The Bastard’s Betrayal by Katee Robert

Chapter 8

Rose should tell him no. That’s what Dante asked for. That’s what the smart thing to do was. She hadn’t exactly had a plan when she’d hurt him, other than wanting to punish him for putting her in this position. Now, though? She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t turned on by the rough handling. She was practically panting against his hold on her throat, and no doubt he could feel evidence of her lust where his fingers gripped her pussy.

She should tell him no…

But she didn’t.

More, she didn’t want to.

Dante moved slowly. Testing her. He resumed his slow stroking, his middle finger dragging up her center and rubbing against her clit in a way that had her fighting back a moan. God, she’d missed him. She hated herself for it, but it was the truth. Even if, as Jackson, he’d never given her the rough fucking part of her craved, he had given her this. She’d forced herself to forget what it felt like to have the entirety of this man’s attention focused on her pleasure.

More, it felt right to have his hand bracketing her throat.

She spread her legs wider, giving him better access, and he rewarded her by pressing two fingers into her. They both exhaled in unison at the intrusion. He encompassed her with his body, cradling her even as he overpowered her nonexistent resistance. He explored her slowly, thoroughly, as if this were the first time all over again, finally landing on her G-spot with a muttered statement in Italian that sounded extremely satisfied. He rubbed his fingertips against it, kissing her temple when her knees went weak. The sweetness perfectly contrasted the way his other hand pulsed against her throat. Claiming her in a way she never would have allowed outside the bedroom.

His tone changed, but she still couldn’t understand the words. In the end, it didn’t matter because he released her throat and skated that hand down her stomach to stroke her clit. Having both his hands on—in—her pussy, his breathing harsh on her neck, his cock pressed against her ass…

God, she was going to come. And soon.

She couldn’t pretend she didn’t want this. He’d given her an out. Two? Three? All she had to do is say no, and she firmly believed he would have stopped.

Because apparently Dante Verducci actually planned on marrying her, and while he wasn’t above kidnapping or dragging her around like some secondhand toy, he drew the line at forcing her. She shouldn’t like that. She hadn’t chosen to be here in the house, in this shower, and yet in that moment, it was everything she could do not to beg him to fuck her.

He didn’t pick up his pace, didn’t try to rush her through her orgasm. No, he seemed perfectly content to keep finger fucking her for time unknowable, and that only made her need spike higher. So high, she almost missed that he’d switched back to English. His words were tinged with an accent for the first time since she’d met him, low and rough and somehow still musical. “Do you like that, la mia fidanzata?” He kissed her neck. “You don’t have to tell me with words. I can feel your pussy fluttering around my fingers. You’re close.”

“Dante,” she gasped.

“I like it when you say my name. My real name. No more masks between us, amata.” He edged her closer and closer to the point of no return. He was almost entirely holding her up by his hold on her pussy at this point. “I could leave you like this, Rosa. Leave you on the edge and make you beg for it.”

“Don’t!”

She felt him grin against her skin. “My stubborn girl finally tells the truth.” And then there was no more space for talking because she was too busy coming. She cried out, and Dante cursed. He didn’t stop, though. He kept her orgasm going, wave after wave, until she had to press her forehead to the tile to keep herself upright. She barely noticed him shifting one hand away from her pussy until she felt his knuckles brush her ass.

Rose tensed, but Dante wasn’t trying to fuck her. She roused herself enough to look over her shoulder as he jacked himself, his fingers slick from her coming. He picked up his pace as she watched, almost as if driven by her eyes on him.

Then he came across her ass and lower back in great spurts.

She should be pissed about that. She maybe she would be in a moment. But right now, she just stood there, leaning hard on the wall, and let him rub his come into her skin, still crooning in Italian. She dragged in a breath. “This doesn’t mean anything.” It couldn’t mean anything. She wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to this place to begin with, how her determination to give him pain was flipped and reversed into him giving her pleasure.

“Liar.” He said it almost fondly. “It means everything.”

“No.” A word she should have said earlier. Why didn’t she say it? She couldn’t pretend he’d forced or even coerced her. She wanted this… She just didn’t want the consequences.

Rose concentrated on tensing her body—quite the trick when her bones felt like liquid—and put as much ice into her tone as she could. “Let me go.”

Dante, the bastard, chuckled. “You sure? It would be a shame if your dramatic exit was ruined by your legs giving out.”

I know he did not just say that.

This time, she didn’t have to try as hard to sound cold. “Get your hands off me. Now.”

For a moment, she thought he might ignore her. But he finally sighed as if she were the one being ridiculous and eased his hands from her body. He took a single step away and, for one horrible pause, she thought her body might make a liar out of her.

Her knees held.

Thank god.

She took thirty seconds to wash the mess off her ass and then moved past him. Every muscle in her body quivered, but she ignored the weakness as best she could. A stack of surprisingly fluffy towels sat next to the sink, and she took advantage of two of them. Twisting her hair into one and wrapping the other around her body. Behind her, the water shut off, but she ignored it just like she ignored Dante. More or less.

