I read for several chapters before I sigh and set it aside.
I can’t focus on the book. Normally, I would find it incredibly interesting, but not so tonight. Tonight, all I can see in my head is a pair of dark eyes; dark eyes that are churning with so much unspoken emotion. Dark eyes that are an enigma that I can’t solve. They are at first hard and calculating, then impassive, then soft and gentle. I want to uncover what they really are, but I can’t get close enough. It’s frustrating.
I finally sigh and give up, putting the book away and turning off the crystal-encrusted light. I can hear the sea through the open doors and I focus on that, trying to allow it to lull me to sleep. I visualize the clean sea air covering my body and then focus on relaxing every single body part, attempting to will myself into sleep.
No such luck.
I am wide awake and staring at the ceiling, watching the moonlight glimmer off of the crystal in the chandelier above me. Each perfectly cut piece of glass sparkles with the light of the moon. It is fascinating.
And then my door opens.
I hear the heavy wood swinging quietly over the thick, plush rug covering the stone floor. I’m startled at first, until I look up to find Luca. I exhale a sigh of relief before a rush of excitement thrills through me. He’s here. In my bedroom.
He is standing in the dark shadows of my room, his face somber. He is rigid and alert, not the picture of casual elegance that I have come to expect from him. I look into his eyes and there is an expression there that I haven’t seen before. The light is gone from them and he is staring woodenly at me. I instantly decide he must be drunk.
“Luca, are you alright?”
I sit up in bed and pull the covers around me. The nightgown I’m wearing tonight is barely-there silk, practically indecent. A person can see right through it.
Luca doesn’t answer. He’s still leaning against the door, staring at me with the strangest expression and his eyes are so flat that they don’t even glitter. A chill runs down my spine and my heart thuds against my ribcage.
My son is evil.
Melina’s words spring unbidden into my mind. And I’m being foolish. Luca is many things, but evil isn’t one of them.
“Luca?”
He strides across the room and is next to the bed in six steps.
I stare up at him. His eyes meet mine but I don’t see anything familiar there. He’s not himself; he’s not anyone I know. His chiseled features are taut, his expression so empty. It’s startling and causes my heart to thunder against my ribs.
“Luca,” I whisper. But he still doesn’t answer.
And then he moves and is everywhere. He is above me and around me on the bed, his spicy scent enveloping me in the night. His strong legs straddle me and his mouth is suddenly on mine, rough and hot. He tastes of Scotch and man and his teeth bite into my lip.
What the hell?
I am braced against him, as my heart pounds loudly against his, as his hard thigh slides along mine. This is so unexpected and shocking. I can’t wrap my mind around what is happening, even though time seems to be passing in slow motion.
Luca’s hands clench me tightly and I am sure that I will have bruises in the form of his fingers tomorrow on my arms. But before I can pry them away, he moves them, ravaging my breasts.
At first he is much too hard, too harsh and strong. But then he relents, his fingertips sliding into gentleness as he palms my nipples, then moves in a circle around them. His fingers are long and strong. Sensations shoot through me, stemming between my legs and spreading through my belly. I can feel him, hard against me, as his erection lodges against me, tucked into the juncture of my thighs. He is rock hard.
I swallow and I can practically feel my heart in my throat.
Luca is breathing harshly now, loud in my ear.
“Luca!” I cry out, finally finding my voice. “What are you doing? This isn’t like you.”
“Don’t you like it?” he asks thickly, and his words are almost slurred. He looks up at me and the expression is almost lucid, but not quite. It’s still hazy and empty. I don’t understand it.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, trying to assess him. He doesn’t smell like alcohol, however, even though he vaguely tastes of it. He also doesn’t move.
Instead, he leans forward and kisses my neck, his teeth nipping at the skin beneath my earlobe. His touch gentles, then firms; gentles, then firms. It’s a rhythmic rush and against my better judgment, I find myself leaning into it. His hands grip the sensitive tissue of my inner thigh, hard, then harder.
