RAFAEL
Fucking Emilia. Always poking around where she doesn’t belong.
Enzo’s soft, “Don’t get angry, but look over there,” as we walked into my club didn’t come close to preparing me for the toxic surge of rage and lust that slammed through me when I followed his finger and saw her sauntering throughmyclub, chasingmypatrons away from the bar, and flirting withmybartender.
Flirting. With. The. Fucking. Bartender.
Like they can feel my fury, the usually obnoxious clubbers part around me without being asked, clearing a path straight to her. My steps are calm, controlled, but every muscle in my body is locked tight as I watch Eric talk to her, watching her lean her elbows down on the bar top, pushing that tight ass out. And that piece of shit bartender actually dips his gaze to it.
My lips twist into an angry sneer. Eric might just lose his eyesandcock tonight for daring to look at what isn’t his. His gaze finally shifts in my direction, and he does a panicked double take when he registers the murderous expression on myface. Recognition flashes in his eyes, followed immediately by naked fear.
Good. He should be afraid.
He wisely takes a step away from Emilia. She notices the sudden threat and glances back at me. Even from here, I can see her chest rise and fall with that heavy sigh that means she’s about to be difficult. Her eyes narrow as she slides onto one of the tall stools at the bar.
Oh? You want to play it that way,piccola? Fine.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand as I come to a stop at her elbow.
Behind me, the entire club seems to hold its breath. Conversations die mid-sentence. Even the music feels muted. Everyone’s watching, waiting to see what happens next. Let them watch. I couldn’t give less of a fuck about their curiosity.
Emilia sighs without bothering to look at me. “Here you are again, stalking me. Want to get shot again?” Her gaze finally moves my way as she stares pointedly at my left arm where her bullet grazed me a few days ago. As if on command, the wound throbs with the dull ache I’ve been ignoring all day.
I don’t like the threat. Not one fucking bit. I grip the nape of her neck tightly with my right palm. She freezes under my touch, but I don’t miss the little shiver that works down her spine. That’s right—she’s not unaffected by me. Maybe it’s time I start using that to my advantage.
“Get the fuck up.” I massage her scalp with my thumb, right at that sensitive spot where her hairline meets skin.
Her intake of breath is like a drug. She shoves back from the stool so fast I know she’s hoping my grip would slip, but I keep my hold firm on her nape.
“Fuck you,” she mutters under her breath, and I rub her scalp again as I steer her towards the stairs at the back of the club.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Maybe I really shouldfuck her. Get rid of this decade-old hunger and longing that keeps gnawing at my insides. Maybe I’d finally be free of this obsession once and for all.
She tries to glare back at me, but I tighten my hold, forcing her face forward. She growls low in her throat, furious, but there’s nothing she can do. Every eye in the club follows us as I walk her up the stairs. My employees, my patrons, everyone knows they’re witnessing something significant.
I shove the office door open and guide her inside. The second it clicks shut behind us, I push her into the nearest wall, catching her forehead with my palm before it hits the hard surface. Then I lean in, pressing my body flush against her back, letting her feel the insistent hard-on I’m forced to carry every damn time I lay eyes on her.
“Let go of me.” Her breath shudders out, making her demand so faint it’s almost a whisper. I don't take her seriously.
“No.” I lean down into her, sinking my face into her hair, inhaling that familiar mix of honey and vanilla. Her body goes soft against the wall, and it hits me like a shot of whiskey straight to the head. Fuck, I’ve missed her. Missed this.
“What were you doing down there?”
“N–none of your business.” But she’s trembling now, and when she tries to wriggle out of my grasp, there’s no real strength behind it.
“Wrong fucking answer.” I still have enough presence of mind to know I can try to seduce the answer out of her. So I spin her around until she’s facing me, her back now pressed to the wall.
I lean down like I might kiss her, and watch her lashes flutter. Her gaze darts between my eyes and mouth, breath catching, and I can practically taste her anticipation. But I don’t give her what she wants. Instead, I drag the tip of my nose across hers, down her cheek, along the column of her throat, letting her sweet and sultry scent intoxicate me.
Right under my nose, her pulse kicks up, so I know she’s right there with me. My tongue flicks out, finding that spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and savor the skin there—warm and sweet with a hint of salt.
“We could do this the easy way,” I start softly, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Or I could have one of my men bring Eric up here, and he can explain himself… or risk losing his fucking eyeballs.”
God, I almost want her to ignore my threat. My heart thumps at the thought of scooping that fucker’s eyes out. How dare he stare with desire at what belongs to me? How fucking dare–
Emilia slaps her hands on my chest and shoves at me. Her push isn’t enough to move me even an inch, but I step back anyway to stare down into her eyes. She’s glaring up at me with so much fire it could burn the building down.
“I needed information. My intel said he was the right man.”