He might be the most interesting thing in the room to look at, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of watching him dry off. Instead, she turned and surveyed the bathroom properly for the first time.

When they’d landed on that isolated air strip and then hiked through the fucking forest to get here, she’d honestly expected a cabin out of a horror movie. Something infested with spiders and mice and possessing an inch of grime on every surface. A building that was possibly even haunted, as all murder-cabins must be.

Then this place came into view, and she’d had to readjust her expectations. It was a cabin, sure, but a rich person’s cabin. It didn’t mean it wasn’t a murder-cabin, though. That lock that appeared to function for both interior and exterior meant only Dante could come and go as he pleased. He was capable of torture and murder; she didn’t doubt that for a second. That said, she highly doubted he planned either after everything he’d said and what just happened in the shower.

Focus on something else. Literally anything else.

This bathroom was easily larger than the one she had at home, and the tiled-in shower was… Well, best not to think too hard about it now. But the whole thing screamed forest-chic, with dark-green walls, exposed beams overhead in a vaulted ceiling, and the gray tiled floors and shower. The sink was all marble and more exposed beams. It was…nice. The kind of place where she could easily imagine escaping to for a weekend to get away from city life and her responsibilities for a bit.

If only she weren’t trapped here.

She moved past Dante and out of the bathroom. The bedroom was more of the same, luxury in a vaguely cabin sort of way. The bed itself looked like heaven, but she wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

Rose had been Dante’s captive for less than twenty-four hours and she’d already come all over his hand. She didn’t like her odds of spending the night in the same bed without riding his cock. Maybe the couch would be comfortable enough?

She had to do better than this. She’d already proven she couldn’t touch him, even in violence, without him taking it as an invitation to touch her right back. It would be simpler if he dealt pain, because then she could hate him. When he gave her pleasure instead, it got her wires all crossed.

Best to put as much distance between them as possible.

The living room was honestly really nice. Big picture windows overlooked the hill down into the trees, offering a view of the path Dante had carried her up earlier. The trees were too tall to see too far, so she couldn’t gauge their actual location. Not that she’d be able to determine much even if she could see for miles.

Rose wasn’t exactly an outside girl. She preferred the city to the country, and the last time she’d let Sasha and Anya convince her to travel to Colorado to go skiing, she’d nearly broken her body on the bunny hill. She’d spent the rest of the trip at the bar, falling deeply into lust with a beautiful blond named Natalie. It was time much better spent, in her opinion.

Rose leaned down and pressed a hand to the deep, overstuffed couch. It was plenty long enough for her to lay on and stretch out. It would hardly be termed roughing it by sleeping on the couch, even though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept somewhere that wasn’t a bed. Maybe Lorelei’s twenty-first birthday last year when they’d all drank too much tequila and ended up passing out in the bathroom while Lorelei puked her guts up. Sleeping in the tub had left a spasm in Rose’s neck for a week. The couch had to be better than that. Hopefully.

She glanced at the windows. Once darkness fell, anyone outside might as well have a spotlight on her in the living room. And it would be dark, not like night in New York, where there were always lights, sounds, people moving about, no matter the hour. She shivered. She really should have reconsidered all those horror movie marathons with Anya and Lorelei.

“Rosa.”

She didn’t jump, but it was a near thing. When she got back home, she was definitely avoiding the scary movies. She dragged in a deep breath and turned to face her captor. “For the last time, that’s not my name.”

The man had no right to look so good. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, showing off his strong, lean body. He hadn’t even dried himself properly, and she couldn’t help watching a drip of water slide down the center of his chest between his pecs, down…down…down….

Rose jerked her gaze to his face. There was no relief for her there, though. Common consensus seemed to be that when people shaved off their beards, they lost a large percentage of their attractiveness. The same could not be said for Dante. Without his beard to soften his features, there was no hiding the perfection of his face. Someone looking at him from a distance might think he was too pretty, but the aura of danger that coated him like a second skin turned that pretty into a weapon to be used against the unsuspecting.

She wasn’t unsuspecting. Not after everything they’d been through. So why couldn’t she quite catch her breath?

Dante gave her a long look. “Should I use Roza instead?” He said her name with a perfect Russian inflection, just like her parents did when they were feeling particularly sentimental.

A chill went through her. “No. Not that. Never that.”

“Rosa, it is then.”

A losing battle, and one she should let go, but she felt like she’d gone eleven rounds in the ring and was reeling off the ropes. If she’d just shot him properly the first time, none of this would be happening. The fact that she had shot him, and he still insisted on using a pet name… It confused her. She didn’t like it. “You are not my family, Dante. You are not my boyfriend. You are not anything to me. You haven’t earned the right to use a nickname when you speak to me.”

“Può essere.” He shrugged. “Maybe I haven’t earned it. Yet. But don’t say I’m nothing to you. It’s a lie, and not even a good one at that.”

