When She Tempts: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 2)
When She Tempts: Chapter 15

The key slips smoothly into the lock, and with a soft click, the door swings open.

I’m greeted by a dim, eerie blue glow emanating from rows of screens hanging on the wall. The windows are shuttered, and the lights are off, adding to the unsettling atmosphere. I hesitate for a moment and then shut the door behind me, my palms resting against the cool surface as I try to take it all in.

This isn’t an office.

This is a surveillance room.

We had one of these in our home in Ibiza, but it was half the size and not nearly this ominous.

A desk with a keyboard, trackpad, and notebook sits in front of the wall of screens, and there’s a suit jacket haphazardly thrown over the back of the office chair. Across the room, a tall metal shelving unit holds stacks of semi-clear plastic storage boxes

Unease drips through my veins. If I have to search all of those, I’m going to be here for a while.

Why are the windows boarded up? I cross the room and press my fingertips against the panels. Who wants to spend all day in a room with no sunlight? Is he a vampire? This is so strange.

My gaze drops back to the desk. I should search it thoroughly before I start looking elsewhere.

I glance behind the computer monitor and around the keyboard, but replace nothing. For a moment, I consider taking a peek inside the notebook, but I decide against it. I’m not here to snoop on him, I’m just here for my phone.

Suddenly, my foot bumps against something.

It’s one of those rolling filing cabinets.

I pull it out from under the desk and open the top drawer.

There, lying among the papers and folders, is my phone staring up at me.

“Yes!”

An excited smile pulls at my lips. I won Giorgio’s silly little game, and I did it in a way he never could have expected. He’s going to be impressed, I can feel it. The thought of his surprised look when he realizes what happened fills my chest with giddiness. There’s no way he’ll be mad at me about the tea. After all, this is what he wanted. He gave me a challenge, and I just crushed it.

As I’m about to shut the drawer, something catches my eye. A corner of a book peeking out from below a few loose sheets of paper.

My brows furrow. Is that…

I move the papers aside to get a better look. My heart picks up speed as I register the long scratch and frayed edges. When I open it up and see the first page, there’s no doubt in my mind who it belongs to.

There, in the top corner, is the little sun I drew inside many months ago.

This is my copy of Jane Eyre.

Why does Giorgio have it?

Maybe it fell out of my backpack in the car, he found it, and simply forgot about it. No, that’s impossible, because I remember exactly where I left the book after I finished with it. It was in our living room in Ibiza. I’d meant to return it to the library, but Vale told me she wanted to read it, so I left it lying on the coffee table for her.

Giorgio must have seen it when he came to pick me up.

And he decided to take it.

But why?

An outlandish fantasy grips me. It’s crazy, but my body reacts to it nonetheless, a wave of electricity rolling from the top of my head all the way down to my toes. My belly bursts with butterflies.

What if Giorgio…has liked me all along?

Just formulating that thought feels like I’m hovering my foot off the edge of sharp cliff. It’s dangerous to entertain that kind of hope.

But what if it’s true? What if my unrequited crush isn’t so unrequited after all?

What if all those long looks, the lingering touches, the unexpectedly sweet things he’s said to me weren’t just because of his concern for my well-being or because of his duty to my brother? What if they were because of something more?

Something sparks to life inside of me. It pulses inside my chest, like an organ that’s been dormant but has finally turned on.

I slide the book back into the drawer, close it shut, and slip out into the hall.

In the kitchen, Giorgio’s lying in the same position I left him.

I approach him, my steps slowing the closer I get, while my pulse does the opposite. The adrenaline of getting one over him has faded, and nervous uncertainty ripples beneath my skin.

Did I take it too far?

Does he really like me?

What will he say when he wakes up? Will he remember what he almost did right before the tea took effect?

Running to the living room, I get him a pillow and a blanket and spend the next few minutes doing whatever I can to make him more comfortable. The fact that he doesn’t even stir through the entire ordeal plants a seed of worry in the back of my head. What if he drank too much?

I eye the pot of remaining kava resting on the counter and press my fingertips to a thick vein in his neck. His pulse is steady, but his skin feels clammy and a little too warm despite the fact that he’s lying on the cold floor.

