Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 5

Blair

Warmth. It's the first thing I'm aware of as sleep begins to release me. There is this intense wall of heat behind me that I find myself snuggling in closer to chase the coldness away. I've always run cold my entire life. Especially when I'm sleeping, it's like my body refuses to maintain any semblance of a normal body temperature. So the warmth that is in my bed right now is greatly appreciated.

I roll over onto my other side, one leg landing on top of the wall. My leg wraps around it as I try to meld my body to its shape. It groans. A deep, satisfying sound. Then the warmth shifts, and a smaller pocket of its warmth appears on my upper thigh. Oh, that's nice. I didn't know that walls could break away, but I am delighted that they can. This piece of the wall isn't stationary. It traverses up and down my leg in slow, leisurely strokes that cause my skin to tingle in its wake.

This wall of heat smells divine as well. Whoever would have thought that a wall would smell this intoxicating, like leather and clove?

“Good morning, Wife,” the wall murmurs in my ear.

Slowly, my sleepy haze begins to evaporate into thin smoke, and reality comes back into full focus. Familiar-looking dark features, with olive skin that has that sun-kissed glow about it, and a pair of brown eyes that look like molten honey that could drown me. s**t. It was a wall all right, just not the one that my sleepy brain had been able to recognize.

My entire body freezes as a new chill floods my veins. Even my breathing seems to come to a complete stop. My lungs burn as my brain tries desperately to rationalize the reason his voice would be in my ear. Memories from just a few hours ago come back to me. Going to bed alone only to wake up hours later with my husband climbing into bed beside me. His blatant refusal to sleep anywhere else.

I reluctantly joined him in the end because I was too tired to push the issue further. Oh God. I'd practically just climbed into his lap in my sleep. And he let me. If there were a hole in the floor, I'd happily crawl into it right this very second if it meant escaping my mounting embarrassment.

“Comfortable?” The corner of his mouth lifts at the taunt.

“Dante,” I say breathlessly.

His eyes darken into deep pools of mahogany and panic swells in my chest to all new levels. I jerk backward to separate myself from him so fast that I nearly tangle myself in the sheets that I can't find the opening anymore. Jesus Christ, have mercy on me right now. Instead of finding the edge of the disastrous linen and making a getaway, my knee slips between his legs, and before I can stop myself, I am straddling his hips. My flailing attempts stop when I look down and find Dante's hands warm and immovable resting against my thighs.

My cheeks burn as I feel him beneath me. I don't have to see it to know just how big he is.

“Say it again,” he growls through his teeth, his fingers digging into my hips. But his deep eyes never waver from my own.

My lips part as I stare at him for another second before my brain finally wakes up enough to understand exactly what position I'm in. And immediately wishes it hadn't. “Let me go.”

His lips twitch for a second, and it annoys me that he refuses to listen to me now. His thumb slowly drags over the ridge of my hip. The feel of his skin against mine with no barrier causes little zaps of electricity to shoot right through me to where it has no business being.

“Let me go, Mr. Lazzari,” I bite out a little more forcefully through clenched teeth.

For several heartbeats, he doesn't move to free me. He just lays there staring up at me like he was studying every line on my body. Finally, his grip loosens, hands falling away from my hips and down to the mattress. I don't give him even a moment to change his mind about letting me go; I jump off of him like his heat singes me. In the haste to distance my body from his, I managed to take the entire top sheet with me.

If I wanted the floor to open and swallow me minutes ago, I definitely wish it would now.

As I turned to scold him for not listening to me the first time I asked, Dante's very naked body caught my attention. Okay... more specifically, the unmistakable erection is what truly catches my attention. My earlier assessment was correct. The man was blessed with a d**k that looked like it would break most women. Me including.

Not that I had any thoughts of the two of us having s*x. That definitely wasn't going to happen. But heat rushes into my face so fast it almost hurts. I whip my head toward the bathroom door.

“You’re blushing, wife,” he drawls lazily, and I feel my face heat even more.

The sound of the mattress shifting beneath his weight is unmistakable. With a deep breath, I face him. Dante now sits on the edge of the bed. His expression is the softest I think that I have ever seen. Forcing my eyes never to drop below his chin was far more challenging than it should have been. It's like my mind wanted a glimpse again, like somehow the first hadn't been real enough.

"For someone who owns an entire designer storefront, you seem remarkably opposed to using the clothing inside."

I hurried into the bathroom, taking the sheet with me. Snatching the tail end of it was a flourish that isn't lost on me either. What else was I supposed to do with it at this point? The second I shut the door and clicked the lock into place, Dante chuckled from the other side. It slowly morphed into a genuine laugh that I never thought I would hear from the Don of a mafia organization.

They're all hardlines and even harder personalities.

Except for Luca.

