Page 6 of Forbidden Bride (Forbidden 1)
KARINA
My pulse is still poundingafter another full glass of wine and half a flute of champagne.
Romeo was right. The champagne absolutely does not compare to the wine.
I make small talk with a few people I’m acquainted with, but I’m too distracted by my mystery man to keep up any kind of lengthy conversation. I’m lusting after a hot man I spent ten minutes with, and God help me, if I saw him again, I’d probably let him do all the things to me. Which is fine to daydream about, because it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again. The ideas in my mind are just innocent fantasy. You end up living in your head a lot when your world is small and every male family member or hired watch dog has their eyes on your every move.
Honestly, I’m surprised Mercutio didn’t come storming through the crowd to beat Romeo to a pulp. If not my cousin, any other male here who was looking in my direction and knows who I am. But no one came forward. Overprotective hands aren’t dragging me out of here and stuffing me in the back of a limo. I’m not getting the full treatment of chastising followed by berating. No, the slight flex of my feminine will was seemingly my own, witnessed only by myself and Romeo.
Which makes it even more delicious.
The long buffet of hors d’oeuvres is unveiled and the crowd delightedly moves to it. There are chocolate fountains, charcuterie boards, beautifully arranged fresh fruits, nuts, meat and dips along with towering platters of desserts and other enchanting finger foods.
My stomach lurches at the staggering array of food, but rather than join the crowd in sampling the treats, I take advantage of the distraction and make my way to the back of the pavilion. With one last glance over my shoulder, I hurry down the back steps to the garden path. The second my flip-flops touch the ground, I let out a little sigh. Free at last.
The sun set a while ago, so most of the light is lost, lending the garden a dim, dreamy quality. As I walk down the gravel path, little lights turn on along the way and highlight the neat edges of the trail. I won’t be able to read my book, but I don’t care. I can sit in the maze for a while and listen to the music the band is playing. I can pretend to be in Italy or Greece or the Maldives. Anywhere but here.
Anywhere but in this constant stranglehold.
The sweet scents of blossoming trees and flowers catch my attention. I meander slowly down the path, inhaling deeply and reaching out now and again to stroke the soft petals. I’m not much of a gardener myself, but I’ve always dreamed of having a whimsical English garden of my own one day, complete with an ivy-covered picket fence and crumbling statues covered with moss. I’d hang some windchimes to make music in the breeze and lay out a meandering path of flat stones through the rose bushes and fragrant herbs. The butterfly garden would grow wild and untouched so the butterflies and bees can come visit. It would be my sanctuary, a place where I can read on a cozy bench under a willow, surrounded by sprawling ferns and hydrangeas.
One day, I’ll have it all. At least, I hope. I need something to look forward to.
The hedge maze is completely dark. Taking my cell from my clutch, I turn on the flashlight app and use it to light my way as I step inside. The six-foot hedge walls are imposing as they tower over me, the paths between them a bit eerie. Pea gravel crunches beneath my feet as I tread slowly down the first path. Just up ahead is a marble bench with a burbling fountain beside it. I almost reach it when the echo of footfalls gives me pause.
The hairs rise on the nape of my neck, along with the tingling sensation that tells me someone is behind me.
“Bella! Juliet, attendere prego.”
I don’t turn around, but I know who it is asking me to wait. It’s him. My Romeo.
A hot ache flares between my thighs—this man is dangerous. I don’t need to know him a moment longer to recognize that he could get me into a world of trouble. And himself too. He has no idea who he’s reeling in. He has no idea who I am or how tight the strings around my wrists and ankles are.
But I’m not about to tell him.
“Ci incontriamo di nuovo,” I reply easily. So, we meet again.
“Ah, sai parlare.” You’re fluent.
“Si.”
When I spin to face him, he smiles, robbing my breath. My mind races in both Italian and English, the languages I grew up with and still switch between fluidly. It didn’t occur to me until now that Romeo is fluent as well. The way the words rolled off his tongue so easily is a dead giveaway. So, something we have in common—an Italian background. Who is he?
He keeps his distance, and I’m thankful for that. My body is already on fire. What would happen if he came closer again, touched my hair, rubbed his thumb over my lower lip?
I shake my head, trying to will the thoughts away. I need to rein in my hormones.
“What are you doing out here?” I slip my phone in my pocket and grip my bag tightly.
“I had to see you again. I saw you walk outside so I thought I’d take one more chance…if you’ll let me.”
Pleasure ripples through me at his words, even as I hesitate to ask what he’s referring to. “If I’ll let you what?”
I know better than to flirt like this, but I’m intrigued. My experience with men is limited, especially in unchaperoned situations. And we’re in the dark…in a garden…alone.
The times I did try to have a little fun were always thwarted. My patriarchal family requires things to operate a certain way, each member expected to comply with their role. And if you’re female especially, you do what you’re told. For me, that means having a constant chaperone. Except that right now, he’s AWOL, so I can’t be held responsible for whatever happens next.
I’m just a simple female, after all.
Romeo moves closer and my pulse flutters, then races. Every part of me yearns for his touch. I grip my clutch even tighter, as if my purse is my anchor. I can barely stand being separated from him, desperate to feel his hands on me.
Suddenly, he’s right here, his chest against mine. His hand cups the side of my face and I look up into his eyes as he leans down.
“If you’ll let me do this,” he murmurs.
I let out a gasp of surprise and anticipation right before his lips claim mine and I fall into a whirlpool of heady sensations. His mouth is hot, lips hard yet searching as they move on mine. The tip of his tongue flicks along the inside of my mouth and I moan at the pleasure of it.
There’s so much to take in. The hardness of his body against mine, heating me from chest to belly. The strength of his arm as he wraps it around my back and holds me scandalously tight, his other hand still cradling my jaw. It’s a firestorm of hard and gentle and my body awakens, comes to life, flies free as I let myself relax into his strong, reassuring grip.
What. Is. Happening?
He groans against my mouth. It has a satisfied tone, yet he pulls away from me. My brow knits and I instinctively lean in for more, then realize what I’m doing and draw back. If he’s satisfied with the kiss, why did he stop? Did I do something wrong?