I undo the top two buttons of his shirt and tug it open in an attempt to cool him down. My eyes drift over his muscular chest, and I count his slow, steady breaths.

One.

He didn’t have to get involved with me when he brought me here.

Two.

He could have left me sulking alone in my room, but he didn’t. He saw me. While I was trying so hard to avoid myself, he faced me head-on.

Three.

It was intentional. The phone. The lessons. The way he’s paid attention to me. All of it designed to fix me.

Four.

The backs of my eyes sting. I slip my palm under his shirt and press it over his heart, absorbing his heat and wishing I could replace some answers in the beat.

Suddenly, his peaceful expression morphs into a grimace. “No,” he mutters.

I jerk my hand away as if I’ve been burned.

He shakes his head, his eyes still shut. “No, you can’t leave her there. She doesn’t belong there.”

My brows furrow. I don’t think he’s talking to me. He’s having a bad dream.

His expression grows more and more distressed, and anguish squeezes around my lungs. I brought this onto him.

Tucking my feet under me, I use all of my strength to lift the upper half of his body and move it so that his head can rest on my lap.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Giorgio.”

His brows scrunch together, as if he heard what I said and decided it was nonsense. “Why did you leave her? She wasn’t well.” He sighs a heavy breath. “She was crying in the morning. I asked you to watch her.”

Who is he talking about? I drag my thumbs over the frown lines in his face, attempting to soothe him. “Shhh. Everything is okay.”

It seems to work. He relaxes, his breathing slows.

“She deserved better,” he mumbles. “Better than you and me.”

“Giorgio, it’s just a dream.”

He quiets.

Questions bounce around my head. Is he talking about a real person? A woman in his life? There was real pain in his voice just now. Real regret.

When he doesn’t say anything for a five-minute stretch, I let go of the tension I’ve been holding in my shoulders and release a long breath. I don’t care how long he’ll be asleep, I’m not leaving him. Even if there’s a chance he’ll be furious instead of impressed as soon as he wakes up.

Thick inky eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. I trace the shallow lines between his brows before moving the tip of my finger over the bridge of his nose. I’ve never touched a man like this, and it’s intoxicating. To be this close to him. To see him at his most vulnerable.

A butterfly awakens in my stomach as I reach the corner of his lips. He has a wide mouth, and his bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top one. They look like they’d be soft to touch, but I hesitate.

No, that would be crossing a line. He’s unconscious. I shouldn’t be caressing him like this.

I fold my fingers into my palms and place my fists against the cold ground. My knees have started to ache from the position I’m in, and I decide to try to extricate myself from under him.

Cradling his shoulders and neck with my arms, I gently move him off me.

A hand shoots out and grabs me by the forearm.

I suck in a breath. Is he awake?

His eyes are still closed, but his grip on me is firm. When I try to pull away, he gives a sharp tug, and I fall right into his chest.

His body heat accosts me. As does the fist that appears inside my hair and tugs my head to the side. When he buries his nose in the crook of my neck and makes an appreciative Mmm, my head starts to spin.

“Giorgio?”

He answers with a hot, slow drag of his tongue against my throat, and then he sinks his teeth into my flesh.

I’m stunned.

Heat cascades down my body, like a chain of chemical reactions. I’ve never considered what it would be like to be bitten by a man, but I wouldn’t have guessed I’d feel the ghost of it reaching right to my clit.

He drags his teeth over my flesh, the bulk of his body tensing beneath me, and then suddenly, he rolls us over, making me yelp.

My back hits the ground hard. His body crushes me from above, heavy enough to squeeze the air out of my lungs.

“Giorgio,” I whimper. “You’re too heavy.”

He drags his nose over my cheek all the way up to my hair, takes a big inhale, and follows it with a deep groan that settles right between my legs.

My palms press against his abdomen, trying to lift him a few inches off me. Maybe I should be more worried about what’s happening, but instead, there’s an irrational excitement at having the freedom to touch him like this. His abs move, flexing beneath my touch, and I drag my palms all over them. Finally, he pushes himself up on his hands.

