The Mafia Lord And His Forbidden Princess

ROSALINE

Doomsday comes unannounced-that was something I believed in. Well, in my case, doomsday had a face and a herald with whom I shared blood.

My brother stood at the entrance of the banquet, talking to a tall man with dark hair and a tall stature. I knew who it was. Terenzio De Vitto. I had thought my life could not get any worse than knowing my stiletto had a broken heel at a wedding I had so dearly planned.

De Vitto was handsome, with sharp features and a lean-muscular body, like almost every Mafioso his age in the New York Cosa Nostra, but his attractiveness did not lessen my fear.

Just as Dom twisted his head to me, I scooted to one side of the hallway behind a thick pillar. My heart raced infuriatingly. I did not want my brother to do the introductions yet. I did not even want him to have me married yet.

"It was marriage, not the end of the word," Dom had said. Except, what if it was? If it were up to me, I would never get married.

Most soldiers had nothing to be proud of, being in the lowest position in the syndicate, but my father wore it on his sleeves like some ornament. My brother, Domenico, was not any different. At least he had a proper reason.

Domenico Guerra was a name known to the whole of the underworld. He was not a soldier as he should have been. He had not inherited the title from our father. Instead, he became the Consigliere, the advisor, to Adonis Vitale, the Capo of the Vitale Crime Empire, because my brother was the only one Adonis trusted with his eyes closed. The Vitales were one of the two ruling families of the New York Cosa Nostra, which was a tremendous deal.

Dom and Adonis had been extremely protective of me since Papa's tragic death. While I loved the way they coddled me, it was only to a certain limit.

As a teenager trapped inside the four walls of a giant mansion, protected by my father and his hordes of men who did not even dare look at me, I had wanted nothing more than freedom, which my brother had given me... but it seemed like my years of freedom was over.

Dom appeared next to me, his hand stuffed into his pockets and a judgemental look over his icy expression. I scanned his sides and peered my head out to look at the entrance.

Empty.

Terenzio was gone.

That was even worse. What if I accidentally came across him and panicked?

"Where did he go?"

Dom let out a sigh. "I sent him to the garden with Danilo to find his seat." He shook his head in disappointment. "You're hiding like an inmate... from a man who would be your husband."

"Could, not would."

He grasped my hand and yanked me around as I tried to walk away. "Why are you hiding from him? I've never seen you scared of a man, not even twice De Vitto's size. Marriage is not the end of the world."

Fifteen. He had said this fifteen times in two days. "If you say this one more time, I swear to God, I'll end your world," I snapped. "And I'm not scared of him."

"No, you're not scared of him. You're just hell-bent on pissing me off," he grumbled. "I don't see what's wrong with giving him a chance. I talked to him about what Bella suggested."

"And?"

"And he agreed."

My eyes widened. When Bella, Adonis's to-be-wife in a few hours, had suggested the whole 'going out and getting to know each other before marriage' scheme, I had been sure Terenzio would reject it, which was why I had agreed to it. He was Terenzio De Vitto, the Underboss of Washington. He had better things to do than court a woman he had never met.

"He'll put in his effort, despite his busy schedule, and take you out on however many dates you like." Before I could speak, he chided, "Dates, that's what they'll be. You'll have a curfew."

I cocked a brow. "What am I, five?"

"No. But you're my sister."

I glanced at the door to the bridal suite as Bella stepped out in her wedding gown with her brother, Matteo Rossi, who was also a Capo as Adonis. We were in his territory, within the boundaries of the Chicago Outfit.

Giving my brother one last glance, I trudged toward Bella in my strapped stilettos-turned-flat, since I had broken the other heel as well, holding the pleated drop of my peach-coloured dress. Bella's eyes fell on me and she asked, "You're here? I thought you were looking for Fabi."

"Didn't make it that far. Trouble in Paradise."

Holding her breath, she muttered, "I'm thinking about running. Want to join?"

"Running from Adonis?" I snorted, seeing her nod. "Good luck on that, seeing as you won't be able to make it past New York," I gave Matteo a look, "or Chicago."

