Page 113 of Claimed At First Sight

God, that’s a satisfying thought.

How long would that defiance survive once she was mine?

The image of her backed against the wall outside her bedroom rises uninvited. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth was so damn tempting.

Mia had walked away from me before I was finished with her. I was never going to let that slide.

I’d been livid, but once I had her cornered, all I cared about was how badly I wanted to drag her against me and kiss her again… or bend her over my knee for her disrespect.

The fact that both options appeal equally is concerning. Neither eases the tension coiling low in my body.

Her lips would have won out, though.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have followed her upstairs.

Somehow, being that close to her had stripped away my usual restraint.

I’d told her how worried I’d been.

What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. That’s the problem. The words had come out before I could stop them.

For nearly an hour, nobody knew where she was, and it drove me crazy. I checked security feeds myself, had Rafa and Remo on the case. We even prepared search plans.

It was a disproportionate response to a woman I’m not even engaged to yet. That thought does nothing to improve my mood.

The treadmill hums beneath me, and I focus on the burn in my legs. I try to think about anything but dark eyes and stubborn lips.

I want progress, which means her wearing my ring and sleeping in my bed, her belly round with my child.

I lower the treadmill speed and brace my hands on the rails, dragging air into my lungs.

This is only day two of her here in Chicago.

Why the hell am I so impatient?

I will get there.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mialina

Idraw the brush through my hair and watch my reflection stare back at me from the vanity mirror.

At least one of us looks composed.

The woman in the glass appears perfectly calm. Her makeup is neat, her posture is straight, and there isn’t the slightest indication that she spent half the night mentally plotting the murder of a certain Chicago mafia don.

But appearances can be deceiving.

A fresh layer of snow blankets the grounds beyond my window. Aldo’s sprawling estate looks almost peaceful this morning, which seems unfair considering my mood.

I drag the brush through my hair a little harder.

After long reflection, I have arrived at a foolproof strategy for dealing with Maximo.