumb pressing gently into my jaw, making me look at him again. I could feel his heartbeat now, fast, loud, a frantic rhythm that matched mine.
For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. I could taste the sharp metallic scent of his cologne.
Then, he recoiled. He moved away suddenly, taking a step back as if a physical barrier had sprung up between us.
I stayed glued to the door, mortified, my body trembling with residual tension. Why didn't he? Why had I wanted him to? I had decided to stay away, for Grace's sake. Because it also wasn't right. Even an alliance would never make my father approve of me and him and I knew that too well.
"You should be at the engagement party," I choked out, desperately trying to reintroduce reality. "Before Grace comes looking for you."
That statement seemed to annoy him. The temperature of the room dropped twenty degrees.
"Why? You want me to leave so Sergei can come in?" he asked, the jealousy in his voice sharp and unexpected.
"Sergei?" I asked, confused. What did my father's guard have to do with anything?
His eyes dropped, intensely, to my thighs. I followed his gaze.
It was then I realized the oversized T-shirt I was wearing barely covered my behind, and the blanket, which had been covering my legs, had fallen off when I'd jumped up to check the door. I was standing in front of Leonardo Greco in nothing but a short massive T-shirt and a pair of small, lace-edged panties, my long legs almost entirely exposed.
Heat flooded my cheeks and crawled up my thighs. I hadn't been this exposed since I was a child. He had seen it all.
"So he does comes in without knocking," Leonardo repeated, the possessive fury suddenly dominating his voice. "Do you sleep with him?"
The absurdity of the accusation, the sheer arrogance, snapped my composure. I didn't think. I raised my hand and slapped him, hard, across the cheek.
The crack echoed in the room. Even I was shocked at my own audacity.
He turned his face back toward me slowly, the shadow of a deep red handprint already forming on his pale skin. Before I could speak, he moved.
He grabbed me by the throat, not painfully, but firmly, possessive and slammed me back against the hard wood of the door.
He caged me there, his body pressing against mine, his hand on my throat and kissed me hard. It was a kiss of pure, hard, territorial dominance. It was hungry, demanding, and utterly consuming. He took my breath, crushing my lips against his teeth. He tasted like expensive whiskey and rage.
Then out of nowhere he bit me, hard, on my lower lip. I gasped into his mouth, tasting blood.
I pushed him away, shoving his chest with frantic strength. We both stood panting, staring at each other. I saw a flicker of regret, of dark surprise, in his eyes.
He opened his mouth, ready to say, "This is a mistake."
I cut him short. I surged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt, and I kissed him. I kissed him like I was starving, like I wanted to own every single part of him, like I needed the memory of this specific moment branded onto my brain. I bit his lip back, smiling into his mouth to mark my payback, savoring the salty, sweet taste of his blood mixing with mine.
He broke the kiss, his eyes blown wide. He grabbed my throat again, pressing me back, and then, without hesitation, he started kissing me again, harder, faster, not caring about the blood.
The desperation within me increase, my fingers fumbled with the top buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.
Suddenly, he ripped his mouth away and pushed me back against the door, holding my wrists.
We stared at each other, chest heaving. The silence was deafening, the air electric with lust and violence.
I leaned against the door, defiant, and raised my left leg slightly, hooking it on the frame, exposing my thighs and the thin lace of my panties to his view. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. His eyes followed my gesture, darkening at the sight of my now completely exposed panties. The tension on his shoulders became obvious, like he was slowly losing the ability to hold in.
"You want me, Leonardo," I whispered, my voice raw.
I then took my finger, rubbed it slightly on my lips, and touched myself with it, rubbing my soaked panties.
A strangled, agonizing sound escaped him at the sight, a deep, frustrated groan that resonated in the quiet room. He stood there, frozen, his eyes burning with desire and self-hatred.
"You are right," I breathed, without caring anymore about the consequences. Locking eyes with him i admitted. "I get wet every time you come close to me."