Chapter 2

Morning sunlight slashed through the massive windows, warming the tangled sheets. Giovanna opened her eyes.

A heavy, muscular arm was clamped around her waist like an iron band. Her back was pressed tight against a furnace of a chest.

She didn't scream. She didn't thrash. She moved with agonizing slowness, rolling over within his tight grip until she faced him.

Damien looked peaceful in sleep. Giovanna stared at his profile, her heart doing a slow, heavy thump in her chest. She raised her hand, her fingertip lightly tracing the sharp bridge of his nose.

His breathing was slow and even. But the rigid line of his jaw gave him away. He was awake. He was faking it.

Damien's mind was racing. He analyzed every micro-movement she made. He waited for the knife in the back, the screaming match, the inevitable demand for a divorce. This sudden, docile behavior had to be a trap.

Giovanna saw the slight flutter of his thick eyelashes. A small, knowing smile curved her lips.

She leaned in. Her lips brushed against the hard bump of his Adam's apple, leaving a feather-light kiss on his throat.

Damien's body jerked. The act was over. His dark eyes snapped open, blazing with a dangerous intensity.

His hand shot up, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist. He squeezed, the pressure bordering on painful. His eyes searched her face, looking for the lie.

Giovanna didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her head and rubbed her soft cheek against the rough palm of the hand holding her captive. She looked at him like a lazy, content cat.

"You're hurting me, D," she murmured. Her morning voice was raspy, heavy with sleep and completely devoid of fear. It sounded like a pout.

Damien dropped her wrist like it was on fire. He stared at the faint red marks his fingers left on her pale skin. A flash of regret darkened his eyes.

Before he could speak, a sharp, aggressive knock hammered against the heavy double doors of the master bedroom.

"Breakfast is served." Mrs. Gable's cold, rigid voice bled through the wood. The head housekeeper didn't bother hiding her disdain.

Damien's expression instantly turned murderous. He knew Mrs. Gable hated Giovanna. Usually, this was the exact moment Giovanna would start throwing lamps and screaming about being a prisoner.

He sat up, his broad shoulders tensing, ready to absorb the explosion he knew was coming.

Giovanna placed her hand flat against his bare chest. She pushed him back against the pillows. Her touch was light, but the command in her eyes was absolute.

She slid out of bed. She grabbed Damien's discarded black dress shirt from the floor and pulled it on. It swallowed her small frame, the hem hitting mid-thigh.

She walked barefoot to the door and yanked it open.

Mrs. Gable stood in the hallway, her chin raised in a permanent sneer. The sneer vanished the second she saw Giovanna.

The housekeeper's eyes widened, taking in the oversized men's shirt and the very obvious, dark red bruises blooming along Giovanna's collarbone.

"It is Mrs. Blackwood to you," Giovanna said. Her voice was ice. It wasn't a request; it was an executioner's sentence.

Mrs. Gable opened her mouth, her face flushing red. "I-"

"Shut up," Giovanna cut her off. She stepped closer, invading the older woman's space. The dead, hollow look in Giovanna's eyes-a look of absolute, chilling authority that promised utter destruction-made Mrs. Gable physically step back. "Go down to the kitchen. Tell the chef to prepare two American breakfasts. Now."

Mrs. Gable swallowed hard. Her hands shook. She bowed her head awkwardly. "Yes, Mrs. Blackwood." She turned and practically ran down the grand staircase.

Giovanna shut the door. The loud click echoed in the quiet room.

When she turned back around, the ice in her eyes melted. A sweet, bright smile lit up her face.

Damien was sitting up against the headboard. His eyes were locked on her, tracking her every move. He looked at her like she was a completely different species, something fascinating and terrifying.

Giovanna walked back to the bed. She crawled up the mattress and straddled his hips. She looped her arms around his neck.

"Did I act like a proper Mrs. Blackwood just now?" she asked softly.

Damien's Adam's apple bobbed. He didn't use words. His large hands grabbed the back of her head, pulling her down, and he answered her with a kiss that tasted like raw possession.