Chapter 1 - THE ACCIDENTAL HOSTAGE
Before I could register what he meant, Luca’s hand moved down to my wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute—the kind of hold that made clear that running was not an option. He turned on his heel, pulling me past the marble pillars of the lobby, completely ignoring the curious glances from passing wedding guests.
"Luca—Mr. Castellani—where are we going?" I gasped, my heels clicking frantically against the polished floor as I struggled to match his long, purposeful stride. The scent of cedarwood, expensive wool, and a hint of dark whiskey surrounded him, overwhelming my senses.
He didn't answer until he pulled me into a secluded side corridor, opening a heavy mahogany door marked Private Lounge. He practically shoved me inside, following right behind and locking the door with a sharp, heavy click.
The room was dim, lit only by a single banker’s lamp on a massive walnut desk. Leather armchairs stood silent in the shadows.
"Are you insane?" I demanded, breathless, my hand rushing to smooth the silk of my crimson dress. The slit up my left thigh revealed far more leg than I usually showed at work, and the sudden realization that I was trapped in a locked room with my lethal, drop-dead gorgeous boss made my pulse race wildly. "My best friend is getting married in twenty minutes! I’m a bridesmaid!"
"You were about to go dance with a man who spends half his salary on hair gel and owes two hundred thousand dollars to a bookie in South Chicago," Luca said smoothly, taking off his suit jacket and draping it carefully over the back of a chair.
I blinked, stunned. "Jeremy?"
"Jeremy," Luca confirmed, unbuttoning his cuffs with terrifying calm. "I don't like him."
"It doesn't matter if you like him!" I yelled, stepping closer, my voice echoing off the wood paneling. "He isn't asking you to dance! Why do you even know he owes money to a bookie?!"
"Because it’s my job to know who comes within ten feet of you," Luca said coldly, stepping toward me. The space between us shrank rapidly until he was towering over me, his broad frame blocking out the warm light of the room. "And I don't recall giving you permission to wear that dress."
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My jaw dropped. "Permission? I am your executive assistant, Luca, not your property! You don't own me!"
Luca tilted his head, his dark eyes glittering with a dangerous, intoxicating intensity. "Don't I, Mara?"