"Ugh!" She rolled her eyes.

Matteo paced forward to talk to Dom, leaving Bella and me barely out of earshot. They, no doubt, were talking about the De Lucas, the ones being monitored all evening, so they could not make a mess of the event I had planned.

Turning back to Bella, I questioned with a pouty face, "Would it piss you off if I snuck out of your wedding?"

She knitted her brows together. "Yes, I'll be pissed. Furious. Enraged. And why would you even ask that?"

I lowered my voice and explained, "De Vitto is here and I... I don't want to see him yet. I'm not ready."

I knew she would understand my situation. She and I were almost close to age, and the world we belonged to did not idolise an unmarried woman over the age of twenty. We both were way past that. I was twenty-four, and she was twenty-six. Only, she would be married in a few hours, and then it would be me, the only spinster amid traditionalists. Again.

Bella's eyes softened. "At least stay until the vows are over. That's all I'll ask as a friend."

"You're incredibly good at blackmailing people with those puppy eyes," I said. "Fine, I'll stay, but as soon as the vows are over, I'm out. Don't tell my brother where I went, though."

"Where will you go? As far as I know, you don't know Chicago that well."

She was right. This was not home. This was, according to my mop-headed brother, the enemy territory and no matter how many peace treaties were signed between us and the Outfit, it would always be that.

"I don't know. I'll probably just go back to the Di Falco mansion."

"The mansion has been locked for tonight. No one's going there."

I slammed my hands on my forehead. Of course, no one would be there. The wedding would go on till midnight with the dance, dinner, and all that. The banquet halls had rooms that had been opened for the stay of our guests.

"If you were me, you wouldn't want to stay here for Dom to come every five minutes to drag your ass down."

Dom and Matteo returned to us and Dom quickly asked, "Whose ass?"

"No one. Stop eavesdropping, creep." I walked back to the venue, not interested in quarrelling with Dom. He had to understand my need for space from him, given all the emotions I had been feeling. I scanned the area, only to find De Vitto seated in the fifth row of the aisle on the groom's side.

I did not want to face him just yet; maybe I would not have to if I was lucky enough.

***

LUCIANO

My stomach knotted as I watched Adonis and Isobel-my Belle-taking their marriage vows. Then they kissed. I could feel nothing but anger and nausea at the sight. As many around me suspected, it had little to do with the fact that she was once mine, should have been mine, but was being given to someone else. No. She had chosen Vitale over me, which stung me more than anything else did.

Vitale was a bastard among many others, and New York Cosa Nostra was not a place for a woman like her-a woman not bound by traditions or rules. She would grow to hate her life eventually because from what I could tell, she loved her freedom too much for the Vitale Empire's fucked up rules to trap her.

I would have killed a handful of men this instant if it had not been for my brother forcing me down on my seat. Pietro's hands were close to his gun, not to cause a scene or start chaos, but to shoot me if I got out of line.

When the cake-cutting ceremony began, I wanted to grab a good bottle of imported whiskey and disappear, seeing the women cast their pitiful gazes and the men's scornful looks toward me. Pietro's teeth gritting made me... behave.

Sometimes I forgot I was the older one.

Until I became Capo, I was a complete mess-reckless and promiscuous. The latter stayed the same, even after I had claimed the position, but my recklessness had been long gone. Pietro was the smart, the calm one-the brother who was always Ma's favourite. People viewed us equally, but I enjoyed keeping my distance from people unless it was on a more intimate level.

The sun had set and dusk was long gone when I finally decided I could not do it anymore. I scurried up to the terrace of the building, my body aching from so much rigidity. And of-fucking-course, Pietro followed me, like a pain in my ass.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked. I often wondered how he remained so calm, even when he was freaked out or angry.

I scowled at him. "What do you think? I'm getting some air."

"You're not leaving this party, brother," he said with a hint of warning. "We will stay the night and leave tomorrow like every other man. Got it?"

"Have you perhaps forgotten I'm your Capo?"

