“There isn’t a man on this earth I would ever marry again.”

“But somehow Richard Marino passed muster?” His words were a vicious bite against my skin. “Call me crazy, but I don’t believe you.”

“Believe whatever you want, Allister. I don’t care what you think about me.”

“Just everyone else, huh?”

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me, or if he was angry I didn’t hold his opinion in high regard. I tried to gauge his expression, but it was just as cold as a Siberian winter.

“You’ll marry again, Gianna, because that’s what good Italian girls do.”

“I’ll run before I’m ever forced to marry again.” The unwavering words shocked me as they hit the air because every one of them was true. I had never admitted it to myself out loud, even as I’d begun to collect a sizeable nest egg to start over wherever I wanted.

“Ah, sweetheart . . .” He let out a bitter noise as we reached his car. “We both know you weren’t reluctant to wed Antonio.”

I faltered. I hadn’t yet met Christian at that point in my life, so how did he know what opinion I’d held about my marriage? My heart beat, fast and unsure. Did he know why I hadn’t been reluctant? Did he know more about my childhood than I would ever tell him? A cold sweat drifted through me. He was so much smarter, so much more perceptive than me, and I despised him for it. I would never beat him.

“I’m done playing games with you.”

He opened the passenger door for me like the quintessential gentleman, his words amused and cynical. “Is that what you think we do? Play games?”

“I don’t care what you call it. I’m done! With this.” I gestured between us. “With you.”

Like the set of the sun, his eyes filled with darkness. A merciless darkness that wrapped around my soul and pulled.

The force of the snap made me fall back a step.

He slammed the car door. Stalked toward me.

“You’ll never be done with me.”

He grasped me by the throat, pushed me back against the car, and swallowed my next breath in his mouth.

AN EXPLOSION OF FIRE BURST inside me, spreading from my stomach to the tips of my fingers. My blood sizzled. My body tingled. I couldn’t breathe.

The press of his lips against mine hit me with such intensity my first response was to push him away. I brought my palms up to his chest to shove him as hard as I could, but when he nipped at my bottom lip and then licked it, soothing the sharp sting with his tongue, want filled my veins with boiling water. A moan traveled up my throat. My fingers curled, and I scraped my nails down his stomach, stopping at his belt buckle.

He hissed against my lips and then slid his tongue inside my mouth. I felt that wet glide between my legs. Just the knowledge that his hands were on me sent a tremble through me, but the feel of them—the palm sliding over my hip to the curve of my ass; the gentle yet unyielding grasp on my throat—incinerated any of the resistance left in me. I swayed toward him, my body melting against his.

His lips left mine after I’d only had a single taste of him, and protest flooded my veins. I suddenly wondered how many women he’d kissed in Seattle, but the thought was only fleeting as he moved a hand into my wet hair, grabbing a fistful and tilting my head. He nipped a line down my neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and lightly sucking. My heartbeat dropped like a weight between my legs.

The heat of his body, the force of his presence, the anger in his movements—it stole my breath. With my palms resting on his stomach, I could only pant like some kind of pliant doll while he nipped and sucked at my throat, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts.

His fingers glided up the outsides of my legs, drawing my dress upward until a glimpse of my white thong showed at the junction of my thighs. He dropped his gaze, and the warmth of it seared through the material, brushing my clit as strongly as if he’d touched me there. Heat tugged in my lower stomach. I rolled my hips, closing the small distance between us, trying to find some relief from the ache inside.

A car alarm sounded from somewhere on the street, but the noise barely registered as his eyes followed his hands over my body. He wasn’t kissing me anymore. Just touching me, in the soft sound of our breaths and the patter of rain.

He was rough yet meticulous in his movements, as if he was infatuated with every curve and dip but hated himself for it. He slid a palm lower to grab a handful of my ass, and then he placed a slap on my cheek, caressing the sting with a rough palm.

A low moan traveled up my throat, and I lightly bit down on his chest to keep it in. My insides liquefied, my limbs light as air, while I let this man touch my body without even kissing me in return. There was something so filthy about it, so far from romantic—it was making me hotter than I’d ever been.

He rubbed the string between my cheeks, up and down, pausing just before reaching the wet material between my thighs. I couldn’t breathe as every nerve in my body waited in anticipation for how low he would go. Desperation was eating away at me, burning and clawing at my insides. I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Christian . . .”

His eyes were dark enough to emanate one of my nightmares. They fell to my mouth. He braced his hands on the car on either side of me and leaned in. I was so sure he was going to kiss me, I shook with the anticipation of it, but instead of meeting my lips, he placed a single kiss on my neck.

“If you ran, Gianna . . .” The words were malicious yet somehow as soft and desperate as sex in a war-torn field. He pressed his lips to my ear. “I would find you.”

I broke out in shivers.

And drag me back? was what I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t find the voice.

At this point, I didn’t care what he said. I wanted him so badly I trembled. I could attribute it to the fact it had been too long since I’d had sex or even been touched for that matter, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. No matter how much I hated him, this man had always done something for me.

Cupping his erection, I slid my hand up and down his length, from base to tip.

He drew in a rough breath between his teeth, dropping his gaze to watch me rub him off through his pants.

I’d never thought another man’s hard-on was so hot in my life. Just the weight of it filling my palm sent a hazy wave of lust through my blood.

While he was distracted watching the movement of my hand, I rose to my toes and kissed him. A rumble resounded in his chest, half-groan, half-growl, as my tongue met his only once—a hot, wet sweep—and then I pulled away before he could.

I came back breathless. And a bit delirious.

The urge hit me so strongly my mouth watered. I didn’t care that it was two o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday, or that we stood in a public parking garage. I wanted him in my mouth, even if it was all I could get. I worked on his belt buckle with every intention of dropping to my knees right here.

He made a tortured noise and muttered some thick Russian word. Before I could lower myself, he spun me around and pushed my front against the trunk of his car. I gasped but swallowed it as the heat of his body met my back.

He pulled my hair to one side and pressed his face into my neck. A shudder erupted beneath my skin, warm from his soft touch and cold from the volatile energy emanating from him.