I AM UNEXPECTEDLY NERVOUS.
It doesn't sit well, as I pace the floor in my office, the box containing my mother's ring tucked into my pocket, pressing against my leg.
I am the son of Carmine Benenati. I've been wrapped in wealth and privilege my entire life, and have rarely had to ask for anything.
But I'm asking today. And despite the fact that I'm fully willing to tie Riley up to ensure that she stays—to get my way—this feels strangely real.
I can't hold back the grin or the stiffening of my cock at the mental image of Miss Riley Tremaine, tied to my bed, her pale skin luminous against the sheets.
Tomorrow night, I'll have everything I want—the company in my hands, and Riley underneath me in my bed. Emilia even went to the trouble of putting the money in Riley's account, and a few well placed calls this afternoon have ensured that it will stay there... and I'll let the girl keep the bonus, for what my stepsister tried to do.
It's the most successful business transaction I've ever lined up. Why, then do I care so much what Riley will think when I put my mother's ring on her finger? Why am I even so set on doing just that?
Scowling, I stride out to my balcony, look out over the city. It's midday. I've arranged for a romantic dinner to be set out here later today, complete with candles and roses. After Riley is sated with food and wine, I'll give her the ring. To my way of thinking, just because this is business, doesn't mean it can't be pleasurable for us both.
Just because she'll be my wife for only a month, doesn't mean I can't do my best to counteract the idea of marriage that was planted in my head by my father and how he treated my mother.
I can't wait that long. We will still have the dinner... and maybe I can seduce her into my bed a night early... but I want my ring on her finger now.
And what I want, I get.
"Get a hold of yourself, man." I sneer with disgust, all directed at myself. Real men don't have nerves—my father drilled that into my head long ago. And I hadn't thought I had any left.
I won't deal with this sensation a moment longer. It's appalling.
Digging my cell from my pocket, I dial the maid's line. "Escort Miss Tremaine to my room."
The woman—Alberta? Annalisa?—hums with displeasure.
"Signorina Tremaine, she has not returned yet."
I am stunned into silence for a full moment. "What do you mean, she has not returned? Where did she go?"
The maid continues in my ear, but movement from below catches my eye. The sleek black town car that I use when Franco drives me places appears from between the thick olive and lemon trees that shield the house from view at the front gate. I didn't give Franco any orders...
But I did tell Riley to make herself at home.
For the briefest of seconds I second guess my decision... what if the police had it right? What if she was ready to try to take me for every penny? It wouldn't be the first time or, I'm sure the last.
But my mind is already rejecting the notion as the car slides to a stop in front of the fountain that graces the front courtyard. I watch Franco exit the driver's side, but before he can make it around the car, Riley shoves out of the back.
Shading her eyes from the sun, she looks up at the house. Like magnets, our eyes meet, and I know that my worries are not possible.
She is in need of money, yes. But I have known many women.
And this American art student, with her cheap clothing and no bullshit attitude, is different from all the rest. No woman I've ever known would have taken a knife for me, not even my own stepsister.
Emilia.
Yes, this straightforward little American wouldn't hesitate to stand up for what she thinks is right. And now I know where she went.
Pushing away from the terrace, I stalk out of my room, down the stairs, shouting her name. I find her in the kitchen, Alberta/ Annalisa dabbing at her chin with a cloth, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air.
"What were you thinking?" The maid moves aside at one look from me, and I close in, catch Riley's chin in my hand. The cut isn't big, but the fact that it's there at all infuriates me. "Emilia tries to get you sent to prison, so you confront the dragon in her den?"
Riley studies me with a furrowed brow. "Your stepsister wants to marry you."
I wince, thinking of the night before, of how Emilia offered herself to me so blatantly. "She doesn't want me, she just doesn't want to lose Benenati Enterprises."
There is a sharp intake of breath from the maid; a narrow eyed look from me sends her scurrying from the kitchen. Inwardly I roll my eyes—this news will work its way through the staff within the hour, if it hasn't already.
Riley snorts, a hugely inelegant sound which is nevertheless adorable I her. I tilt my head in question. "And why is that so amusing?"
