Page 30 of Twisted Temptation

"Glad to see you’re holding up your end of the deal."

Something flickers in his eyes because he just won, and he knows it.

“And now it’s time for you to do the same.” He turns to the officiant. “Shall we?”

Thankfully, the vows are brief, and I get through mine by pretending none of this is real. That one day it will all be a distant, blurry memory of that time I was kidnapped by a handsome man with a gun.

My words come out quickly, with barely any inflection. I don’t look at Dante for longer than I must.

Then it’s his turn.

He says the first words slowly, his voice deep and steady, and when I finally look at him, his eyes are already on mine.

They don’t waver.

He recites the vows like he means every word, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes something uncomfortable twist low in my stomach.

It’s a performance. I know it is.

He has to convince everyone watching that this is exactly what he wants. That I’m his bride and he’s a man madly in love with me.

But he’s playing the part too well.

I glance away, but I can still feel his gaze on me until the final words leave his mouth.

The celebrant asks for the rings, and John Marco steps forward and offers them over. They’re simple platinum bands that slide on easily.

When I push Dante’s ring over his knuckle, his skin is warm, and his hands are strong. I feel an unwanted jolt of electricity when I think about what those hands are capable of.

I look up.

His eyes are still on me.

And somehow, the look on his face feels more dangerous than the gun ever could.

"By the power vested in me ... I pronounce you man and wife," the celebrant says. "You may kiss the bride."

Dante turns to me, his blue eyes drop to my mouth, and my whole body braces as he lowers his head.

He doesn’t touch me with his hands. But I know he’s going to kiss me.

And I hate that my lips part.

That my pulse picks up.

That my breath catches on an inhale as his mouth comes closer.

But at the last second, his mouth veers off course, and his lips graze the shell of my ear, making goosebumps zip down my neck like a lit fuse.

"I don't kiss on command," he murmurs, so low only I can hear. "When my mouth takes yours, Mrs. Di Zaro ... you'll be begging for it."

I push my hand into his chest. “Except I don’t beg.”

He pulls back, and with an assured smile, slowly drags his thumb along my jaw. “We’ll see.”

His hand drops, and he turns to the celebrant like he didn't just detonate a bomb in the middle of my chest.

And just like that, I am Mrs. Sunny Di Zaro.