Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 55

Aria’s POV

The realization hit me like lightning—I was touching him. There. My hand had somehow found its way to the most intimate part of his body during my restless sleep, and now I could feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal through the thin silk of his pajama pants.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

My entire body went rigid with mortification as I tried to process what was happening.

I needed to move my hand. Immediately. Pretend this never happened and somehow salvage what little dignity I had left.

But the moment I tried to pull away, strong fingers wrapped around my wrist like a shackle, holding me in place with gentle but unmistakable authority.

"Going somewhere?" His voice cut through the pre-dawn darkness, rough with sleep.

"I'm sorry," I whispered frantically, my face burning with embarrassment even in the shadows. "I didn't mean to—it was an accident. I was asleep, I didn't know—"

"An accident." His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, thumb tracing over my pulse point with maddening precision. "You accidentally wrapped yourself around me like a second skin. You accidentally pressed every curve against me. And you accidentally put your hand exactly where it would do the most damage."

"Yes! It was all accidental!" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I'm a restless sleeper. I didn't know what I was doing. Please, just let me go back to my side of the bed and we can pretend this never happened."

"Pretend it never happened? When I can feel how your body responds to mine? When your breathing changes every time I touch you?"

To prove his point, his free hand found my waist, fingers splaying across the silk nightgown I wore. The touch was light, almost casual, but it sent electricity racing through my nervous system.

"You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, piccola," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper that always made my knees weak. "Your body knows exactly what it wants, even when your mind tries to deny it."

"That's not true," I protested weakly, but my treacherous body was already responding to his proximity. Heat pooled low in my belly, and I could feel myself growing wet despite my mortification.

"Isn't it? Then why are you trembling? Why is your breathing so shallow? Why are you pressing closer instead of pulling away?"

I realized with horror that he was right. Instead of creating distance between us, I was unconsciously leaning into his warmth, drawn by some magnetic force I couldn't control or understand.

"Since you started this," he continued, his voice growing rougher with each word, "you're going to finish it."

"Started what? I was asleep!" But even as I protested, his hand guided mine to move against him, and the sound that escaped his throat made my entire body flush with heat.

"You know exactly what you started." His other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back.

"The contract," I managed to gasp out, my last desperate attempt at sanity. "The medical procedures. We agreed—"

"Fuck the contract," he snarled, rolling us over so I was pinned beneath his weight, caged by his arms on either side of my head. "Tell me to stop," he commanded, "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away right now."

"I..." The protest died on my lips as his thumb traced the curve of my bottom lip with devastating gentleness.

"Say it, Aria. Tell me to stop, and I will."

But I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't form the words that would send him away. My body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with wanting him in ways that terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.

His control finally snapped.

His mouth crashed down on mine with desperate hunger, and I was lost. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming and possessing with a thoroughness that made my toes curl.

How desperately I wanted to sink into his kiss, to let myself be swept away by the passion that threatened to burn us both alive.His hands tangled in my hair, his body pressed against mine with an urgency that made my heart race and my resolve waver.

But somewhere in the haze of desire, a small voice of reason pierced through the chaos. The contract. The boundaries we'd so carefully established. The six months of medical procedures that represented my only chance at maintaining some shred of dignity in this arrangement.

I knew that if we continued down this path, we would cross that line we'd drawn so carefully between us. And once crossed, there would be no going back.

"Stop," I gasped against his mouth, the word torn from my throat like a physical wound. "We have to stop."

He stilled above me, his breathing ragged, his dark eyes searching my face in the growing dawn light. For a long moment, neither of us moved, caught between desire and duty, want and wisdom.

"Stop?" His voice was rough, strained with the effort of pulling back from the brink.

"The contract," I whispered, hating myself for being the voice of reason when every cell in my body screamed for me to pull him back down. "We agreed—"

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity, his expression shifting from hunger to something that might have been disappointment, or perhaps relief. Maybe both.

Without a word, he rolled away from me and stood, running his hands through his disheveled hair as he put physical distance between us.

"You're right," he said finally, his voice returning to that carefully controlled tone I knew so well. "We did agree."

He headed toward the bathroom without another glance in my direction, leaving me alone with my racing heart and the taste of him still on my lips.

When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, he was fully dressed in an expensive charcoal suit, every trace of the passionate man from earlier erased behind his professional facade.

"I'll be working late tonight," he said without looking at me, adjusting his cufflinks with mechanical precision. "Don't wait up."

He was almost to the door when Victoria's voice echoed from the hallway, clear and professionally cheerful.

"Good morning, Mr. Cavalieri. I have the Montrosso invitation you requested."

I froze, straining to hear their conversation despite knowing I probably shouldn't.

"The birthday celebration?" His voice was carefully neutral.

"Miss Adriana's twenty-first birthday gala. The invitation specifically requests your presence as her escort for the evening." Victoria's tone carried subtle emphasis on the word 'escort.' "It's quite an honor."

"I'm not interested in playing escort to spoiled socialites."

"Sir, I understand your reluctance, but Mr. Antonio Montrosso was very specific. There will be a particular guest attending that evening—someone connected to the shipping arrangements we've been negotiating. The Palermo contact you've been trying to reach."

I heard Damian's sharp intake of breath, recognizing the significance even though the details were beyond my understanding.

"The shipment that's been delayed?"

"Exactly. Mr. Montrosso suggests that a show of family unity and respect would... facilitate negotiations. Apparently, our contact values traditional courtesies."

A long pause followed, during which I held my breath, pressed against the bedroom door like the shameless eavesdropper I'd become.

"Fine," Damian said finally, his voice carrying resignation and calculation in equal measure. "Confirm my attendance. But I want it clear this is business, nothing more."

"Of course, sir. Miss Adriana will be delighted."

Their voices faded as they moved away down the corridor, leaving me alone with the strange hollow feeling in my chest. Adriana's birthday party. The same Adriana who had pushed me into that lake, who'd made it clear she considered me nothing more than trash contaminating her perfect world.

And Damian would be her escort.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Just minutes after kissing me with desperate hunger, he was agreeing to escort another woman to a formal event. The message was crystal clear: I was his dirty secret, while Adriana Montrosso was the kind of woman worthy of being seen in public on his arm.

As I lay there in the rumpled sheets that still carried his scent, another realization hit me with startling clarity. My birthday was coming up too. In just a few days, I would turn twenty-one—a birthday that no one would celebrate, that no one even knew about.