His sheer stubbornness must be quite the strength when it came to dealing with his uncle’s enemies, but it made her want to strangle him with her bare hands. “It’s not a lie.” It couldn’t be. Their history might confuse her heart, but her head was very clear on what needed to happen in the future.

He turned and started for the bedroom. “It gets chilly at night. You should consider clothes.” Dante looked over his shoulder. “Though you’re more than welcome to stay naked, and I’ll start a fire.”

She glanced at the giant fireplace dominating the far wall. It was made of river rock and the chimney had to be at least six feet wide. It was very beautiful, just like the rest of the house, but the logs artfully arranged in its mouth were most definitely fake. Rose narrowed her eyes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that fireplace is electric.”

“Si.” His grin was absolutely heart-stopping. “I’ll flick that switch just for you, baby.”

She would not grin. She would absolutely not smile… But her lips curved despite her determination to remain stone-faced. “I’ll take those clothes now.”

“Pity.”

Dante turned back to the hall and kept going. Even though Rose knew it was a terrible idea to be in the same room as him and a bed, especially after things had gone so sideways in the shower, her body didn’t get the memo. One step, then another. Was this how those children in the Pied Piper fairy tale felt? Afraid and drawn, all at the same time? She couldn’t blame the tangled feeling inside her on any kind of magic, though. It was messy emotions and pure lust battling with logic and fear. She was so busy arguing with herself about the intelligence of following him at all, she walked right into the closet behind him.

Rose stopped short, her heart doing something uncomfortable in her chest at the sight that greeted her. For the first time since he walked out in a towel, she wasn’t looking at him. “Dante,” she said slowly.

“Si?”

It struck her that he was using Italian a lot more freely now. How challenging had it been for him to play the generic, all-American white guy card when he pretended to be Jackson Smith? No, best not to think about that too hard. Not when there was something more pressing staring her right in the face.

Half the closet was devoted to a woman’s wardrobe.

It had never occurred to ask if he was in a relationship. He’d been fucking her for months under the guise of his persona, and then he’d spouted off about marrying her, but ultimately that didn’t mean he didn’t have a person back home. Someone who mattered enough to have clothing in the closet of his murder-cabin. Someone he brought here when he wanted to be alone and escape.

She absently rubbed the back of her hand against her sternum as if she could rub away the awful sensation taking root there. Another lie in the long list of lies. Why was she surprised? Why did it hurt after all this time? She cleared her throat. “You can’t honestly expect me to wear your girlfriend’s clothing. I don’t want that. Surely she wouldn’t want it, either, especially not after where you’ve spent the last few months.”

Dante dropped the towel, giving her a truly stellar view of his muscular ass. “Your options remain the same.”

Naked or use these clothes.

The feeling in her chest strengthened. He hadn’t rushed to tell her that there was no other woman. Honestly, why did she care? If the mystery girlfriend existed, she wouldn’t have to worry about Dante for long, not when Rose fully intended to shove him off the nearest cliff. Really, she was doing the woman a favor. Who stood by and accepted their boyfriend going undercover to fuck someone else for months and then kidnapping that someone else and fingering them in the shower…?

This was not a productive line of thinking.

She’d lost the lede somewhere along the way. It didn’t matter if Dante had a whole house full of partners, because he wasn’t hers and she hated him. Yes, the awful sensation in her chest was hate. That was all.

Ultimately, being naked in the same house as this man was the greater of two evils. She found some loungewear tucked back in a dresser in the corner and pulled on the yoga pants and tank top. A knitted sweater and wool socks finished the ensemble. As much as she hated to admit it, Dante was right. Now that they were out of the shower, the chill of the place had started to creep in.

She turned to find him watching her. He had on a pair of lounge pants and nothing else. The new scars on his shoulder and torso stood out in the stark light of the closet. Scars from where she shot him. A couple inches to the left and she would have hit something vital and killed him.

Good.

Right?

Yes, it had to be good, because Dante was the enemy, and Rose wasn’t foolish enough or sentimental enough to become entangled with the enemy. Even if he wasn’t lying about everything between them in the past being a lie, they had no future. Rose wasn’t her sisters, who would have more freedom in who they chose to partner romantically with. She was the heir. As this mess showed, her choices had consequences that would ripple out through New York and beyond. If Dante got his way and she agreed to marry him… Coming home with his ring on her finger guaranteed war. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.

She needed to find a way out of this trap and get home to do damage control. She did not need to be staring at the carved lines of her enemy’s abs and the dusting of hair across his chest. Dante had to die. That was all there was to it. It was the only hope they had of salvaging this situation and preventing a war with the Capparellis. Yes, it would undoubtedly spark a conflict with the Verducci family, but ultimately they were across the country from New York. Better to negate the threat in their backyard first and worry about the rest later.

She had to be the one to pull the trigger, too. Her reputation would have taken a huge hit with this kidnapping bullshit, and letting anyone else enact her revenge would make her look even weaker. Rose needed to save herself and eliminate Dante Verducci once and for all.

This time, she wouldn’t miss.