He shook his head, his brows forming a straight line. "How can I ever forget that? But you asked me to accompany you to this wedding to keep your head straight. This is me doing exactly what you've asked of me. We don't want Vitale or Rossi to think this wedding affects you."

"Well, sorry to inform you, it does affect me and they know it. The invitation was nothing but their way of mocking me." They had surely had a good laugh behind my back. I pulled a cigar out of my pocket and lit it with the lighter before turning back to Pietro.

"I need some fucking air and a few minutes without your head up my arse. Be a sweet little brother and let me?" I pointed at the door.

He gave me a side glance and said, "Just don't lose your shit," before disappearing through it.

Pietro had to understand I needed space. The woman I had spent years desiring, and... now, hating had gotten married right before my eyes-had been secretly married for the past eight years.

We would have been married for that long now if she had not disappeared like that. I would have cherished her, kept her as she willed. Did she perhaps think I was a controlling, manipulative bastard as the entire fucking world did? In that case, I could not blame her.

She had left me for a man who was nothing better than I was, and yet, according to her, he was 'different'. Different how? He was the Capo of Cosa Nostra like I was the Capo of 'Ndrangheta. Adonis Vitale ruled most of New York alongside his rivals, the Illianos, while I ruled the entirety of Canada. We were both territorial men. We were both Mafia lords. I did not understand any part of Belle's logic.

Who should I have blamed for this mess, though? Her mother, who had solely left the mafia world with her daughters because of family politics? Her dead father for dying and leaving them with a fate far worse than death? Godfather Rossi, who had allowed his daughter and granddaughters to flee in the first place? The Camorra for killing Belle's father and starting the war? Or myself for never letting Belle see the real side of me?

"Well, that was intense," a voice sounded.

I furrowed my brows and looked around the terrace. My eyes paused at a shadowy figure on the top terrace. Only the soft lights from around the building and the stars silhouetted her face, but her blonde hair shone even in the dark. She looked down at me, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

I was certain I had seen her before, but I could not remember where. I looked down at the gate and then up at her. "How the hell did you get up there?"

"Climbed up."

From the deep cut of her collar and the spaghetti straps, it was clear what she was wearing. "In that dress?"

"Never seen a woman climb in a dress?"

The hint of playfulness in her voice drew my attention. "Not in this lifetime." The cigar remained between my thumb and forefinger, unsmoked, while I tried to make more of her features. She was slender and her long neck was probably the sexiest thing about her, the curve an absolute perfection.

"Well, nothing's impossible, and certainly not for a woman." She shrugged.

"Hm." I took a long puff of the cigar and asked, "You're hiding from someone, aren't you?" She remained quiet and looked down at the venue. "I'll take that as a yes." There was no answer from her side again. "From whom?"

"That's personal. I'd rather not tell."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." It was a fair exchange. Except...

"I'll make a wild guess on yours. You're the man attending your ex's wedding with your brother as a plus one." My smirk dropped at her words and my lips tightened. She went on, "Mine's not as severe as yours, but I would rather keep my embarrassment to myself and not make others feel the need to pity me."

Regarding her with a keen expression, I blurted, "In that case, how do I get up?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is BOOK 2 in the series 'Castello Di Carte Mafia Chronicles'. BOOK 1: The Mafia Lord And His Spy Lover is recommended to be read first to understand the character dynamics first (plus you'll enjoy it too), but not necessary.

ROSALINE

What I appreciated most was the view from atop the terrace. From the thirteenth floor of the building, everything below glimmered-the string of lights, lanterns and candles of the wedding venue. Everything was perfect, the silence, the chill in the air and the barely audible music... until Luciano joined.

De Luca had a half-half personality. He was a Capo and was as cold and monstrous as those Mafiosos around me, but he had a funky aura about him as well.

I did not know what I was thinking when I agreed to him joining me up here, though. I figured with the state of mind he was in, he would want a friend, but it was not the wisest decision. Dom would kill me if he ever knew.

