“It was a mistake,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure why I said it. Only Dad knew what I thought of our failed ambush.
Greta looked up in surprise. “Thank you for saying this. I didn’t think you would. I know men like you have trouble admitting to faults.”
“You’re welcome,” I said in a strangely gruff tone.
I stretched out my hand on the table, my palm upward and Greta put her hand in mine without hesitation. I closed my fingers. How could this feel so fucking perfect when it was betrayal in so many ways?
She swallowed thickly. “Do you want me to show you around?”
I wanted many things, but not that.
Greta’s eyes darted down to my lips as if she could read my thoughts on my face. She looked away, her brows snatching together.
“Are you often alone out here?”
“This is actually the first time. It was a hard fight to get this far. But I’m a good shot. I beat Alessio and Massimo at skeet shooting.”
My eyebrows rose. “Really?”
She gave me an indignant look. “Really. It’s a sport, which was why I agreed to take lessons, and once Dad saw how good I was he allowed me more freedom. I could defend myself if the need arose.”
“But you wouldn’t be shooting at clay pigeons.”
“That was Nino’s and Dad’s argument until two days ago. Then they realized I was capable of violence,” she said in a strangled tone.
“It’s not the same.”
She shrugged. “Nobody’s going to attack because only few people know about this place.”
“And one of them is part of an enemy family.”
“But you’re not going to use it to hurt me.”
“No.”
We looked at each other and the pull was so strong I wanted to tug her across the table to claim a kiss.
“Let’s go outside and sit on the swing for a bit,” she said, not waiting for my reply to get up.
I rose and moved toward her. As we headed outside, I put my hand on the small of her back without thinking about it. I’d never done something like that and had always wondered why Dad did it with Mom. She gifted me with a smile that lit up her entire face and even filled her eyes with a beautiful spark.
She sank down on the swing and pulled her legs up to her chest. I sank down beside Greta, causing the swing to finally move. She stared off toward the grazing horses.
I did the same, and the last bit of tension slipped away.
At some point, our hands moved closer together and Greta’s fingers brushed mine until we linked fingers once more. I angled my body toward her and suddenly our faces were very close. I cupped her cheek, ignoring the annoying gleaming of my ring and then I kissed her. A soothing, gentle kiss because Greta had been through a lot, that quickly became more heated. Her soft moans, her sweet taste, the playful way her tongue responded to mine, it all drove me higher and higher. I guided Greta to the cushions, and half covered her with my body. She tensed and I pulled back, searching her face for a sign that I’d crossed a line I had no business crossing.
Greta looked overwhelmed and I began to push up but she quickly cupped my face and raised her head for another kiss. “Stay. I was just surprised. I want this.”
I lowered myself once more and found her mouth for a deep kiss. Soon the unrelenting late afternoon sun wasn’t why I was sweating. “Let’s go inside,” she whispered.
I picked her up without a word and carried her into the house. She pointed at an assortment of cushions and patchwork blankets in front of a fireplace. Instead of logs, fake candles gave off a cozy light.
I put her down and followed suit, pulling her against me once more, my lips finding hers for another, even deeper kiss. I lowered my hand briefly to slide the ring off and put it down on the floor somewhere before I pressed my palm to Greta’s cheek again and deepened the kiss.
Greta was curled into me, her skirt ridden up because our legs were scissoring, her hot center pressed tantalizingly against my upper thigh. I was so hard it was painful. I pulled away to regard Greta as I allowed my knuckles to trace her cheek, then her throat and collarbone. She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the knit crop top and I could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the material. Greta locked gazes with me and reached for the thin strap of her top that had slid down to her arm. Her fingers were shaking slightly when she hooked them in the strap and dragged it further down. I watched mesmerized as the top peeled away from her left breast, revealing a rust-colored, small nipple and the gentle swell of her breast.