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The raw honesty I’d shared with her in the wake of my nightmare should unnerve me, but I found that I only craved her more. I wanted more of her tender, soothing touches, more intimacy. It was utterly foreign to me, and if I stopped to consider how deeply I was trusting her with my secrets, I would probably be scared out of my mind at the vulnerability. As it was, I was too obsessed with her to care.
I fixated on her, studying the dainty way she held her champagne glass as she took a careful sip. Her every move was elegant and graceful, like a dancer.
I suddenly needed to know more about her. I’d seen glimpses of her sweet soul, and I was enamored with her beauty. But she now knew some of my darkest memories, the ones that still tormented me in my sleep after all these years. I needed her to be vulnerable with me too. The desire to possess her completely consumed me. I would learn every one of her secrets, just as I’d entrusted her with mine.
“Tell me about your family.” I didn’t bother to soften the command to something more conversational. She would tell me everything about her. I’d coax her if I had to, but in my eagerness to know her, I couldn’t summon up any finesse.
She dropped her gaze, her expression smoothing to a neutral mask. Her hand tugged free of mine so that she could cut into the fresh melon on her plate. She took a bite before she answered me, and her eyes briefly closed in a moment of blissful enjoyment.
I wouldn’t allow her to hide from me, even if that expression of bliss made me want to pull her into my lap and feed her from my own hand.
“Are you close with your parents?” I pressed.
Unease nipped at me. Was that why she’d demanded to go home to America? Because she wanted to be with her family?
The prospect made my stomach churn. I didn’t want to make her unhappy, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be causing her pain by separating her from her loved ones. I was so accustomed to my own lack of parental attachments that I hadn’t stopped to think about hers.
I reached out and trailed my fingers down the column of her throat, drawing her attention to me. She shivered, and her stunning gaze snapped to mine. Her eyes were dark with pain, and an echo of it knifed into my chest.
“No,” she replied softly. “We’re not close.”
“Are they dead?” I could’ve asked in a gentler tone, but my nightmare about my parents’ murders was still close to the surface. If someone had dared to deprive Evelyn of a loving family the way my enemies had taken my parents from me, I would make them pay.
“No,” she said again. “We just aren’t close.”
She was shutting me out, withholding the information. If they were still alive, I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t be close. Any parent would be lucky to have Evelyn as a child. They should adore her.
My jaw firmed with determination. She wouldn’t escape my questions so easily.
“Why not?”
Her eyes darted around the table, anxiously taking in the other guests.
“Don’t look at them. Look at me. They don’t matter.” Something like jealousy burned in center of my chest. Her full focus should be on me, not them. Just as she’d captured my full attention. I couldn’t stand the imbalance between us. She would reveal her secrets.
“I don’t want to talk about this here,” she murmured. Her eyes were pleading when they snapped back to mine.
I took a breath, mastering my roiling emotions. My possessiveness was driving me to the edge of my control. I was skilled in compelling people to tell me what I wanted to know, whether through charm or interrogation. I’d honed my skills over the years; they’d helped me survive.
My obsession with Evelyn was close to madness. I wouldn’t force her to talk with crude demands. Especially not when she was clearly distressed at the prospect of being overheard.
I could question her more deftly, and I’d save my most intense queries for when we were alone later.
“All right, dolcezza.” I smoothed her shining hair back over her shoulder, revealing my mark that was still visible on her slender neck. The sight of it calmed me. Every man here would know that this stunning woman belonged to me. There would be time for me to learn her secrets later.
“Enjoy your meal,” I prompted. She hadn’t touched her melon since I’d started questioning her, and I wouldn’t neglect her needs. I’d pledged to take care of her, and I intended to keep her comfortable and happy with me.
Dutifully, she took another bite. Again, her eyes closed, and a serene expression chased away the lingering tension around her lush lips.
I watched her with rapt fascination. Her features softened into something almost orgasmic. My cock stiffened, and I craved to hold her close while she indulged in her sumptuous meal.
“You like it?” I asked, my voice slow and deep, like I was drunk on her pleasure.
“Yes,” she replied before taking another bite. She tried to keep her eyes on me when she answered, but her attention returned to the dish that was bringing her such bliss.
“If I’d known how much you liked melon, I would’ve ordered some for you sooner.” I’d have more brought to the suite later. I had a few wicked ideas about tasting the sweet juice on her pouty lips.
“I don’t get to have it as often as I’d like,” she confessed. “My stepsister had a lot of food allergies, so my options were very limited when I was growing up. Since leaving home for college, I’ve tried to enjoy more of a variety, but money has always been tight. A delicious meal is an indulgence. And George…” her eyes darkened with pain again, and I had to tamp down my answering rush of murderous rage. “Well, he controlled our budget. He earned more than I did on my teacher’s salary, so I couldn’t complain.”
