Page 78 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
He makes a low groan. “Fuck.”
His eyes still locked on mine, he slips his hand through the gap in the front of my dress, cups one breast, and gives it a squeeze.
My thoughts scramble as he pinches my nipple with his fingers. I didn’t expect him to go this far, but I also didn’t expect to feel such a thrill at what’s happening.
God, I’m screwed.
There’s a knock on the door.
We break apart, and the air in the room ripples with released tension.
Ras sucks in a heavy breath, adjusts his pants, and glances at me.
I straighten out my dress. “Come in.”
Benjamin enters, dragging a rack of clothes behind him. Ras finishes with the other pin and calls him over to check that the markings are right.
We get the okay, and I go to take off the dress. I pull the curtain closed and press my forehead to the mirror. I was right earlier. Being around Ras is a terrible idea. But when I open my eyes and glance at the light-pink mark he left on my shoulder, I’m not sure I have what it takes to stay away.
CHAPTER17
RAS
Breakinginto Garzolo’s study isn’t something I’d planned on doing, but the perfect occasion presents itself when Gemma’s mother texts me to bring Gemma to have a late lunch with Cleo and her after the appointment at the department store.
Pietra is driving them back home, so I’m off the hook for the day.
Gemma and I didn’t speak on the ten-minute drive over to the restaurant. What happened in the dressing room seems like something that’s better left without commentary, even though I’m dying to know what’s going through her head.
I’m used to pushing boundaries and doing ill-advised things, but what I’m not used to is having Gemma, of all people, as a willing accomplice.
All I could think about as I looked at her standing in front of the mirror in that fucking dress was how unfair it is that Messero will have the privilege of having her for the rest of his life.
That idiot doesn’t get it. He doesn’t gether. I saw it when I watched them together in Ibiza. He was like a robot around her. Barely touched her. Barely even talked to her.
If she was engaged to me, I wouldn’t squander a single second. She’d be glued to my side. If she wanted to eat, I’d feed her. If she wanted to sit, it would be on my lap. If she wanted to shower, I’d wash every inch of that perfect skin and then dirty her up again.
I clench my jaw. I’m going fucking crazy.
Pushing the tip of my knife into the lock on the door, I wiggle it around. The lock gives with a soft click.
I slip inside the room and close the door behind me.
It takes me less than five minutes to sweep through the study, and I find absolutely nothing of value. No wonder that lock wouldn’t deter even a child from getting in. This place is just for show. Garzolo must do his real business elsewhere, or he’s done an excellent job of cleaning everything out before I got here.
I leave the study, stop by the bar in the living room to splash some whiskey into a crystal tumbler, and take it with me as I head upstairs to my bedroom.
“Be careful around Gemma.”
Those words are looping on repeat inside my head as I dial Dem’s number. I need to give him an update on my progress here and pretend like I don’t know what Gemma’s skin tastes like or the exact pitch of her little moans.
Out of all the women I could lose my mind around, why the fuck does it have to be one who’s already engaged to another man? And not just any man. A don. I can’t dispose of that fucker without setting off an avalanche of problems for Dem.
I press the cold tumbler against my forehead. The fact that I’m actually thinking through the potential repercussions of murdering Gemma’s fiancé is just fucking great.
Damiano picks up on the third ring. “Ras.”
“Sorry to interrupt the honeymoon.” They’re in the Maldives right now, on a small private island with just them at the hotel.