He is rough and this isn’t how I pictured this scenario with him. I pictured it as sweet and sensual, like when I kissed him in my cottage or when I fantasized about him during those first nights here in Malta. This is very much not that. This is charged and electric and violent.
He laughs, but doesn’t answer my question.
Of course he’s drunk, I answer myself silently. He has to be. This is not the Luca that I know.
He yanks me to him, ripping my nightgown from my body before he drops the delicate silk into a twisted heap on the floor by the bed. I’m pushed naked backward onto the bed and his fingers are inside of me, sliding in and out, while his arm creates a fascinating friction on the delicate skin of my belly. I can feel the moisture from my body dripping onto his hands. In this moment, I have to admit that I like it. He’s being rough and I like it.
What is wrong with me?
I moan as he sucks on my nipple, as he slides it in and out of his mouth at the same speed that his hands are moving.
Sweet Jesus.
He gets rougher, sucking harder and moving faster. His hands are everywhere and I arch up toward him, bucking my hips to get closer. I have no excuse for enjoying this. I’m not drunk. But I want him anyway.
Things that I should care about seem to fall away.
I don’t care that he isn’t answering me. I don’t care that theoretically, he is my employer. I don’t care if this isn’t my dream scenario. All I care about are the sensations that are overwhelming me.
The moments are coming in flashes now. His lips against my neck, his mouth on my breast, his hot breath on my skin. His hand brushes my thigh, his fingers grip my side. His fingernails cut into me and I gasp. He glances at me, but doesn’t truly see me. His gaze is unfocused.
Luca steps backward, away from me. The cool breeze blows over my skin as I watch him, causing goose bumps to form. I wait, my breath frozen and my cheeks flushed, for him to come back to me.
His strips his slacks off and kicks them to the floor. His penis is long and hard and curved against his belly, an impressive sight. I eye it and then him. It’s been awhile since I have been intimate with anyone but he doesn’t give me time to be nervous.
He pushes against me again and he is not gentle. His bare chest slides over mine as he thrusts hard and fills me up, sliding with an exquisite friction. I whimper and clutch at his back. I should be angry, I should be resisting, but I don’t want to. I want him here. I want him inside of me. I can’t lie. The truth is that I’ve fantasized about this from the day I met him.
The flashes come back, instead of logical thought.
He thrusts.
I arch.
My leg curves around his hip.
His hands are in my hair.
He pulls.
I moan.
He bites my lip.
I taste blood.
As he thrusts into me, hard and rhythmic, I force myself to focus. Because when I stare into his eyes, they are flat and black. The thunderclouds that I sometimes see in them are markedly absent. The milk chocolate gaze that I sometimes see there is gone. There is nothing there right now, just an empty void and it startles me. I grip him tighter at the same time as I pull him closer with my legs. He is filling me, filling an emptiness that I didn’t even know that I had. I find myself wishing that I could do the same for him.
“Luca?” I whisper.
But he doesn’t answer and his hands
ome face is twisted into something angry. But then, I’m distracted by the overwhelming sensations that threaten to carry me to a place that I hadn’t expected to go tonight, not like this.
Luca thrusts harder and harder and finally I’m screaming his name as intense pleasure wracks my body in waves and leaves me shaking on the sheets. He throws his head back and groans and I feel his hot seed pouring into me, completely filling me and then he falls limply to the side.
“Luca?” My voice is quiet in this large room, tentative.
He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t stay. He simply picks up his slacks, puts them on and walks away without a word. The door closes once again behind him and I’m left alone.
Did that just happen?
The wet ejaculate running down my thighs tells me that it did.
I lie in a motionless heap, my legs still quivering, as I think about what just happened.
Was I just raped?
That’s absurd. You can’t rape the willing, I tell myself.
