Page 18 of A Pucking Wrong Christmas
I sucked in a breath, and he squeezed my shoulders, tantalizing my skin with his touch before pulling away. A few weeks ago, I would have breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled away, but not tonight. Tonight, it felt different. Toxic but addictive. Something I craved even though it would poison me.
Through the flicker of the candle’s flame, he gave me a knowing look and smiled. “You’re blushing, Mila.”
“You’re playing games with me.”
“Who says I’m playing?” He poured some champagne into the flute, and I watched as his expert fingers handled the delicate crystal, bubbles forming little imperfections on the side of the glass. As he placed the flute down on the table, his sapphire eyes found mine, pinning me to the chair. “But if I was playing a game, you should know that I always win.”
“I have no doubt.”
The cocky smirk on his face remained, his full lips enticing as ever.
He relaxed back in his seat. “Have you given some thought on which question you’ll ask me tomorrow?”
“I haven’t.” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I think I’ll decide what to ask in the moment.”
“And then you’ll end up wasting another question like you did today.”
I shrugged. “I’ll risk it.”
Saint put his hand on the table, tracing a fingertip up and down the silver knife. “If there’s one thing you’ve proven during our time together it’s that you like taking risks…don’t you, Mila?”
It was a challenge. Provocation. A trap I wanted to fall into. God, this was too crazy. All of this. I still wasn’t sure how I got here, how I went from trapped captive who prayed for escape, to a trapped captive who relished the confines of the prison she’d been locked up in.
I picked up my glass of champagne. “How about we just get through dinner without any innuendos or raging tempers?”
“I can’t make any promises. There’s something about an Italian woman losing her temper, letting out all that passion, that makes my dick hard.” My lips parted, and he slanted a cocky brow. “But I’ll try.” He raised his glass, but I refused to play and took a sip without toasting back. The smile that remained on his face was proof that he expected my subtle act of defiance. It also displayed his amusement.
“Now,” he removed the silver dome from a large tray positioned in the middle of the table, “let’s see what’s on the menu, compliments of my aunt and personal chef.”
“You can stop doing that.”
He raised a brow in question. “Doing what?”
“All your little remarks, hints to the fact that you’re rich and untouchable. I’ve been surrounded by your wealth since the moment you kidnapped me. In fact, I’ve seen nothing but money. The penthouse back in New York. Your private jet. This yacht.” I leaned back and settled my hands in my lap. “The designer clothes your aunt picks for me. I know you’re rich, Saint. I know you’re this powerful businessman, the most eligible bachelor in Italy.”
“Was,” he chimed in with a grin. “Iwasthe most eligible bachelor in Italy.”
I scoffed. “You expect me to believe because both our names appear on a marriage certificate that you suddenly shed your bachelor status like the skin of a snake?”
His smile disappeared, and he placed the silver dome down on the side of the table. I didn’t look at the plate in front of us, not caring what was for dinner. All I cared about was keeping his gaze, and to not let him intimidate me into cowering away.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything.” His jaw ticked as he glowered at me. “But I do expect you to speak to me with respect. I also expect you to not ruin this beautiful evening my aunt planned for us, no matter what her intentions are.”
“Like the perfect Russo wife.” I didn’t look away, a mighty stare-off between hunter and prey. But I refused to cower or show fear. I wanted him to look me in the eye and see every ounce of renewed fight I possessed. The difference was this time I wouldn’t use my strength to fight him, but rather fight to keep my head above water. To make sure I didn’t drown in the world where Saint ruled. Even though the dynamic between us had shifted, I still wasn’t sure whether I could trust him to save me should the waves crash over me and take me under. Right now, the only person I trusted to have my best interest at heart was me. Only me.
I was the one who broke eye contact first and glanced at the platter of food in front of us. It was a gorgeous spread of cheeses, olives, different cured meats, bruschetta, figs, grapes, and a few other items I didn’t know.
“I have to say, my aunt has good taste. Nothing ends a warm Italian summer day like an antipasto platter and a glass of Dom Pérignon.” He frowned. “But it seems like my aunt forgot that you don’t eat red meat.”
“Well, these all look so good, I might just try it.”
“You know, that’s one thing I don’t know about you.” He sat back. “Why don’t you eat red meat?”
I took a sip of my champagne. “I’m surprised you don’t know that. I was sure you knew everything about me, perhaps my blood type too.”
“A positive.”
I lifted a brow. “Don’t look so smug.”
