Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 94

Aria’s POV

After returning home, I took a shower.

The hot water cascaded over my skin, washing away the tension from Dr. Ferretti's appointment, but it couldn't wash away her words. Natural conception. The clinical euphemism echoed in my mind as I stood under the rainfall showerhead in the master bathroom, my forehead pressed against the cool marble tiles.

Traditional approach.

We would have to... be together... in the most intimate way possible, repeatedly, until his child took root inside me.

My face burned at the thought, heat that had nothing to do with the shower temperature.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a plush towel, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

I selected one of the silk camisoles Jennifer had provided that fell to mid-thigh, the fabric so fine it felt like water against my skin. The thin straps left my shoulders bare, and the neckline was more revealing than anything I would have chosen for myself, but everything in this wardrobe seemed designed to remind me of my new role in Damian's life.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Damian sat at the sleek desk near the windows. He'd changed from his earlier business attire into a black cashmere sweater that clung to his shoulders, the sophisticated casualness somehow making him appear even more commanding.

The soft murmur of voices through his earpiece indicated he was in the middle of a video conference, his attention focused entirely on the screens before him. I tried to move quietly toward the bed, not wanting to disturb his work, but his dark eyes found me immediately.

The way his gaze swept over me in the silk slip made my breath catch. It was barely a glance, lasting no more than a second before his attention returned to his meeting, but the heat in those eyes sent electricity racing along my nerve endings.

"The Milan project requires additional capital investment," he was saying to his colleagues, "I want the revised projections by tomorrow morning."

I settled onto the edge of the bed, reaching for one of the books I'd been reading, but I found it impossible to concentrate on the words. Instead, I was acutely aware of every sound Damian made—the quiet click of his fingers on the laptop keyboard, the low rumble of his voice as he discussed business strategies I didn't fully understand, the occasional soft laugh at something one of his colleagues said.

There was something hypnotic about watching him work. The confident way he commanded the conversation, the subtle gestures he made with his free hand while speaking, the way his jaw tightened slightly when someone challenged his decisions. Power looked natural on him, as if he'd been born to control rooms full of successful men with nothing more than his presence.

"That's unacceptable," he said firmly to someone on the screen, leaning back in his chair. "Rework the timeline or find new contractors. I don't pay for excuses."

The authority in his voice sent a shiver through me that I tried desperately to ignore. This was the man who would soon know every inch of my body, who would touch me and claim me in ways that went far beyond our current contract. The thought made my cheeks burn and my pulse quicken.

As if sensing my gaze, Damian glanced over at me again. This time, the look lingered. His dark eyes swept from my bare shoulders down to where the silk camisole had ridden up on my thighs, then back to my face.

I quickly looked down at my book, pretending to read, but I could feel heat spreading across my chest and neck. The words on the page blurred together as I tried to ignore the way my body responded to his attention.

"Gentlemen," Damian's voice drew my focus back to him, "give me your projections for the southern expansion by Friday. We'll reconvene then to finalize the details."

More discussion followed—something about permits and zoning regulations—but I found myself watching the way his fingers moved across the keyboard with unconscious elegance. Those same hands had touched me before, had commanded my body with an expertise that still haunted my dreams. Soon, they would touch me again, but this time with purpose that went beyond pleasure.

The thought made my breathing shallow.

After what felt like an eternity, I noticed Damian checking his watch. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and exhaustion was beginning to weigh on my eyelids despite the tension thrumming through my system. I didn't want to interrupt his important meeting, but I also couldn't sit there much longer, hyperaware of every movement he made, every glance he sent in my direction.

Quietly, I stood and moved toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I emerged a few minutes later, Damian was still deep in conversation with his colleagues, gesturing toward something on his screen while explaining what appeared to be a complex financial strategy.

I caught his attention and pointed toward the bed, mouthing silently: "I'm going to sleep now."

What happened next made my heart stop entirely.

Damian held up one finger to the camera, that small gesture somehow commanding immediate silence from everyone on the conference call. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying that dangerous edge of amusement I knew so well. "My wife is telling me it's time for bed."

My face erupted in flames of embarrassment. I stood frozen in the middle of the bedroom, silk camisole suddenly feeling far too revealing, knowing that half a dozen of Florence's most powerful businessmen had just heard Damian claim me as his wife and announce that I was summoning him to bed.

"We'll continue this discussion tomorrow," Damian continued smoothly, already reaching for his laptop to close the connection. "Buonanotte."

The screens went dark, leaving us alone in the suddenly quiet room. I remained motionless, staring at him in horror and something that felt dangerously close to arousal.

"Did you just—" I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell them my wife wanted me to come to bed?" Damian rose from his chair with that predatory grace that never failed to make my pulse race. "Yes, I did."

"But they'll think—" The words died in my throat as he moved closer.

"They'll think exactly what I want them to think," he said, his voice dropping to that tone that made my knees weak. "That you and I have the kind of marriage where you have the power to interrupt my business meetings with nothing more than a glance."

He stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his dark eyes.

"Is that such a terrible thing for them to believe?" he asked softly.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. The intensity of his gaze, the way he stood just close enough to crowd my space without actually touching me.

"I should... I should let you get back to work," I managed finally.

"Should you?" He raised one eyebrow, that small gesture somehow carrying more heat than it had any right to. "I thought you wanted me to come to bed."

The suggestion in his voice made my breath catch. "I didn't mean—"

"What did you mean, then?" He moved closer, forcing me to take a step backward toward the massive bed that dominated the center of the room. "When you told me you were going to sleep, what exactly were you hoping would happen?"