De Luca let out a heavy gasp as he took off his navy blue blazer, tossed it to the side, and tried to peek down at the venue. His movements were so calm, despite the chaos in his eyes.

Both Outfit and the Cosa Nostra had wronged him. The whole marriage scheme between Adonis and Bella was nothing but a façade to fool Luciano and more men like him. Adonis and Bella had not been married for eight years. They had only met three months ago. And they sure as hell did not have a daughter together. Adonis's daughter was not biologically Bella's. Technically, they were biologically related but Alessia was not her daughter.

I pinched the back of his shirt to pull him back. "Don't do it. You may not see anyone down there, but that doesn't mean they can't see you either."

He arched a brow. "I don't think they can, though, with all the lights blurring their vision."

"Still. I don't want to take any chances." I sighed. "Destroying my peace is the last thing I want."

He looked back at the folding ladder and smirked. "I doubt your peace would be in problem."

Both Bella and her cousin-sister Fabiola had some kind of problem with De Luca, which De Luca had very little to do with. He had blatantly admitted wanting Bella, but, according to her, it was his way of trying to claim ownership of her. Stupid of Bella to think Adonis would not claim ownership of her at some point. Men in our world were dominating, and they were not in the habit of sharing what belonged to them. We, as the women of this world, were bound to them, no matter what the price. That was how things worked.

Whereas the thought of being ignored devastated Fabiola Rossi, the one forcefully promised to Luciano ten years ago after Bella's mother had faked their deaths. She did not want to be his second, and I was sure she wanted him to fall in love with her... whichever way possible.

"You have no idea what I would have to deal with if I get caught here," I muttered, "especially with you."

"Enlighten me," De Luca tittered. "What would happen if you get caught?"

His rich cologne mixed with the awful smell of the cigar between his fingers wafted to my nose in the light breeze. How could a man's perfume define power?

I cleared my throat and answered, "Hours of lecture on how everyone around me has failed to make me a refined lady."

He let out a low chuckle. "That'd be bad, no?"

"I'm already a big disappointment." His smile dropped. Seeing the confusion on his face, I added, "I'm just kidding. Everyone loves me and the others are afraid of saying anything to my face because they fear my family."

"You haven't told me your name yet."

My reputation was not the best out there. Fathers gave my name as an example to their daughters to teach them of the fate of girls who were defiant and dared to look for freedom in a world as terse as ours. I was the girl who broke the rules-that rule being getting married before hitting twenty-among many other things, and now no man wanted me. Many thought I was a whore, not pure enough or not fit enough to be a wife. Even though those words were just rumours, everyone believed them, and that, despite the reality, made it the truth.

I had stopped denying it after some time.

Ignoring him, I pulled out a cigarette from my purse and extended a hand toward him. He cocked a brow. I wanted to see the colour of his eyes right about this moment. They were no doubt beautiful, like the shape of them, hooded with long lashes.

"I need to light it," I said. Lighting my cigarette with the burning tip of the cigar, I turned back to him, only to find him staring at me. "What?" He took a sharp breath and shook his head. "Don't tell me you're shocked to see me smoke."

Mafiosos' women did not smoke, at least not until they were married or their men had permitted them. And I had none.

"No, I'm just awed by how skilfully you smoke and still manage to keep your lips pink."

I laughed with a snort. "Oh, good lord, that's the worst compliment I've... No, the one about my hair being soft as a horse's tail would be the worst. Yours could be the second."

He smirked. "I can do far worse, but I'm just telling the truth. What is that?"

"Marlboro," I answered immediately, offering him a hit, and he complied.

He closed his mouth around the filter, straight from my hands, his lips lightly brushing against my finger. A fleeting current shot through my hand. I wanted to pull away but, at the same time, I did not.

"I haven't had a Marlboro in ages," he confessed.

"And why is that?" He showed me the cigar. "Is that Cohiba?" He nodded, and I said, "I have people around me who live for Cohiba and Fonseca. I hate the smell of both, though."

He regarded me for a second before throwing his cigar off the terrace. "Don't be too flattered. I figured since you're stuck with me, I might as well do you this favour."

