The woman laughed, a brittle sound. "Delightful! She has Marco's bite." She leaned closer, her perfume overwhelming. "Be careful with this one, Leo. De Luca women have a habit of breaking the men who claim to own them."
Leonardo's smile never faltered. "Fortunately, I've never been easily broken Countess."
By midnight, my feet ached and my face hurt from maintaining a careful mask of polite interest.
The weight of the diamond collar felt like it had doubled, the metal warming against my skin as if absorbing Leonardo's heat each time he touched me, which was constantly, deliberately, his hands never straying far from my body.
When we finally left, the night air hit me like salvation, cool against my flushed skin. Leonardo guided me toward the waiting Maserati, his hand pressed to the small of my back. The light pressure should have been innocuous, but something in the deliberate placement of his fingers made my nerves spark and my stomach tighten.
"Tired?" he asked as Dante held the car door open.
"Exhausted by the company," I replied, sliding into the backseat.
Leonardo followed, sitting closer than necessary, his thigh pressed against mine despite the spacious interior. "You'll adapt," he said simply, as if my resistance were merely a temporary inconvenience.
As the car pulled away from the hotel, I stared out the window, watching Milan's lights blur into streaks of gold against the darkness. The city of my birth, now as foreign to me as the man beside me.
The silence between us hummed with unspoken threats and promises. I was acutely aware of every inch where our bodies touched,the press of his thigh against mine, the brush of his jacket sleeve, the heat radiating from his skin.
"You're trembling," Leonardo observed, his voice sliding through the darkness like silk.
"I'm cold," I lied.
Without a word, he removed his jacket and placed it over my shoulders. The gesture might have seemed gallant if not for the possession in his movements, the way his fingers lingered at my neck, brushing against my pulse.
His scent enveloped me, sandalwood and expensive cologne and something darker.
I hated that I noticed it. Hated even more that my body responded, a treacherous warmth blooming low in my belly.
"Better ?" he asked, his voice a rumble in the darkness.
I nodded mutely, unwilling to trust my voice. The jacket felt heavy, as if carrying the weight of his ownership.
Leonardo's hand came to rest on my knee, innocuous enough to appear proper if Dante glanced in the rearview mirror, but the heat of his palm burned through the silk of my dress. I stiffened but didn't push him away, too aware of the closed confines of the car, the miles of darkness between us and the estate.
"You danced beautifully tonight," he said, his thumb tracing small circles just above my knee. "Though I suspect that's one of many talents you've been hiding."
"I wasn't hiding," I replied, my voice betraying me with a slight quaver as his hand slid a fraction higher. "I was surviving."
"Is there a difference?" His fingers traced a lazy pattern against my thigh, each movement sending unwelcome sparks through my nervous system. "Survival requires adaptation. Becoming what the environment demands."
I finally found the will to push his hand away. "I won't become what you demand."
In the dimness, his smile was all predator. "You already are, Piccola Rosa. Every resistance, every defiance, it's exactly what I expect. What I want." He caught my wrist, his grip gentle but inescapable. "Your hatred is just the first step in a very long dance."
The car turned through the estate gates, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Leonardo released my wrist but made no move to reclaim his jacket as Dante opened the door. The night air was cool against my heated skin as I stepped out, Leonardo close behind, his hand returning to the small of my back as he guided me toward the house.
Mrs. Ricci awaited us in the foyer, her expression as impassive as ever. "Your rooms have been prepared sir."
Leonardo nodded, his hand never leaving my body as he steered me toward the grand staircase. "Goodnight Mrs. Ricci."
With each step upward, the weight of exhaustion pressed heavier upon me.
The physical toll of tension, fear, and unwelcome arousal left my limbs leaden, my mind fuzzy at the edges.
Leonardo matched his pace to mine, his presence a dark shadow at my side.
At the door to my room, he finally stepped back, creating space between us for the first time in hours. The sudden absence of his heat left me oddly disoriented.
"Sleep well, April." he said, his voice a low caress that slid down my spine. "I'm looking forward to our... quality time together."
Without the audience of Milan's elite, his mask slipped further, revealing glimpses of the true Leonardo Russo, a man far more dangerous than the sophisticated billionaire he presented to the world.
"and what if I refuse?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
His smile never reached his eyes. "Then the lessons become more..interesting." He reached out, one finger tracing the line of the diamond collar still fastened around my throat. "But you'll learn either way."
The casual touch sent an electric current through my body, equal parts fear and something darker, more primal. I stepped back, breaking the contact.
"Goodnight."
He inclined his head, accepting my retreat with the patience of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run. "Pleasant dreams, Piccola Rosa."
Inside my room, I locked the door, though I doubted it would keep him out if he decided to enter. The red dress fell to the floor as I stripped, desperate to be free of the garment that carried Leonardo's scent, the memory of his hands. In the shower, I scrubbed until my skin was raw, as if I could wash away the phantom sensation of his touch.
The hot water pounded against my body, but still couldn't erase the memory of his fingers against my spine, my waist, my thigh. Couldn't forget the way my traitorous body had responded to his proximity, to the dark promise in his voice.
I hated him. God, how I hated him, for taking my freedom, for making me feel things I had no desire to feel. And most of all, for being right...hatred was closer to passion than indifference.