And I did want it. I was willing and I wanted Luca more than I’ve wanted anything in quite a while. But if I’m honest, I know that it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d submitted willingly or not. Luca would have taken me with or without my consent. The look in his eyes told me that.
My son is evil.
I can’t shake the words. He’s not evil. I know it. I know it in my bones and in my heart. He’s not evil. But he’s… something. I just don’t know what it is. And he was right earlier. I deserve an explanation, especially now, and I can’t wait to get it from him tomorrow. But it will definitely have to wait until tomorrow. I’m not leaving this room tonight.
I get up and clean off, then lock the door.
Then I go back to bed and replay every moment of the intimate exchange.
It had been primal and intense and electrifying, even as it was puzzling. And as I think about where his lips had been, the way he thrust into me, the way he bit at my neck, I find myself getting wet again. My lips are swollen from his kiss, my body aching from the rough sex. Everything about it seems so forbidden, so erotic. My fingers slip beneath the sheets and into my panties, and for the second time since I have known him, I satisfy myself while I think of Luca.
Chapter Nineteen
Luca
I wake on my bed, fully clothed. I don’t remember going to bed at all. In fact, I remember very little from the time that I finished up a conference call and had a nightcap in my study until now. My heart beats fast although I’m no stranger to a foggy memory.
I lie still for a bit, trying to clear my thoughts, to let the sleep fall away. As I do, I catch a whiff of sex.
What the fuck? I lift my hands to my face and inhale. Sex.
This jerks me wide awake and I quickly sit up, trying to remember the events from last night. But my memories are a frustrating fog.
I vaguely remember walking from the study down the hall toward my bedroom, but it’s a blur from there. When my curse comes, I usually remember everything up until the moment that the darkness overtakes me. I don’t remember anything of the sort from last night.
Nothing at all.
Something isn’t right. Am I changing? Is this what happens as I get older? The frequency of my episodes becomes higher and I don’t remember anything?
My head drops into my hands.
What did I do last night? What the fuck did I do?
There’s no way of knowing. My heart sinks as I come to that realization. I won’t know unless I’ve done something and gotten caught. And at this point, being captured would almost be a relief, a welcome end to the constant anxiety and stress that I have been feeling for so long.
For years, my curse has been controlled. It is only now, this year, that episodes have come on so quickly and without warning that I’m not able to get home in time. And that is why I have recently made the decision that I simply won’t leave Chessarae. Not unless it is very, very necessary. The people in Valletta thought I was a recluse before. They’ll surely think so now.
I swing my legs out of bed and make my way into the shower, allowing the hot, steamy water to run over me for at least a half hour. It feels as though I’m washing away the unknown and to be honest, it is a very good feeling.
I convince myself that if I don’t remember anything, then there probably isn’t anything to remember. I more than likely finished my nightcap and fell immediately to sleep. I turn off the water and grab a towel, running it over my hair and stepping back into my bedroom.
As I do, I am startled to find that I am not alone.
Evangeline sits on my bed, fully dressed. She looks pensive, as though she isn’t sure what to think. And then she turns to meet my gaze. She doesn’t seem embarrassed at all that to find that I am stark naked. I quickly wrap the towel around my waist.
“Yes?” I ask her. I try to appear unnerved, as though it is completely normal to find a beautiful woman in my bedroom. “Can I help you with something, Evangeline?”
She was expecting me to say something else. I can tell. Her face is expectant, then it clouds over with my words. She opens her mouth and then closes it.
“Evangeline?” I prompt. “Do you need something from me?”
I cross the room quickly, pulling out a shirt from my wardrobe. I pull it on over my head and as I do, the towel drops to the ground exposing every bit of my manhood to her.
“Shit,” I mutter, turning away. Instead of picking up the towel, I pull on a pair of underwear and then a pair of slacks. When I am dressed, I turn back to Evangeline and smile.
“Okay. This should make things more comfortable.” I sit on the edge of the bed next to her and she almost flinches away. I narrow my eyes. “Dr. Talbot?”