"You think too highly of yourself, don't you?" He did not answer. "I didn't ask for the favour," I said, "but thank you."

His eyes drifted down to the venue again, and he heaved a stressful sigh. There were clear signs of guilt and pain in his eyes. For a quick second, I felt bad for him, but that feeling left as soon as it came.

Adonis was happy, and that was all that mattered to me. With the way he had suffered over the years, this was his shot at happiness.

De Luca did not deserve this, but he would understand. He was better off without Bella because she loved Adonis. Bella had confessed how badly she had tried to love Luciano back when she had no other option but to marry him as the elders had decreed. Now she had a choice, and she had made hers.

"You're overthinking." He shrugged. "I know that look when I see it. Even from miles away. Care to tell me? I could use no silence right now."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I truly felt bad for him. "I was thinking about you?" His eyes snapped up to mine, and I blurted, "Not romantically, of course. I was just-"

"Feeling bad because my fiancé betrayed me," he completed.

I scowled. "She didn't betray you."

"It's betrayal in my eyes and in that of my people." His Adam's apple bobbed. "My fiancé left me for the enemy."

"She didn't leave you. Have you ever thought that maybe you're better off without her? That you two aren't meant to be?" My voice lowered. "That maybe fate tore you apart?"

"I don't believe in all those bullshit."

"Of course, you don't. You wouldn't be a Mafioso if you did." The disapproval in my voice was quite clear.

"I can't do anything about it. Though I want to kill Adonis very much." I shuddered at the thought. He continued, "But... that wouldn't help me with Belle, as much as I know her. The way she looks at him, she has never looked at me. I doubt she ever would, and I cannot force her."

"She'll hate you forever," I mumbled. "And so will her daughter."

The truth about who Alessia's mother was had been buried for the sake of the alliances between 'Ndrangheta, Outfit and Cosa Nostra.

Silence wrapped around us, and uneasiness spread through my nerves, knowing he watched me. "She made her choice," I finally said, "and you'll make yours someday. You'll understand why she did what she did." My eyes met his. "Maybe now you can concentrate on Fabiola Rossi."

His chest rose as he took a deep breath and with a forced smile, he questioned, "Are you saving that for some other occasion?" I turned to look at where he had pointed. "Or are we allowed to open that?"

I took the bottle of whiskey I had carefully placed away from me, considering how clumsy I was, and handed it to him. Drinking with him seemed like a bad idea. He was Luciano De Luca, an ally yet still an enemy. But right now, he was... broken and suffering.

Besides, it was just a damn drink.

What could go wrong?

LUCIANO

"Why aren't you telling me your name?" I asked, looking at the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

She looked at me, a sheepish grin stuck to her lips. From the little light we had, I could not make her features correct, but she was beautiful. I would be damned if I did not know her better. Her fingers toyed with the bracelet around her wrist, her brows pressed closely.

In a deeper voice, she said, "You'll know who I am, that's why."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Everything," she muttered. "I don't have the best reputation and that extends beyond Cosa Nostra... I think. Even though what people think of me doesn't matter and what they know of me is nothing but rumours, most people believe them."

"Why would you let anyone else judge you?" I cocked a brow at her. "But who am I to say? I sure as hell don't have a sterling reputation, either."

"But you're a man and a Capo. No one would dare speak about you the way they do about me." She huffed. "This is why I hate this world... my life."

"So do I." The words leapt out of my lips without a second thought. As the supreme of 'Ndrangheta, the most powerful gang in existence, I should not be saying this out loud. She twisted her head to meet my gaze. "Everyone thinks I'm cruel and cold and whatnot, but it's just a part of what I do, not who I am. I'm possessive and domineering, of course, but there are things to life even I enjoy. However, I rarely get to do that now."

"I know. Maintaining the falsity of your being so your men fear and obey you."

"Hm. And it works."

Her eyes were still on mine. This was the longest she had held my gaze. My presence bothered her, irked every inch of her, given her restrained breaths. I could not say I was not enjoying it.