Is he awake? I try to catch his eye, but he immediately drops his face back into the crook of my neck.

The hot, wet kisses set off a full body shiver. Before I know it, my heel is trailing up his leg and pulling him closer, as if driven by some basic instinct. He hums against my ear and rolls his hips against mine.

I let out a moan. He’s hard. And by the feel of it, big.

My core tightens with every pass of him against me, heat swelling inside. On the next pass, the pressure increases, and his length brushes right against my clit.

A loud noise fights its way out of my throat.

Holy shit. That felt good.

But it doesn’t happen again. In fact, his body halts, and for a second, I consider the reality of the situation.

He’s turned on, possibly completely out of it, and strong enough to do whatever he wants to me even if I resist.

What if he…

What if he takes me right here?

I swallow air as he rolls his hips again, more slowly this time, and my arousal starts to tangle with a thread of panic.

I’m a virgin.

I’ve never had sex.

And as wildly attracted as I am to Giorgio, I don’t think I could handle the giant thing that’s pressing against my pubic bone. Not like this.

“Giorgio, wait.”

My hand goes to his chest, but he tears it off and presses it above my head. He does the same with the other. My vision turns hazy. This is the hottest thing that’s ever been done to me. His hips buck against me, the movements more desperate now, and my weak attempt to wriggle out from under him is cut short when I feel his tongue drag a line against the neckline of my tank top.

My eyes flutter closed. God, that feels good. So good that when he moves his lips to kiss the outline of my nipple, I lose my train of thought.

His tongue sets off a slow burn beneath my flesh as he licks me through my shirt. Pull it down. The desire to feel that hot, wet heat directly against my pebbled flesh morphs into an irresistible need.

My eyes roll to the back of my head. “Giorgio…”

Maybe it won’t be so bad.

His teeth scrape and tug.

Maybe it won’t hurt.

He drops a hand to palm my breast.

Maybe it’s exactly what I need.

“Giorgio. Take my shirt off, please.”

The one-handed grip he has on my outstretched wrists eases and then disappears. He lifts his head, and for the first time since this started, blue meets hazel.

I swallow as I drink in the look on his face.

Eyes open but glazed over.

Hypnotic sleep.

He’s not here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Shit. Hollow disappointment solidifies inside my belly, even as he lowers his face to mine, and claims my lips with his.

I gasp into his mouth, and he swallows it up. The kiss is soft, lush, deliberate. His beard scrapes against my chin, his tongue darts out to taste my lips, and my body melts against his in response. Forgetting myself, I drag my palms up the planes of his muscular back and tangle my fingers in his hair.

I should stop this. I need to stop this.

But this is my first kiss, and he’s already taken it without any hesitation, as if it was a given that it was his, so I tell myself I might as well enjoy it.

That hot tongue laps at my bottom lip, and I part my mouth to let him in. The moment he’s inside of me for the first time, something catches inside my chest. I moan into his mouth, licking and sucking and trying to mimic him without any finesse. It’s messy.

But he doesn’t seem to mind.

I wonder if he’s dreaming right now. In this dream, does he know he’s kissing me?

Or is he dreaming of someone else?

The question hits me harder than I expect, making my emotions collide in a harsh bang.

Turmoil slams into desire and exhilaration, breaking them into a million little pieces.

Nameless, faceless women stream through my head. How many lovers has he had? How many meant something to him?

And how could I ever compare to the beautiful, elegant women a man like Giorgio would pick? Doubt slithers over my nape. I’m eighteen. Fucked up in the head. A virgin. Did I really allow myself to think for a moment he’d do this knowingly with me?

I turn my head to the side, breaking the feverish kiss. “Giorgio, stop.”

A hand clutches my jaw and forcefully turns me back to him. His eyes are so damn empty. The usual spark is missing, as if his soul has left.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

He isn’t seeing me.

For him, I’m not real.

He scrapes my tear away with his thumb. “Don’t cry.”

My mouth parts, surprise rippling down my spine. “Giorgio? Are you there?”

His voice is monotone, his eyes blank. He’s on a hypnotic autopilot, and yet he repeats himself.

“Don’t cry, Martina.”