Page 90 of Broken Crown

I frowned and hugged my middle, the wool of his sweater soft beneath my fingers. "You just put this sweater on me."

"Arms up, babygirl." His voice sounded gentle but brooked no argument, the pet name slipping from his lips so naturally it made my heart ache.

"I'll get cold." The night air had a bite to it, seeping through the clay stones of the villa.

He shrugged out of his T-shirt, exposing his chiseled chest dusted with black hair and that strange tattoo I still hadn't mustered the courage to ask about. The ink shifted in the dim light, becoming more menacing.

"I'll keep you warm."

"But—"

Out of patience, he reached for the hem of the sweater and yanked it over my head, my arms helplessly following. The cool air pebbled my nipples instantly.

I huffed as I nestled down under the covers and pulled the blanket high to cover my nakedness. The sheets were cool and smooth against my skin.

"You're a bully."

He chuckled as he circled around the bed, his movements predatory even in this domestic setting. "So I've been told."

Fabric rustled softly. I didn't have to look to know he'd just taken off his sweatpants.

Keeping my head facing forward, I burrowed my chin in the blanket. "I'm not taking off my leggings."

His heavy arm settled around my waist and pulled me against the warmth of his body. His chest was a wall of heat against my back, his legs tangling with mine.

His breath ruffled the still-damp hair at my temple. "Have it your way, dolcezza."

I scoffed, grumbling, "All evidence to the contrary."

His hand slipped higher to cup my breast, his thumb brushing across my nipple in a casual possession.

I wanted to push it off.

I wanted to shimmy out of his reach.

I didn't.

Instead, I snuggled deeper into the warmth and protection of his arms, knowing what a dangerous mistake I was making.

His body curved around mine perfectly, as if designed to be my shelter rather than my prison.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

It was past time I took back control of my life.

When we got back to Rome tomorrow, I would take the first steps toward distancing myself from Sebastian Diamanti for good this time.

CHAPTER 25

SEBASTIAN

The longer I watched her sleep, the more pissed off I got.

A shaft of early morning light cut through a break in the curtains, falling across her face like some divine fucking spotlight.

She lay curled against me, soft and warm. I’d barely slept. I’d spent the night memorizing the weight of her against my chest—the way she fit there without force, without coercion. Just…stillness.

My fingertips traced the curve of her shoulder, lingering on the marks I’d left on her—faint bruises on her wrists, a reddened patch on her neck where I’d claimed her with my mouth.