Pain pierces my chest at the reminder that the man on the other side of the door isn't the one that I had chosen for myself. Even more confusing was how my body seemed to react to Dante. I stare at my image in the mirror. My dark hair is tangled in a mess of knots. There are pillow lines along one cheek, while my eyes don't look quite as dull and lifeless as I thought they would.

After several minutes of staring into the mirror, there is a soft knock at the door.

“Go away,” I growl as I drop to look under the cabinet searching for a toothbrush.

A brand-new pack sits in a stocked wicker basket under the sink, and I snatch it from its pack with more force than necessary. Slapping some toothpaste onto the bristles, I begin to brush my teeth while forcing all thoughts of both men out of my mind. Which only lasts as long as you would assume when Dante knocks again.

“Wife, if I am going to put on something suitable to keep you from blushing all day, I have to get to the closet. That means you have to let me in.”

My eyes flick to the dark doors on the other side of the bathroom through the mirror's reflection. Damn it, he's right. I can't stay here until he dresses because he can't dress without coming in. That would be my luck. The toothbrush hangs in my mouth as I attempt to come up with another option, but it's pointless. Sighing, I rinse the brush and my mouth out before returning to the bathroom door.

I press the lock on the handle, and the clicking sound echoes through the bathroom.

“Can you at least cover yourself up or something?” I plead, peeking through a small crack in the door.

Dante looks annoyed now. The softness I glimpsed earlier is gone, and his normal scowl is in its place. When I make no move to let him in, he finally succeeds. "Fine." He disappears from my view for a moment before returning. "I'm covered."

I cracked the door open another inch and cautiously let my eyes fall lower. Sure enough, he holds a pillow low against his hips, shielding me from the sight of his d**k. Satisfied, I take a step back and opened the door wider to let him inside. Unfortunately, covering one part of him does absolutely nothing to hide the rest. If anything, it only drew my attention to everything else. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. The sharp lines of his stomach that disappear behind the pillow.

Wonderful.

Even his attempt at modesty was irritating to me. My gaze lingers for exactly one heartbeat longer than it should. i***t. I jerk my eyes toward the sink before he catches me looking. I reach for the hairbrush that is sitting on the other side of the sink and rip it through the knots in my hair. Pain blooms across my scalp, and I welcome the distraction as Dante disappears into the closet.

“You do not have to be afraid to look, wife. Remember, I’m your husband.” His reflection appears in the mirror behind me. Thankfully, he at least has a pair of boxer shorts on, so I am not as distracted by him anymore. Through the mirror, I watch as his eyes drifted lower down my body.

The hairbrush falls from my hand as I turn to face him. Raising my chin, I meet his gaze. “We need to get some things straight between the two of us—”

The look on his face shifts to something darker, and for a moment, I remember that I am not talking to just some random man; I am talking to the King of bosses in Langston. His long stride eats up the distance between the two of us, and before I realize what's happening, my hips are pinned against the sink.

“There is nothing to get straight, wife. We are married.”

“On paper.”

A low huff escaped him, one corner of his mouth lifting again. Only there wasn't any amusement in the expression now. “In every sense. We are married. You may not be ready to admit it…yet.” His gaze drifts over my face before one hand lifts, slowly, deliberately, until the backs of his knuckles brush my side.

It was barely a touch. The backs of his fingers skimmed my side so lightly I should've been able to ignore it. Instead, every muscle in my stomach tightened. Traitor. Dante Lazzari has always been an intimidating man. Now, having him so close, with only centimeters between our bodies and in nothing but his underwear, is far more discombobulating than if he were actually threatening me with a gun. That same hand that brushed against my ribs finds itself under my chin, tilting upward as he invades even more of my personal space.

“Wh–at a–re y–ou doing?” I fumble over my words like an i***t.

My heart beats so loudly that there is no possible way that he can't hear it. His lips barely brushed the corner of my mouth. "Kissing my wife."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, his lips capture mine. My lips part in a startled breath, and he uses that to deepen the kiss with infuriating patience. His kiss isn’t rough. It’s not rushed. He kisses me leisurely, like he has all the time in the world, and it steals the breath from my lungs far more effectively than if he'd demanded I kiss him. For several suspended heartbeats, my mind goes completely blank as I return his kiss. When he pulls back just far enough for me to look into those molten whiskey eyes. Something in their depths swirls, and I am not sure what it is, let alone what it means, so I just stare at my husband.

My husband.

God, I hated that word. Even more, I hated how one kiss from him managed to scramble every coherent thought in my head. He lets his hand that had found its way to my cheek drop back to his side. My heart still feels like it is about to beat itself right out of my chest. He then disappears into the closet, leaving me rooted to the bathroom floor, staring after him while my lips still tingle.

What the actual f*ck just happened?

It was just a kiss. So why did it feel so different from any other I've ever had? And why do I wish he hadn't stopped?