She arches an eyebrow in return. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."
Unease trickles through my gut. "What do you mean?"
She simply purses her lips and shakes her head, then continues on as though I haven't asked anything.
"You believe that I didn't steal from you." Her words are matter of fact. "Even though I very well could have."
At this I grin. "Surely no bride of mine would behave in such a fashion, cara mia. Not when I've offered to care for your every... need."
Rather than responding to the flirtation with a breathy sigh, Riley rolls her eyes. "I've decided that I won't fight marrying you."
I'm slightly taken back by her tone. Yes, this is a business arrangement, but... still.
"Since Emilia put you in danger, you no longer have a choice." Tracing a finger over the small cut on her face, I narrow my eyes in warning.
And she rolls her eyes again.
"Whatever makes you happy." She smiles up at me wickedly, and my fingers tighten on her skin.
This woman is clear mountain air in the stale castle of my life. I want her. Now. But when I lean in to kiss her, she pulls away.
"I'm doing this for you."
Wait... what? Her expression tells me she's deadly serious. "When I went to see Emilia, I fully intended to just walk away. But that woman... I'm sorry, I know she's your sister. But she's fucking nuts. And it's small of me, but I'm happy to help you out if it means thwarting her."
"Stepsister," I correct automatically. I'm not sure what to make of Riley's pronouncement.
No one has ever wanted to... protect me... before.
It's rather strange. And I'm not sure I entirely believe it.
"That's the only reason, hmm?" Testing her, I let my fingers stroke down from her chin to her neck, then further to her shoulder, bared in the loose T-shirt. Bending, I press a kiss there, and savor her sharp intake of breath.
I slide my lips up the smooth column of her throat, marking a path to her lips.
"I'm a virgin!"
I accidentally nip her chin as she all but shouts. Incredulous, I pull back to look her in the eye.
Her chin is raised defiantly, her chin flushed.
"I beg your pardon?" She must be joking. No woman her age could possibly be untouched—it's unheard of in this day and age.
"You heard me just fine," she shoots back, squaring her shoulders. "Still want to marry me?"
Heat is a tsunami, washing me over, pulling me in. It's all I can do not to bend her over the counter, strip those ugly clothes away, and mark her as mine right in that moment.
With more control than I ever thought I possessed, I pull the ring box from my pocket silently. Her eyes blur a bit when I open the velvet case to reveal the ring that once sat on my mother's finger, the one my father chose for her before money ruined them, when they were still in love.
It's old fashioned, a flower constructed of small diamonds, on a white gold band. Emilia would never be caught dead with it on her finger.
But Riley... when I silently slide it on her ring finger, I find that it suits her perfectly.
"Are you sure?" Her mouth parted with shock, she holds her hand between us. I admire the way the diamonds set off the creamy skin of her hand. More than that, I admire the flush that still sits on her cheeks from my kiss.
"You'll be Riley Benenati by tomorrow night." I smirk a bit at her small, cute squeak. "If you think you can wait that long."
"Ah. Speaking of waiting." Her face flushing crimson, she places the hand with the ring on my chest. When her eyes meet mine they are wide and full of nerves. "I don't want to. Can we... just..."
To demonstrate, she slides off the counter, her body rubbing against mine the entire way down. I stifle a groan as her women's heat, her belly rub against my cock, which by now is rock hard.
She can't seem to spit out the remaining words, but I understand. She wants me to relieve her of her virginity before she loses her nerve.
I can feel my face splitting into a wicked grin. No way in hell am I depriving myself of the pleasure of a virgin bride on our wedding night.
And it will be her pleasure too, I'm sure. So I shake my head, kiss the hand that wears the ring—my ring.
"Try not to get in any more brawls with my stepsister." I stroke a hand over the small cut, still furious that Emilia—that the taint of my family—has already left a mark on her.
But it has begun, and it cannot be stopped. So I step away, even though my cock shouts a protest, and smile at my soon to be bride.
"I will see you at our wedding. And I look forward to seeing you in white."