I wondered if she was married. She did not look less than twenty, probably twenty-five or something, and it was highly unlikely for the women in our world to be single at that age. Being chased off by an angry husband at my ex's wedding would have been a show to watch. Or maybe she was widowed. Perhaps she was not of our world, to begin with. Whatever it was, I was desperate to know her.

"Your name?"

She groaned. "And we're back to that again?"

"Why are you trying to change the topic? It's just a bloody name."

"You know me... kind of."

She turned her head to me and put on a grin. Pulling my phone out, I turned the flashlight to her face. She squinted her eyes but then looked straight at me. I was right. She was beautiful. Her features were striking-a perfectly oval face, plump lips, and a button nose. I leaned closer to see the colour of her doe eyes, vibrant amber. Her makeup was light, if she had done any at all, and her skin looked marvellously soft.

"You've seen me before," she whispered and I realised how close my face was to hers.

"Have I, though?" I mumbled back, making sure my voice hit every deep nerve in her body.

"Maybe you were too busy noticing Bella." Shame, I thought. She added, "We haven't officially met, if that's what you're wondering, but we've crossed paths over the years."

The soft wind made the loose strands of her hair land on her face, and she let out a low groan. Before she could push them back, I reached out and swept the locks, my fingers oh so softly brushing her forehead and tucking them behind her ear. Her entire body tensed, but she didn't pull back or push my hand away, only stared at me.

Drawing back, I exhaled a deep sigh. Taking a long gulp of the whiskey, I kept the bottle aside. I wanted to remain sober, just to get to know this woman better, but I also wanted to drown myself because of the situation I was in.

"Tell me, woman, are you widowed?" She chuckled, the sound so melodious, and shook her head. "Married then?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're a part of the Cosa Nostra?" She nodded sincerely. There was a hint of loyalty sparkling in her eyes at the mention of Cosa Nostra, so she had to be a part of it. It was still strange that she was unmarried. "Who are you running from?"

"Would you stop asking if I tell you?"

"Your name or the person you're running from?"

She chuckled and said, "The latter." I crossed my hands over my chest. "I'm running from the man who might be my husband."

"So, it's not confirmed yet?"

"I'm low on options here, so whether or not I want to, I would have to marry him. I don't have a choice."

"Is he not a... good man?" Strange how I uttered the word 'good'. For starters, no man in our world was good. She seemed to say the same thing with her eyes that scanned me with a hint of sarcasm. "Wrong question. Why are you afraid of him?"

"I'm not afraid of him," she claimed. "I'm just afraid of marrying him. Though not him in general. Just of marriage. Love is what I want, not the fairy-tale kind, but the one that makes my heart swell and fill with desire and passion. I've never felt that with anyone."

Her honesty threw me off guard. Often, our women did not utter words like desire and passion, because they knew they were tied to certain rules and would have to abide by them. Love was never an option; unless the person they were feeling it for was their husband or the one they were promised to. Seeing her brave enough to want them was refreshing.

Belle was not like her and neither was Fabiola Rossi. They were both forced to feel for me, though I doubt the younger one, my current fiancée, felt anything other than aversion toward me.

"Have you ever felt that way?" she questioned, and I turned back to her again. "The passion? The desire?"

"I have. Every time I kill someone, I'm driven by those emotions. The desire and passion for blood."

She knitted her brows together. "It's very concerning how your face lit up while saying that. I meant romantically. Have you ever felt such?"

"Romantically, no. Maybe. But physically, yes."

"I don't believe one can truly understand the drive of physical intimacy unless they're romantically involved in it. Many people have sex, but... with someone you love, everything just heightens."

"You seem pretty sure about that." She shrugged. "Maybe because you've never had sex," I mocked.

Her cheeks turned to a darker colour in the shallow light. She was blushing. Was I right? I had a hard time believing that a girl as beautiful as her had never been touched.

"What makes you think I haven't?" she questioned in a shaky voice.

"Because you're naïve about the whole physical intimacy thing."

"And what if you're wrong?"

