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He waves me off. “She’s fine. Evan sent me a text to confirm. You can come see if you’d like,” he taunts, waving his phone in the air.
I narrow my gaze. “Right. And I’m supposed to trust you.”
“What other choice do you have?”
“Mafia men are all the same,” I mumble, more and more frustrated. “Always with the higher-than-thou attitude and power play.”
Dion crosses his arms. “Is that so? What else do you know about mafia men?”
I sigh. “Only that I don’t want to be around them.”
My mind drifts to my father and his plan for my marriage, and I curse the heavens for allowing me to be born into the mob. I’m beginning to understand Angelica’s need to escape.
“You know nothing about me either, astéri mou. I can almost guarantee I’m not like the others.”
I blow out a puff of air. “Isn’t that what they all say, Dion?”
With a shit-eating grin, he says, “Innocent until proven guilty.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him once more, shutting my lids instead to take a deep breath. I imagine running up to him, strangling him by the throat, his eyes bulging out of his head like a cartoon. The thought is quite amusing.
“Do you want to see, or what?” Dion asks, interrupting my fantasy.
I want to check his phone, but that means I’d have to get close to him again. Although I’d love nothing more than to punch him in the throat, his proximity makes me feel—weird.
Good weird. I hate it.
But I decide that Angelica’s well-being is more important. “Fine.”
I walk around the desk and lean forward to check the text, my hair falling over Dion’s face. He stills, as if I’ve just done something wrong. Then, I hear him inhale. He fucking inhales.
“Are you fucking sniffing me?”
“Yes. And?” he replies, no ounce of regret in his tone.
Not realizing how close we are, our noses almost touch when I turn my face to him. I slightly startle, but don’t back away. He can’t know how much he’s affecting me. I don’t want to admit that to myself. I don’t know him. He’s a jackass, and I’m getting engaged. Even though the thought of marrying a stranger makes me sick.
“So, you really are a dog,” I retort.
Dion laughs. That fucking sound.
In a matter of seconds, he slides his palm up and around my nape and grabs onto my hair. My breath catches in my throat at the hint of pain. The pull grounds me in a way that feels foreign, yet undeniably comforting.
It’s strangely anchoring. Dion’s touch is both possessive and reassuring. And I need to get him off me before I do something stupid.
But he brings my face even closer, pulling my head backward enough to stunt my breathing. I hiss, the sting going straight to my eyes, tears pooling. A whimper slips out of my mouth.
A tingling sensation shoots straight down my core. My center is suddenly pulsating with need. I’ve never been manhandled like this before.
“You fucking like this,” Dion grunts, tugging harder, and I moan. “Look at you, Aria. You’re fucking weak, wilting like a leaf for me.”
I shake my head. “No,” I wheeze.
“You’re dying for me to water you, baby,” he says, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. Oh, God. I have a feeling I won’t come out of this unscathed.
“Let me go.” I struggle to breathe.
“Not until you stop playing games, little liar. Tell me you feel this. Whatever this is between us. Admit it, and I’ll let you go.” The heat of his breath in my ear causes my skin to erupt in goosebumps.
