Temporarily His Princess - By Olivia Gates Page 0,37
she didn’t hear the subtext in his comment. There was probably none, anyway.
“So, what now?”
“We start preparing for next week.”
“What’s next week?
He pressed her against the balustrade and spanned her rib cage with his large hands, the translucence of his eyes bottomless reflections of the vivid sky. Then he said, “Our wedding.”
Seven
“Our wedding?”
Vincenzo’s heart dipped in his chest at the frown on Glory’s face as she echoed his words.
Was she angry again? After the magical flight here, when she’d gradually relaxed, seeming to accept their situation and then enjoy being with him, he’d almost forgotten how resistant she’d been. But what if her acquiescence had been a lull, and now she’d come to her senses and would start antagonizing him again? He couldn’t stomach a return to friction, would give anything for their newly forged harmony to continue. Even if it meant letting her make the decisions from now on.
She threw her hands in the air. “God, I was determined to stop repeating your words like an incredulous parrot. Then you go and say something that forces me into being one!”
She had sounded and looked deliciously startled frequently in the past couple of days. Was that all? She was annoyed at herself for parroting his declarations?
He watched her intently, considering his response so he wouldn’t trigger a relapse into hostilities. “Why is what I just said worthy of incredulous parroting?”
“When you talk you don’t hear yourself? Or was it one of the other Vincenzos who said our wedding is next week?”
Her smirk blanked out his mind with the memory of having those sassy lips beneath his, soft and pliant, burning with urgency, spilling moans of pleasure. He needed to devour them again. But he had to settle this first.
He backed her up against the balustrade, his gaze sweeping her from her piled-up hair to her turquoise stilettos, hunger an ever-expanding tide inside him. “That was the one and only Vincenzo talking. So is a week too long? I can make it sooner. I probably should. We probably wouldn’t survive a week.”
She picked up her dropping jaw and replaced it with a more bedeviling smirk. “It’s okay, this happens with a newly installed sense of humor. Sometimes you can’t turn it off. Or you’re such a new user, you don’t know how to. Let’s hope you get the hang of it soon.”
This wasn’t the first time she’d made comments to that effect. Had he been that much of a humorless boor before?
He guessed so. He’d been too focused on what he’d thought paramount he’d forgotten to lighten up.
But back then he’d thought his behavior suited her, the driven, dead-serious woman he’d thought her to be. Serious about work and passion. A delightful, challenging wit hadn’t been among the things he’d thought she possessed, what he’d told himself he’d have to live without, with so many qualities to make up for the deficiency. Now he realized being a sourpuss had made her turn her humor off, making him miss knowing this side of her.
How much more had he missed? Was it possible other things he’d believed about her would turn out to be as totally wrong? How, when he’d had proof of them?
No. He was leaving this alone. This bomb had already detonated once and destroyed his world around him. He wasn’t lighting its fuse again.
What mattered now was that she seemed to relish his new lightheartedness. He’d never dreamed they could have anything like the time they’d spent on the flight, filled with not only mounting hunger, but escalating fun, too.
He wanted more.
He went after it.
“You’re right. It’s a joke thinking I can wait a few days. We’ll have the wedding today.”
It was exhilarating. Teasing her, soaking up her reactions, opening himself wide for her retaliations, every barb targeting his humor triggers.
She obliged him with another bull’s-eye. “This is worse than anything I feared. That humor program had a virus that scrambled you up. We’ll have to uninstall everything in your brain and reformat you.”
He pulled her into him, groaning at the electric thrill that arced between their bodies. “I like me all scrambled up like that. So shall I rush the delivery of the catering, minister and guests? I can have everything ready by eight tonight.”
She arched to look up, pressing her lushness closer to him. He’d never remained that hard, that long. And he loved it.
“So he first hits his opponents with a ludicrous offer, then, as they gasp in disbelief, he follows up with an insane one, making