Making Mina Strings Attached(17)

“You ungrateful bitch!” Ethan snarled as he saw the way Mina leaned into Marco, trust and welcome in every line of her body. “How long have you been sleeping with him behind my back?”

In a split second Ethan found his venom spewing cut off as his shirt collar was gripped tightly in Marco’s angry fist, lifting him helplessly to his toes.

“You will never speak to her like that again.” Mina shivered at the loss of heat from Marco’s body, and from the cold fury in his voice. Please don’t ever let him talk like that to me, she thought.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Ethan’s reply was pure bravado; Mina could see the color leaving his face. “I knew you wanted her, ever since that event we hosted, but really… she’s a frigid bitch. She’s so cold she’d snap your dick off if you tried to fuck her.”

Marco’s hold on Ethan’s shirt collar tightened, and Mina heard a growl of anger escape his throat.

“You don’t get to say such things,” he twisted the fabric until it cut into Ethan’s flesh. Mina could see the maître‘d wringing his hands, afraid to interfere and even more afraid not to. “She never betrayed you—would never have considered it. You can only blame yourself for your loss.”

He released Ethan suddenly, the smaller man crumpling to the floor in a graceless heap. He stood over him, a sneer on his lips that spoke volumes. “As for her being cold, I have found her to be anything but. She is responsive and passionate—a vision in her pleasure—and you? You are nothing.”

Mina stood there listening to Marco’s defense of her, and her heart racing.

“Marco?” She spoke his name and his head snapped around to look at her. “Sì , mia adorata?” His eyes were black, anger and desire warring within them, and Mina’s breath caught in her throat at the intoxicating combination.

“Leave him,” she said. She waved a hand at the manager hovering in the background. “He’s not worth it.”

A frustrated sound snarled in the space between them, Marco’s anger not wanting to let his enemy go without bloodshed. Mina placed her hand carefully over his heart, its insistent pounding a drumbeat that echoed throughout her body. She looked up at him. “Let’s go home. Please.”

Home. With him. Yes, she wanted to go home.

She stepped away from him, holding a trembling hand out to him in invitation. He ignored it, preferring to sweep her into an embrace that took the rest of her breath away.

“Anything for you,” he said, dropping a searing kiss on her lips. They stood there like that, lost in each other for a long moment until a choking noise from Ethan brought them back to their senses. Marco loosened his grip enough that he could take a final threatening step towards the man on the floor.

“I do not want to see your face again. Ever. If I hear that you have contacted her I will find you. If I hear that you’ve spoken ill of her I will destroy you. Capisci?” There was no mistaking the threat and the promise in Marco’s voice and Ethan nodded his understanding, his chin wobbling in pathetic effect. “She is mine now. You would do well to remember it.”

Mina had never heard that note of possession in his voice before and a shudder rolled through her at his words. Her eyes traveled over the stark planes of his face, until a tightness in her chest reminded her to breathe.

Mine. Mine now.

The words echoed in her ears. It didn’t matter how many other women had heard those words before. It didn’t matter that he would never be an easy man to love. He destroyed the protective barriers around her heart; he had claimed her and her heart agreed.

Marco heard the hitch in her breathing and swore softly, the words barely audible. He pulled her along, the maneuvering of doors and cars mere ghosts of interference, his only goal to have her—his, only his, in his house, in his arms, in his bed.





Chapter Six



The night had turned cool, and Mina shivered as she fought the waves of desire that threatened to suffocate her and she reached a hand out to him. A lost look—full of longing—was on her face and his body tightened in need. He gripped the steering-wheel tighter, needing something concrete to keep him focused.

“Don’t,” Marco gritted out and her eyes flashed up at him in surprise. She turned to him, swimming through layers of sensation—the breeze through the open windows, the heat of him, the tingling of her skin. “Marco?” She didn’t understand; she just wanted him.

“Dio Santo! Don’t look at me like that,” he said, eyes flickering between her and the road. “I am at the edge of my control, and unless you want me to pull over and take you right now, you won’t tease. There is only so much a man can take, Mina mia.”