She looks at me calmly, her gray-green eyes unflinching.
“Yes. To answer your earlier question, yes. I do need something from you, Luca. Yesterday, you said that you owed me an explanation. And after last night, I think I deserve one more than ever.”
I am frozen and can barely breathe.
“Last night?” I repeat and then stop, remembering the smell of sex on my hands. Surely not. Surely if I’d done something with Eva, I would remember it.
I meet her eyes, though, and I know it is true. The beautiful, delicate woman sitting before me is calm and quiet and strong. But I can see it in her eyes. I assaulted her. My head drops into my hands.
Chapter Twenty
Eva
“An explanation,” I remind Luca, as calmly as I can.
He seems upset, distraught even. I am puzzled. I’m the one who should be distraught. Whatever is making him so upset? I ask him that and he looks up at me with tortured eyes, the dark and pained expression that has caused my heart to melt more times than I can count lately. It’s particularly angst-filled today.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice pained. “For anything that I might have done last night. I’m very sorry.”
He stares at the floor as if he can’t meet my gaze.
I stare at him. “You don’t remember it?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. He doesn’t remember being with me at all? How insulting. “Were you drunk?”
Luca shakes his head curtly, just one movement. He stares out his windows, his eyes so distant, as though he is wishing that he were anywhere but here. I should be furious with him, but I am intrigued instead. There is something here, something about Luca that I don’t know. I can feel it. I have felt it all along and it is time for him to share it.
Right now.
“You had sex with me,” I announce. “You came into my room and you had sex with me. It was rough and you didn’t talk to me, either before or after. After it was over, you left without a word. ”
I wait for a response.
Luca stares at the floor and I notice that his fists are clenched at his sides. His knuckles are white.
“Luca?”
He doesn’t immediately answer, but after a moment, he raises his head and his dark eyes are tortured.
> “Did I hurt you?” he asks. He sounds like he is forcing the words from his lips, as though they are abrasive and painful in his throat.
“You bruised my arms,” I tell him. He immediately moves closer to me and picks up an arm to examine it. I allow him, my heart breaking for the pain I see on his face. I wish I understood what was going on with him. So I tell him that.
“What is going on?” I ask. “I know things aren’t what they seem. Last night you were a different person, someone cold and distant and borderline violent. But that’s not the person that I know. That’s not the Luca that I know.”
I’m pleading with him. I can hear it in my voice and he can, too. I don’t want to believe it of him. And I know that he can hear that, as well.
He lets my arm fall back to my side and he closes his eyes for just a moment before he opens them again and looks me in the eye.
“Evangeline, you don’t know me at all. There are many things about me that you don’t know. But there’s one thing about me that you should. I owe that to you.”
I nod. “Okay. Tell me. I won’t judge you.”
He almost smiles, the corners of his mouth curving ever so slightly. But it isn’t a smile of humor. It’s a dark, cryptic smile. As though he knows far better than I do that I am wrong.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he tells me again. “Very, very sorry. I wish it hadn’t happened.”
I smile now. “I’m not sorry that it happened,” I tell him honestly. “A twisted side of me enjoyed it.”
His head snaps up now, his surprised gaze locked with mine.
“You enjoyed it?” he croaks. I have to smile at his expression. I shrug.
“It’s been a long time for me,” I admit. “And you’re a very handsome man, Luca. In all honesty, I’ve been attracted to you since the moment we met. Was it an ideal encounter? No. But I can’t lie and say that I’m sorry it happened.”
He’s quiet now as he assesses me. He’s probably trying to determine just how much of a freak I am. Clearly, only a freak would enjoy what happened last night. Right?
“I’m drawn to you, too,” he tells me quietly, finally. “You’re refreshingly honest. You’re such a light in the world and I am exactly the opposite. I shouldn’t be near you, I should stay far away. But I haven’t. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
Of Blood and Bone (The Minaldi Legacy) Page 12