Danielle Lori

He grabbed my hips and set me on the island, spreading my legs to stand between them. He slid his hands up the sides of my thighs, and the warmth of them made me shiver.

In annoyance at the entire situation, my eyes had narrowed slightly before glancing at my future brother-in-law, only to find he was already looking at me. That was how the glaring occurred—an accident, you see. But I could hardly convey that to the man, and if I had smiled it would’ve come off condescending, so I just . . . went with the glare and hoped it wouldn’t get me killed.

Nicolas’s gaze had hardened a flicker to show he didn’t like it, but after a second of heavy eye contact, he returned his attention to my papà like I was nothing but a leaf blowing by.

. He’s just a man, I reminded myself.

I had the strong urge to avert my gaze and focus it eye-level on his black tie, but it felt like he’d be winning something if I looked away, so I held his stare

He smoothed an absent hand down his tie. “Do you know what assuming gets you?”

“Killed?” I breathed.

His eyes fell to my lips. “Smart girl.”

Thought the Sweet Abelli was sweet.”

How did he know my nickname?

didn’t need charm and respect to get women—my impending wealth and position had done that for me since I was thirteen years old.

She probably liked it sweet and vanilla.

Probably preferred the man to get on his knees and beg a bit.

So, when her papà had told me she was unfit for marriage, I hadn’t even asked why. I’d signed the contract for the other one.

Then I saw her at church.

Son of a bitch.

Talk about a man’s wet dream.

Her body . . . fucking centerfold-worthy. Her hair was a weakness of mine: black, silky, and long enough I could wrap it around my fist twice. The thought had flitted through my mind unwillingly. And at church. Jesus.