Alonzo almost skipped out of the room in his excitement about the million things he had to arrange and the prospect of his prince getting a princess at last.
Once alone, Vincenzo attacked planning the perfect ring rendezvous with as much single-mindedness as he did his most crucial scientific or business endeavors. But even with his far-reaching influence, it still took hours to prepare things to his satisfaction, leaving only two before his self-imposed appointment with Glory.
He rushed into his bathroom, ticking off the things he needed to do. To get ready for her.
Lust and longing seethed in his arteries as he entered the shower cubicle, letting the hot water sting some measure of relief into his tension. Not that it worked. He felt about to explode, as he had when he’d called Glory. He’d felt he might suffer some lasting damage if he didn’t spend the rest of the night all over her, inside her, assuaging the hunger that had come crashing to the fore at renewed exposure to her.
But although he was still in agony, he was glad she’d resisted him, and that he’d backed off. And he was fiercely satisfied that his domineering tactics had made her push back. This was how he wanted it, wanted her, giving him the elation of the struggle, the exhilaration of the challenge. And she’d done that and more. She’d asked to pick her ring.
Suddenly, something that had been clenched inside him since he’d lost his dream of a life with her unfurled. The plan he’d started executing only twenty-four hours ago had been derailed. It had taken on a life of its own. He no longer had the least control over it or himself.
And he couldn’t be more thrilled about it.
She’s bewitched you all over again.
He smirked at that inner voice’s effort to jolt him out of his intentions. It failed. He didn’t care if she had. All his caution and self-preservation had only brought him melancholy and isolation. He was sick of them, of knowing that without her, he’d feel this way forever. It had taken seeing her again to prove that she was the only thing to bring him to life.
It might feel this way, but it’s an illusion. It has always been.
He still didn’t care. If the illusion felt that good, why not succumb to it? As long as he knew it was one.
What if knowing still won’t protect you when it ends?
He frowned at the valid thought.
But no. Anything was better than the rut he was in. Apart from those months he’d had with her, all he’d done since he could remember was research, perform his business and royal duties, eat, exercise and sleep. Rinse and repeat in an unending cycle of emotional vacuum. Alone.
But when he had her again, he wouldn’t be alone anymore. And he’d slake that obdurate sex drive of his with the only one who fueled and quenched it, who satisfied his every taste and need. For a year.
What if it isn’t enough? What if you start this and sink so deep you can’t climb out again? Last time you almost drowned. You barely survived, with permanent damage.
So be it. He was doing this. Letting go and gorging on every second of her. At whatever risk. He’d never have a real marriage, anyway. His only chance of that had been with her. Now that he’d already experienced the worst, he’d be prepared. At the end of the year, if he still wanted her as unstoppably as he did now, he’d negotiate an extension. And another, and another, until this unquenchable passion died out. It had to be extinguished at some point.
What if it only rages higher until it consumes you?
No, it wouldn’t.
You’re only hoping it won’t. Against all evidence.
So what if it did consume him? After six barren years of safeguarding his emotions until they atrophied, of expanding his achievements until they’d swallowed up his existence, not to mention being bored out of his mind and dead inside, maybe it was time to live dangerously. Maybe being consumed wasn’t such a bad idea. Or maybe it was, but so what?
He couldn’t think of a better way to go.
And as long as he took her with him, he couldn’t wait to hurl himself into the inferno.
*
Though she’d been counting down seconds, Glory’s heart still rattled inside her rib cage like a coin inside an empty steel box when her bell rang at five o’clock sharp.
Smoothing hands damp with nervousness over the cool linen of her pants, she took measured steps to the door.
The moment she pulled the door open, she felt like she’d been hit by a car. And that was before she realized how Vincenzo looked. Exactly how he had looked the first time he’d shown up on her doorstep.
Her head spun, her senses stampeded with his effect now, with the reliving of his influence then.
A deepest navy silk suit, offset with a silver-gray shirt of the same spellbinding hue as his eyes, hugged the perfection of his juggernaut body. The thick waves of his hair were brushed back to curl behind his ears and caress his collar, exposing his virile hairline and leonine forehead. He even smelled of that same unique scent. Pine bodywash, cool sea-breeze aftershave, fresh minty breath and the musk of his maleness and desire. His scent was so potent, she’d once believed it was an aphrodisiac. Her conviction was renewed.
Had he meant this? To show up on her doorstep like he had that first day, only a minute after she’d said yes, making her realize he’d been already there? Dressed and groomed exactly like he had been then? The only difference was the maturity that amplified his beauty.
But there was another difference. In his vibe. His glance. His smile. A recklessness. A promise that there would be no rules and no limits.
Vincenzo? The man who had more rules and limits than his scientific experiments and developments? The prince who was forcing her to marry him to abide by his kingdom’s social mores?
Maybe her perception was on the fritz. Which made sense. Vincenzo had always managed to blow her fuses. In spite of everything, all she wanted now was to drag him inside and lose herself in his greed and possession, have him reclaim her from the wasteland he’d cast her into, devour her, finish her…
“Ringrazia Dio for that way you look at me, bellissima….” He walked her back until he had her plastered against the wall. The sunlight slanting into her tiny but cheery foyer dimmed as his breadth blocked out the sun, the world. His aura enveloped her, his hunger penetrating her recesses, yanking at her. “As if you’re starving for a taste of me. It would have been excruciating being the only one feeling this way.”
Exactly what he’d said to her that first time.
He was reenacting that day.
That…that…bastard! What was he playing at?