The engine's low purr was the only sound for a long, tense moment, a stark contrast to the roaring in Layana's ears. Darius's threat hung between them, a dark, sensual promise that sent a shiver skating down her spine. But the flash of heat was quickly doused by a surge of anger. Who was he to speak to her like that?
She found her voice, laced with a courage she didn't know she possessed. "Wash his taste away?" she shot back, her chin lifting. "With what authority, Darius? You don't own me. You don't get to mark me as yours just because you've decided you've had enough."
His eyes narrowed, the fire in them banked for a moment by sheer surprise. He clearly hadn't expected a fight. Good.
"Explain yourself," she demanded, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. "This... this possessive behavior. One minute you're throwing a cup at the wall because my coffee is offensive, the next you're acting like a jilted lover because I accepted a polite invitation. What is your problem with me?"
Darius's laugh was a low, harsh sound. "My problem? Mannaggia, Layana. You are my problem. You have been my problem since we were children, with your wide, innocent eyes and your questions that never ended." He leaned closer, the fine wool of his suit brushing against her arm. The scent of him was overwhelming. "You walked into my office, and you brought all of it back. That... curiosity. That light. You have no idea what you do to me."
"I don't do anything!" she insisted, though her pulse was hammering at the base of her throat, betraying her.
"You breathe," he stated simply, his voice dropping to that dangerously intimate whisper again. "You walk. You bite your lip when you're concentrating, just like you did when you were ten, trying to solve a maths problem. You think I don't see it? You think I don't notice the way your tremble when I get too close? You are a distraction I cannot afford, a temptation I have tried to ignore for far too long."
"So you try to... to tame me? Is that it?" The word felt foreign and thrilling on her tongue. "By being a brute? By glaring at any man who dares to look my way?"
"Sì, sposina," he growled, the Italian endearment sounding like both a curse and a caress. "That is exactly it. Giovanni looked at you like you were a prize to be won. He does not see you. He sees a beautiful, vulnerable woman he can use to get ahead. He does not know the fire that is in you. He does not deserve to taste it."
"And you do?" The question was out before she could stop it, a challenge and a genuine inquiry all at once.
His answer was to move, swift and deliberate. He didn't touch her, not quite. Instead, he brought his hand up, his knuckles hovering just a breath away from her cheek. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Her own breath caught, her entire world narrowing to that infinitesimal space between his fist and her face.
"I have earned the right to be irritated by it," he murmured, his dark eyes holding hers captive. "I have earned the right to want to erase any other man from your mind, from your skin. I have watched you for years, Layana. I know every one of your fake smiles. I know the sound of your laugh when it's real and when it's just polite. That laugh with Giovanni was polite."
He was too close. He saw too much. The interior of the car felt smaller than ever, a luxurious cage vibrating with unsaid things. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs.
"You don't get to claim that right," she whispered, but the protest was weak, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his proximity and his devastating honesty.
"I already have," he said, his voice final. The car began to slow, pulling to a smooth stop. They were outside his modest penthouse. He finally closed the distance, but not with a kiss. He brought his thumb up and brushed it, once, with agonizing slowness, across her lower lip.
The touch was electric, a jolt of pure sensation that made her jump.
It was over before she could process it.
"The taste of that stronzo is gone now," he stated, his eyes boring into hers, seeing every tremor, every conflicted thought. "There is only me now."
He leaned back, the absence of his heat feeling like a sudden cold draft. He reached across her, his body pressing close for one more breathtaking second, and pushed her car door open.
"Out," he commanded, his tone all business once more, though his eyes still smoldered. "Follow me sposina."
Layana stumbled out onto the pavement, her legs unsteady. She turned to look at him, a dozen questions burning on her tongue.
Her skin still burned where his thumb had been. Her lips tingled. As she walked on shaky legs toward his penthouse door, she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her, a phantom touch more possessive than any kiss. He wasn't done. Not even close. He was just... waiting.
His silent steps behind her scares her even more. What will be the consequences of her action? Will fire her? Fuck him anyway, she said trying to boost her up to not be scared by him.
