14

14
Six

I stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against my skin as I walked toward the pool.

The soft glow of the underwater lights illuminated the water, casting rippling reflections onto the stone deck. And then I saw her.

Arabella.

She moved through the water with hypnotic grace, her body slicing through it like a siren born to the sea.

The tiny red latex bikini she wore clung to her every curve, not just accentuating but celebrating each perfect dip and line of her frame.

It was sinfully bold, molding to her like a jealous lover, making her breasts look fuller, her wet skin gleaming like polished marble under the shimmering lights.

I clenched my jaw until it ached, loathing the instant traitorous response of my body.

The urgent stiffness pressing against my pants mocked me, a humiliating reminder of how utterly powerless I was in her presence.

I had assumed, hoped, that after everything, after the time she spent avoiding me, after the distance she had put between us, after the days that had passed without setting eyes on her, my body wouldn’t react like this. That I wouldn’t still want her the way I did.

But I was wrong.

Arabella glanced at me briefly, her eyes locking with mine for only a second before she continued swimming, pretending I wasn’t even there.

Her head dipped beneath the water, only to resurface moments later, droplets clinging to her skin as she wiped her face before diving back in.

I watched the water bead and roll down her shoulders, her back, the curve of her waist.

I was gawking, completely shameless about it.

She knew. She had to know.

And still, she gave me a performance worthy of a siren’s call.

Her strokes became slower, more deliberate, the movements of her body controlled yet teasing. Taunting me. Daring me.

I caught the ghost of a smirk playing across her lips when she turned to breathe, though she never once acknowledged my presence outright.

It was maddening. She was maddening.

The heat blazing in my chest had nothing to do with the humid night air.

I forced my hands into my pockets, trying to appear indifferent, but my gaze never left her.

I had seen Arabella in many ways, angry, smug, rebellious, even vulnerable, but this was different.

She was both untamed and untouchable, radiating a quiet confidence that told me she knew exactly what effect she had on me and delighted in reminding me just how pathetically helpless I was against it.

I hated it with every fiber of my being.

Who was I kidding?

I was intoxicated by it.

Finally, she swam toward the edge and pushed herself up, water cascading off her body as she stepped onto the deck.

My throat went dry as I took her in, her skin glistening, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, the way her bikini clung to her like a second skin.

I wanted to glide my fingers along her smooth skin, touch every inch of her body…

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I reached for the towel draped over the chair beside me and held it out to her.

She snatched it from my hand without a word, her fingers grazing mine for the briefest moment before she wrapped it around herself.

“I don’t think the Capo is going to appreciate you gawking at his bride…”

“You don’t like being his bride,” I replied.

“You don’t know that,” she retorted.

I stared at her, long and hard, my gaze lingering on her lower lip, still bruised from where he hit her. Instinctively, I reached out and brushed a finger against it.

She visibly relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

It was pathetic, a meaningless apology. I could have intervened that day, could have prevented her humiliation, spared her that pain. But I’d chosen self-preservation instead.

Now I was haunted by the memory of Marco’s lecherous face as he’d devoured the sight of her bare breasts, a vision that would torment me until my dying day.

She pulled away. “You have nothing to be sorry for. But you will be truly sorry if the Capo finds you here, touching me…”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve barely touched you. If I touched you, Arabella, you’d know for certain.” My voice was deep, husky.

She swallowed, slightly taken aback by my response.

“And the Capo isn’t home,” I added, satisfaction curling through me. “So you have nothing to be worried about.”

She sighed in relief, then looked up at me, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

My lips curved into a predatory smile. “We’re home alone...”

She tossed the towel aside and stepped into the pool again.

I smirked and crouched so I was eye-level with her. “I want to ask you a question, Arabella Rodriguez.”

She furrowed her brows. “What is it?”

“That night at the club… did you set me up?” My eyes searched her face curiously. “On whose orders were you acting? And what game are you playing?”

Her brows pulled together slightly. “What are you talking about?”

I exhaled sharply. “I think we’re past that, Arabella,” I said, amusement lacing my voice.

Her cheeks turned red, her gaze darting away. She dipped her head just enough that I knew she was trying to avoid my eyes.

“Of course, I remember,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But I didn’t set you up. I didn’t even know who you were.”

I studied her closely. “So it was random?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

I stared into her eyes, watching as she bit down on her lower lip.

I believed her.

I took a slow breath. “What are we going to do about this?” I gestured between us.

Arabella blinked innocently. “Do about what?”

A dark chuckle escaped me. She wasn’t naive, far from it. She was playing with fire, testing how much provocation I could endure before I snapped.

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel the tension between us,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous murmur.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes narrowing like a cat’s. “What tension?”

I smiled then, slow, knowing, predatory. My gaze traveled downward in a blatant caress before returning to capture hers.

“Your nipples are pointy through your latex bikini.”

Her mouth snapped shut, the flush on her face deepening.

And just like that, I had her.