make its way out from between his clenched teeth.
"And I'm out," Emilio said, nearly breaking his mug he set it down so fast on his way out of the kitchen, then down the elevator.
I should have been worried as the doors slid closed, taking Emilio away, leaving me alone with a livid Lorenzo.
"I haven't lied to you," I told him, arching my chin up.
"You fucking lied right to my face," he snapped, fist slamming down on the counter, making my body jolt, the coffee sloshing out of the cup and onto my hands, making me nearly drop the mug on the floor.
Carefully, I placed it on the counter instead, wiping my hands on my pants.
"What did I lie to you about?" I asked, proud of how even my voice sounded even though my lower lip felt like it was trembling.
I'd known fear in my life.
I'd known fear at the hands of men.
And the cold, slithering sensation in my stomach made my throat feel tight, made my palms feel sweaty, made the muscles in my legs start to quiver.
"You let me think you were a fucking teenager," he growled, forcing his hands out of fists, pressing his palms against the counter, making his shoulders hunch forward.
"I didn't lie to you. You assumed," I reminded him, shrugging, trying to act a lot more casual than I felt while two clashing emotions—fear and desire —fought for dominance in my system.
The fear, I understood.
The desire, not so much.
Maybe it was some cavewoman instinct rearing its misogynistic head. My genes wanted the alpha male of the pack. And, let's face it, when a powerful man like Lorenzo Costa was angry, he was about as alpha as a man could get without bashing someone over the head with a club.
"A lie of omission is still a fucking lie, Giana."
"What the hell does it matter how old I am anyway?" I snapped, my own temper flaring.
"What does it matter?" he asked, tone deceptively calm. "Because you've been walking your ass around my place, throwing around all that sass and all that sweet, and you have made me feel like a fucking creep for noticing it."
"You're a creep for noticing I'm here?"
"I was a creep for fucking liking it," he snapped, straightening, moving around the counter.
"You're not making any sense, Lorenzo," I told him shrugging, even as he moved into my space, toes practically touching mine.
"You want me to make it more fucking clear for you?"
"That would be nice," I agreed.
I wouldn't have agreed had I known what was to come.
Or, at least, that was what I tried to tell myself. Because anything else would have been insane. Ridiculous.
One second, there was a couple feet of space between us.
The next, his chest was crushed to mine, his hand raised, grabbing the side of my neck, pulling me in as his lips crashed down on mine.
He kissed like he lived.
Dominant.
Demanding.
Hard.
My initial shocked gasp turned into a ragged moan as his hand slid from my neck and up into my hair, curling, pulling, the pain and pleasure combination spreading from my scalp and lower. Much lower.
But before my hands could raise from their shocked position against his chest—because, surely, I was going to push him away, right?—he pulled away as quickly as he had moved in, leaving my body buzzing, my mind swirling.
My eyelids fluttered open, finding him staring down at me, gaze intense.
"That fucking clear enough?" he growled, turning suddenly, and storming away.
I stood there for what can only be called an embarrassingly long time, my legs shaking, but this time for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.
Unless the growing concern about why there was this oppressive pressure on my lower stomach, this clawing need inside, counted.
But, with a couple deep breaths, I managed to get my brain to think through the fog of desire.
When it did, though, I realized two things.
Lorenzo was in his room, if the door slam was anything to go by.
And there was no guard at the elevator.
As soon as the thoughts sank in, I was across the floor, pressing my finger desperately into the call button, holding my breath as I heard the swish of the car moving up, cringing when the doors opened, and the familiar ding sounded.
I threw myself into the elevator, jabbing my finger into the button, waiting for the doors to slide closed.
They did.
Just as I heard Lorenzo's voice.
"Fuck."
But it was too late.
The doors were closed.
I was part of the way to freedom.
I took a couple slow,