“I don’t mean… that,” I whispered. Why was I whispering? I was stronger than this.
“How about this, then?” Vincent said, his voice that quiet, confident murmur again, and I had to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. “We go for a…test drive.”
His fingers moved away from the earring and trailed down the curve of my jaw. My breath caught in my throat even as my nipples puckered into hard points and heat began to build between my legs. Was he suggesting he take me to bed and fuck me, to see if we were . . . compatible?
My attraction to him was undeniable, and I was torn. Did I want him to do that? No. I shouldn’t. But the dark, seductive look in his eyes promised so many sinful, delicious things that spoke to my deprived body. Things I’d only fantasized about because I’d never found a man who I felt was commanding enough to follow through on those illicit desires of mine.
“I’ll show you all the things I can give you, all the privileges that would come with being my wife.” His fingers trailed down my throat and I almost let a whimper slip free. “You have high standards and I can appreciate that. And if I’ve impressed you, then we agree to the deal, and I’ll help you find your brother’s killer in exchange for you marrying me. If I don’t convince you that we’re a good match, then we go our separate ways and you can try to handle that little problem on your own.”
My body was practically screaming at him to move his hand lower, to touch me firmly instead of teasing, to show me the sexual prowess for which the Russo brothers were so well known.
Vincent stepped back, his fingers falling away. “Sound good?”
I forced myself to take a deep breath. “How do you intend to impress me?” I was proud of how even my voice sounded.
“Let’s start with dinner tomorrow, at six?”
That was—not what I was expecting. I stared at him in surprise.
Vincent’s smirk was dark and knowing. “Were you expecting me to say something else?”
“No,” I lied. “Dinner at six tomorrow. I can do that.”
I knew he was being generous by offering to win me over. This was the fucking mafia. He could simply go to my father and demand I marry him—marry him tomorrow morning, even—and I would have to agree if I wanted any chance of obtaining answers and vengeance. Vincent offering to try and… woo me, for lack of a better term… it was more than most of us got in this cold, callous world.
But I wasn’t about to be won over easily, either. I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’d better bring your ‘A’ game.”
Vincent laughed, sounding a little startled, like he hadn’t expected me to say something so bold, but seemed to like that I wasn’t a pushover. “Oh, Miss Preston, I assure you I never bring anything less.”
And that’s what worried me most of all.
Chapter Five
Vincent
* * *
If my father found out that I was trying to court Marla Preston, he’d probably blow a fuse. I could already hear the lecture in my head. For one thing, why was courting supposed to matter? I was elevating her stature in the world, and giving her an alliance with a powerful family. For another, he’d harp on the fact that I had other business to attend to, and I shouldn’t be wasting my time trying to win over a woman when I could force any number of suitable, proper females to become my wife and be done with it.
But I’d decided if I was going to appease my father, then I didn’t want a marriage in name only to a woman I didn’t have anything in common with other than mafia ties, and especially one who didn’t appeal to me, intellectually or physically. In just the short time we’d spent together the previous evening, Marla had given me a glimpse of her smart, perceptive mind, along with a remarkable understanding of what I needed in a wife. I already admired her logic and insight, so she easily checked the intellectual box.
Sexually, the attraction between us was definitely mutual, and the fact that I’d taken my dick in hand after she’d left, jacking off with visions of her spread out naked on my bed, assured me I’d have no issues enjoying her lush body and all the conjugal pleasures that came with being married to her.
I wanted Marla, and I wanted her to want me. As much as I’d touted this proposal as a quid pro quo, I had to admit, even if it was just to myself, that I wanted more than just a tit for tat arrangement. Because even after the issue with her brother’s murder was taken care of, we would be united together. ‘Till death do us part.
After getting a good sample of her strong, stubborn personality, I knew that winning her over wasn’t going to be easy. And even though I saw Marla as a challenge, I wasn’t about to let my guard down, either. I’d already told Toby that I would need him to look into the Preston family—I wanted every single bit of information we could scrounge up on them. I wanted not just their business ventures and practices, but their individual vices, their virtues, all of it.
“Are you sure about this, sir?” Toby asked with a frown when I gave him the orders.
“Yes,” I lied.
I wasn’t sure at all. But Marla was intoxicating in a way I’d never experienced before. The way she neatly explained why all of the women in the files wouldn’t be right for me, showing not only a shockingly deep understanding of me but a comprehensive grasp of what was needed in a partnership, in the mafia world where we lived… it had been damn sexy to watch her work, to see how smart and educated and confident she was.
Where was I going to find another woman like that? Especially a woman who wasn’t afraid of me. No other woman—and very few men—would have dared to speak to me the way she had. Like I had to earn her attention and respect.
She intrigued and fascinated me. And yeah, it sure wasn’t a problem that she was breath-takingly beautiful. This was a woman who’d keep me on my toes. The idea of winning her over, of making her desire me, beg for me in my bed…the thought made my entire body pulse with heat.
I was going to marry Marla Preston, and no one else.
The first step would be to show her all the finer things in life that I could give her. The Russo family was powerful for a reason and any wife of mine was going to feel like a queen. If a man couldn’t indulge his wife and give her all the little things her heart desired to make her feel special, then what kind of man was he?
I made sure to get information from Toby on what Marla’s tastes were. She’d seemed to appreciate my apartment—she’d cast a discerning and critical eye over the surrounding area and furnishings. And her watch and earrings, although expensive, weren’t gaudy, and they were the only jewelry she’d worn. So she wasn’t into high-end designer items just because they were expensive, or just so she could show them off. She enjoyed them because of their true quality.
That immediately eliminated several restaurants from my plan for dinner that evening. No sense in going to a place like Per Se when you only went there to see and be seen and flaunt your wealth. When Toby brought me back intel that she liked seafood and often ordered ramen, I immediately knew where to take her.
I drove one of my own cars to pick her up, a comfortable, higher end Audi coupe—black and sleek on the outside, and quiet and luxurious on the inside. Marco favored loud, flashy sports cars, but I preferred something more understated—and with plenty of secret security options added on. You never knew who might be after you, or when, and I was a man who liked to be prepared for anything.