I smirked. "There's only one way to find out."

I would have loved to touch her, make her scream my name while I tasted her, fingered her, fucked her. I wanted to show her what it felt like to be desired and how even a small touch could ignite passion and fire, even without the love factor affecting it. In my opinion, the whole satisfaction thing depends of how well the people are at sex.

She leaned in to take the bottle of whiskey from my side. But I had other plans. Perhaps it was the whiskey or the tension in the air. I grabbed the bottle and straightened my arm, taking it farther away from her reach. Her shoulder blade pressed to my chest as she tried to pull my hand back. Her laughter filled the gaps of tension.

"What are you doing, De Luca? You-"

Her voice choked the moment I wrapped my free hand around her waist, and her laughter hitched. My grip was firm, keeping her against my chest. Her face was inches away from mine. Her breathing picked up when I looked down to meet her eyes and leaned in, so close our noses brushed.

"Even the slightest touch can sear passion." My voice sounded guttural, much deeper than my regular voice, than my commanding tone. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Her mouth opened, but she did not protest. She could have pulled back but she did not. Seeing it as a sign, I captured her lips with mine. A different current coursed through my body. I wanted to devour this woman. She smelt like roses and her lips had the mixed taste of the whiskey we had drowned together and vanilla.

God, I did not like vanilla or roses, but right about this moment, I did.

Her body was rigid with hesitation. I pulled back and stared at her, uncertainty and vehemence floating in her eyes. I bent down again and planted a small peck on her lips. It could not be that she had not kissed before. Maybe she had. Maybe she was afraid to act because of who I was.

I withdrew again, only to return to her lips, determined to make her give up control this time. And she did. Her lips slightly parted and I slid my tongue in. Resting the bottle back on the ground, I gripped the back of her neck to keep her from pulling back, even though I was certain she would not. One could never be too sure.

She tried to match the movements of my tongue with hers and massaged it with the same intensity as mine. While one of her hands held my arm, the other rested on my outer thigh, too close to the growing bulge in my pants.

She should have stopped me, given who I was, but she did not, and I was too far out of control to pull back. She moaned against my lips, and every bit of sensibility I had left shattered into tiny pieces.

I pushed her to lie on her back on the ground with her head resting on my lower arm while I mounted her. Her legs straddled my hips. Even though we were hidden from prying eyes, this was still a public place, the thought of which was a bigger turn-on.

With our lips still intact, I trailed my hand down her jaw to her neck. Lingering on her pulse point for a while, I moved further down. Her breathing was ragged, matching the pace of my own.

She wrapped her hands around my shoulder to pull me closer to her body while I kneaded her firm breast. My cock strained against the fabric of my briefs and those tight slacks.

Her scent, her taste and the indistinct sounds at the edge of her throat pushed me to the brink of my willpower. She had admitted she was to be married, and I would be married, though it was the thought of the prior that bothered me more.

"Tell me to stop," I groaned against her lips, almost desperately, but she did not utter a single word.

Her hold on me tightened. I shoved a hand between our bodies and pulled her gown up to brush my fingers on her inner thighs. Her skin was velvety. The moment I touched her lace panties, my insides swelled with need. The fabric was wet from her juices and sticking to her folds. She enjoyed this.

Unable to control the sudden outburst of carnal emotions inside me, I rubbed her over the fabric and ground my hips against her inner thighs. She gasped, clutching the back of my hair. I pulled back from the kiss, just to steal a look at her.

"Look at me," I said, and she obeyed, shooting her eyes open to meet my gaze.

She wanted passion, and I was certain she was getting that. Her desire for more was clear in her eyes. She bit her lips to contain her moans.

She shook from the pressure of my finger against her pussy, the lace only heightening her sensations. Her eyes snapped shut and her head rolled back as her orgasm tore through her, making her shudder at the intensity. I stroked her through the vibrations of her body a few more times before pulling my hand away.

"I think I'll call you Rose," I mumbled while she stared at me blankly, "because you smell like rosewater." She sucked in a sharp breath. "And incredibly delicious."