Page 8 of Irreplaceable
I shook my head, pleased by the compliment, even if it was teasing in nature. “I studied Italian all through college, even spent a semester abroad. But I’m not fluent, and I’m out of practice.”
“I see.” He grinned. “Well, I’d be happy to help you practice my native tongue. All you have to do is come with me.”
“I–I—” I stuttered, wondering if he’d intended for it to sound as seductive as it had. Because it certainly conjured up a range of images, me riding him while he commanded me to do just that. It had been way too long since I’d had sex. “I kind of already am since you kidnapped me,” I ground out, mad at myself for being so easily seduced by his looks.
“Kidnapped?” He scoffed, though he seemed amused as he settled back into the seat. As if the idea of him kidnapping me was insane. “All you Americans…you think every Italian you meet is a member of the mafia.”
I rolled my eyes. “I do not.”
Though when Kadek pulled off the road and onto a gated drive, I was beginning to wonder. Not so much about the kidnapping, but the mafia ties. The closer we got to the house, the more questions I had. It was huge. And gorgeous—much like the man sitting beside me. The front of the home was surrounded by palm trees, and it was three stories tall.
I was still looking at the exterior with its dramatic uplighting when Enzo asked, “Do you think you can walk?”
I was in a foreign land. In the middle of nowhere. With a man I didn’t know. But it was going to be okay.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
I nodded, but when I attempted to stand, a pain so intense shot through me and I yelped. I nearly fell to the ground before he caught me. He scooped me up, cradling me to his chest.
Holy shit.
His muscles. His brown eyes this close. Perhaps I should’ve been scared, but at the moment, this man and his luxurious house were way too distracting.
A woman in a white shirt and black slacks—another member of the staff, no doubt—came out to greet us. Her hair was slicked back in a bun, and she dipped her head almost as if bowing to royalty. “Mr. Bianchi.”
I consoled myself with the fact that there were numerous staff. Which meant witnesses. But…if he truly was mafia, then they’d be made men. They’d know how to hide the bodies and clean up any evidence.
Just stop, Harper. This is not a movie. And Enzo is not part of the mafia.
“Could you please get us some ice?” Enzo asked. “My friend has been injured.”
Friend. Ha!
Even so, he’d gone to great lengths to make sure I was okay. And this house… Damn. I read the sign just beside the door, “Mizuki House.”
“It means beautiful moon or water moon,” Enzo said as the front door swung open.
The door itself pivoted in the center, allowing people to pass down either side of the massive wood plank. It was a work of art with its linear carvings. Enzo’s footsteps echoed on the tile floor—white tile with white walls, verdant green vines growing down the sides. I was still trying to take it all in when he stepped in farther to reveal a long bar that ran the length of the room, a huge living area with luxurious furnishings.
I could easily imagine my friends’ reactions. Lauren would flip out at the interior design. Alexis would appraise the house as if to list it. Juliana would be planning the perfect party for the space, and here I was, being carried like an invalid.
I blinked a few times as a pool came into view. This house was over the top. The pool seemed to stretch to the edge of the cliff, and…was that the ocean?
Who the hell is Enzo Bianchi?