The glow of twilight cast golden shadows across the marble floor of the suite. The scent of the Mediterranean breeze mingled with the perfume Valentina wore oud, rose, and fire. She sat alone on the velvet chaise, one leg curled beneath her, the silk of her dress pulled dangerously high, exposing the smooth curve of her thigh. Her thoughts were a storm.
She should be preparing for the engagement dinner. Instead, she was thinking about the man who kissed her behind the lemon trees the man who wasn't her fiancé.
Lorenzo Moretti.
The wrong brother. The wolf in the dark.
The door opened. No knock. No warning.
He entered like a command dark suit molded to his muscular frame, shirt unbuttoned to his chest, and a slow-burning cigar between two fingers. His eyes met hers with the calm of a predator before the pounce.
She didn't stand.
"You're early," she said coolly, swirling her wine.
"You're playing with fire," he replied, voice like gravel and silk.
She smirked. "And yet you always show up to burn."
His jaw flexed.
"You kissed me," she continued, her voice soft but laced with challenge. "Twice."
He stepped forward, the cigar now forgotten on a crystal tray. Each stride toward her felt like gravity shifting. She rose to meet him, standing close enough to feel his heat. The moment stretched taut, thick with unspoken sins.
"You think this is a game?" he asked lowly, brushing a thumb along her jawline not touching, just hovering, enough to make her skin ache.
She didn't flinch. "I think you want me."
"I do want you," he confessed, voice raw. "But I shouldn't."
"Because I'm Matteo's?" she asked, breath hitching.
"No. Because once I have you" his eyes dropped to her lips "I won't give you back."
The air between them sparked like static. His hand slid up her arm, calloused fingers grazing the goosebumps rising on her skin.
Valentina tilted her head back, lips parted, chest heaving beneath the thin silk of her dress.
"Then don't give me back," she breathed. "Take me."
His hand fisted at his side. "Don't tempt me."
"I already did," she whispered, pressing a finger to his chest. "You just can't admit how much you liked it."
He grabbed her wrist not to hurt, but to anchor. His grip trembled slightly.
"Your wedding is in six days," he rasped. "You'll be wearing white. You'll walk into a hall full of weapons and lies and kiss a man you don't love just to keep peace."
She pulled her hand free slowly, sensually, her fingers dragging across his palm.
"And you'll sit in the shadows," she whispered, "wondering if I taste like guilt or salvation."
Their eyes locked. The tension burned. It wasn't just lust. It was something sharper. Something dangerous. A love born in chaos.
He leaned in so close his lips brushed her ear. "You're playing with a wolf, tesoro. Don't cry when you get bitten."
"I'd rather be bitten than bored," she murmured back.
Just when she thought he'd press his mouth to hers, devour her whole he pulled back, eyes dark with restraint. His control was fraying, and they both knew it.
He turned toward the door.
"You didn't answer me," she said softly.
He paused, hand on the handle.
"What happens if I fall?"
He didn't look back.
His voice came like a promise wrapped in ruin.
"Then I'll fall with you."
And then he was gone leaving only the echo of temptation and the ghost of a kiss never given.