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I had been months without a woman while in Vito’s cell, and as she was loyal to Vito as his wife’s sorella, seducing her was a prize I deserved to enjoy if I so wished.

But pity had no place in such a transaction. Or any other emotion.

CHAPTER FIVE

Evie

I shivered as Dante’s callused fingers tightened on my arm and he dragged me back into the bedroom. I studied the serpent tattoo writhing on the back of his hand as the tendons flexed, while I attempted to quell the riot of emotions making my stomach feel even dodgier.

I’d only lasted about twenty minutes before the boat’s motion—and my panicked thoughts—had me emptying the contents of my stomach into his toilet.

I’d been feeling so awful after that, I hadn’t even been scared when he’d entered the bathroom until I turned to see him standing over me.

Wearing tailored trousers, with smart leather shoes and his freshly bandaged chest visible through an unbuttoned shirt, he was dressed for the first time like a Mafia boss instead of an escaped prisoner.

But just when I was about to start freaking out again—if I could control the puking long enough—he’d shocked me into silence by brushing the sweaty hair off my face. The wry amusement in his eyes when I’d made some disgruntled comment about my seasickness—which he must have understood the gist of from my expression—had made those cobalt eyes even more compelling. But then my heart had swelled to push against my already sore throat when he had produced a couple of seasickness pills and run me a glass of water. The reversal of roles from that morning had been impossible to ignore.

At first, I’d thought he might be trying to drug me, but the strangest thing had happened when he’d frowned then glanced at my still churning tummy… I hadn’t felt scared any more, perhaps because I could see from his disgruntled expression, he’d surprised himself as much as me with his solicitous behaviour.

But as soon as I’d started to relax, that comforting sense of connection had vanished. His jaw had tensed and his eyes had narrowed, even as his gaze coasted over the soggy T-shirt I wore with a clear sense of entitlement.

When he let go of my arm I hugged myself, brutally aware of how few clothes I had on… Why had I taken off the damp sweatshirt?

He hunted through his drawer and produced a clean, fresh T-shirt. But when he grasped the hem of my shirt, obviously intending to undress me again, the way he had with his knife the night before, I scooted back.

‘Stop!’ I said.

I didn’t want to be virtually naked in front of him. Not with so many confusing reactions churning in my gut alongside the nausea, and the way my skin had prickled and glowed under that entitled stare…

We were alone in his cabin and while I’d had some vague plan to use my awareness of him to make my captivity seem less scary, I was feeling a lot less sure now.

I was a freaking virgin. What if my lack of experience only made this worse? And that was before I even factored in the reality that he held all the power already. And me none.

His brow furrowed. A muscle in his cheek tensed. Gone was the man who had handed me the seasickness pills. But instead of grabbing the hem again, his gaze roamed over the wet T-shirt.

He growled a command in Italian.

I had no idea what the words meant, but the tone made it clear he was giving me an ultimatum. And when he flicked a finger at the shirt, it was obvious what that ultimatum was. Either I took off the wet shirt, or he would take it off for me.

Why did he have to be such a dominating ass?

‘O-OK,’ I said, my teeth beginning to chatter, although I couldn’t be sure if it was from stress or irritation. ‘I don’t suppose you’d leave the cabin?’ I asked.

I didn’t want to get changed in front of him. My bra and panties were no protection against that heated gaze. And now the motion sickness pills had started to calm my stomach I was scared I might respond to him without intending to.

He frowned as if he had no idea what I was talking about.

‘OK, no problem,’ I said, turning away from him and planning to get it done as quickly as possible, but as I whipped my damp T-shirt over my head, my arms got tangled in the sleeves and suddenly I was totally stuck.

I swore softly, aware of his low husky laugh behind me. I struggled some more but I only got more tangled in the wet fabric, aware of my bra and panties now exposed to his gaze.

I could feel him behind me. He whispered something in Italian, rough with humour.

Hard hands clasped my arms and my breathing seized in my lungs, awareness of his warm chest against my back streaking through me like an Exocet missile.

We wrestled together to get the shirt off but, just as he released me from its grip, his hand skimmed past my breast—the touch fleeting, and unintentional. But I couldn’t hold onto the sob as his callused palm brushed across my engorged nipple.

We both stilled, his rough breathing suddenly matching mine. I was tucked against him. I jolted, aware of the outline of his cock stiffening against my bottom.