Page 20 of Revenge
I need to wash this day off of me. Get my bearings. Figure out my next move.
I shut the door and lock it and take the world’s longest shower. When I’m finished, I take another half an hour to brush out my hair, apply lotion, and generally stall.
I half-expect Antonio to demand I come out or demand admittance, but he leaves me alone.
Finally, when I’ve grown sick of the small quarters, I emerge with a towel wrapped firmly up to my armpits.
The dinner table and champagne bucket have been removed.
Antonio lounges on the bed with his ankles crossed reading a newspaper. He’s still in his tuxedo pants, but the tie is gone, and his crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. I hate how devastatingly handsome he looks.
This man is a thug who spent time in prison, yet he looks every inch the aristocrat. I hate to admit it, but he embodies “Yacht King” so much more than my father did. I imagine he will run a ruthless business. Probably get us back into the black.
Us. I don’t know why I’m saying us.
It’s not my family’s business anymore, and I’m not sticking with Antonio to make it mine through him.
“Are you sleeping in here?” I ask doubtfully. I mean, I guess that’s obvious. He’s my husband. We share a bed. He wants to consummate.
It’s just that I hadn’t considered how it would feel to climb under the covers–naked–with this extremely good-looking, muscular, and well, virile man.
Not that I’m tempted to consummate.
I’m not.
It’s just…awkward to say the least.
Antonio uncrosses his ankles and sets the newspaper down on the bedside table. He stands from the bed and throws the covers back. “Are you ready for bed, darling?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, not moving any closer to the bed.
“What, darling? Why not?”
“Because you don’t mean it.”
“No, I suppose I don’t,” he admits. “I am taunting you.” His gaze holds a challenge.
I meet it. I don’t know what it is about this man that makes me bold.
I was bold that night of my debutante ball when I demanded a drag from his cigarette.
I was bold when I took his hand and let him pull me into the supply closet for the most sinful kiss of my life.
Now, another surge of rebellion rises in me, and I drop my towel. “And I’m taunting you.”
The move has its desired effect.
Antonio’s gaze jerks to my breasts, then travels lower, to the downy patch of hair between my legs. His jaw clenches and nostrils flare. “That’s a dangerous game, Dahlia.” His voice is soft. Soft enough to make me shiver with the implied threat.
It occurs to me that I’ve bitten off far more than I can chew. Still, I hold my ground, shoulders squared, breasts presented for his admiration. “You said you wouldn’t rape me.”
He prowls around the bed to my side.
It takes all my courage to hold my ground. To not bolt for the bathroom and lock the door once more.
He stalks closer and with each step, my heart picks up speed. My hands are clammy by my sides. My mouth is suddenly flooded with saliva, as if Antonio is something delectable to eat.
“It looks to me,” he rumbles in a deep purr, “that you're begging to be touched.”