Oh, my god. I gaped at him. “Please don’t be a psychopath,” I pleaded to some invisible third party.
“If I was, I don’t think saying please would suddenly make me better, but I can assure you all my therapists said I wasn’t.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“I’m not a psychopath Elena. Not by textbook definition, anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve loved and I’ve lost.”
His answer proved his point, and set a dark tone for the mood.
Unable to come up with something meaningful to say, I asked where we were going.
“Dior’s,” he answered, merging into another lane, a lot more cautiously than before, but still carelessly cutting off the woman now behind us. I tossed up a prayer for safety and gripped the side of my seat, placing one hand over the knots that had formed in my stomach. I didn’t know where Dior’s was, so I went back to being mute, staring out the window at the hazy orange sky and letting my thoughts distract me.
If this were weeks ago, I’d be prepping for a long night at the Petrol station. Eva would be prepping for the latest party.
We would leave the house together, her easily lying to our aunt about where she was going.
Her skimpy outfit would have been hidden beneath a long hoodie and sweatpants. Then, we’d part at the end of our cracked walkway, and that would be that––unless we were arguing, which was all we seemed to do in the end. I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute and took a small, quiet breath.
When I thought of Eva, I thought of my parents, and in return, thought of them all being gone. I had learned over time that the cruelest thing about death was its penchant for not allowing people to say goodbye.
. My heart hurt. It hurt to the extent that I wanted to rip the damn thing out of my chest and burn it to ashes. Instead, kept my hands folded in my lap, willing the burning behind my closed lids to stop.
This always seemed to happen when I least expected it. I’d have many moments when I felt fine like I was managing to cope, and then all the torment came creeping back in.
I could hear all the horrible things I said that I couldn’t take back .Everything I didn’t and may not ever get the chance to say circled inside my head.
My hand flew to my throat where I’d tucked my necklace beneath the A-line of my dress. It was one half of a jagged golden heart, Eva wore the other. Together, they were whole, and no matter how bad things got between us, we never took them off.
“It’s just around the next corner,” Mateo said, pulling my attention back to the present.
Swallowing, I nodded and looked over, studying his profile. He was sickeningly beautiful. Everything I’d learned or thought I knew about him was at complete odds with the stranger in the driver’s seat. He was supposed to be cold, ruthless, and cruel. He wasn’t supposed to smile so easily, speak to me with genuine sincerity and concern, or make me feel so at ease.
I was conflicted–––even after his driving incident. Being a little crazy didn’t make someone a terrible person–I would know.
The restaurant––Dior’s––was the nicest establishment I had ever been in.
I couldn’t have felt more out of place. It was another reminder that though I was born into this world of refinery and wealth–I hadn’t belonged there in quite some time
With no prices beside the menu options, I allowed Mateo to order for me, not really caring what was brought back at this point.
What I ended up with was a filet mignon, side salad, and an odd looking side dish with a red sauce drizzle.
The food was as good as something without a price could be––cooked to perfection and filling. We talked about simple things, neither of us asking the other anything personal.
When the dishes were cleared away, an almost companionable silence fell between us. When it grew to be too much, I made a point of looking around the decadent restaurant, trying to pretend I couldn’t feel his eyes burning a hole in me.
“Why don’t you have a bodyguard?” I found myself asking.
“Look, she can speak,” he teased. “Why would I need a bodyguard?”
Was he serious? “Because you’re a…because you do stuff.” I fiddled with my cloth napkin.
I wasn’t sure what proper etiquette was when discussing his business ventures–––if it was something he discussed at all.
“Because…I…do stuff. That certainly is one way of putting it. You don’t have to dance around it Elena. Everyone knows who I am. I have eyes and ears everywhere; they remain unseen for a reason.
“Here’s something to think about. Say someone hurts me, kills me, or by God’s grace kidnaps me. That person has now pissed off my mother, my father, and my baby brother. They pissed off my mother’s brother––my uncle––Mayor Donahue. My father’s half-sister––Amy Hall––she’s a detective, and lastly, all the community centers and lower class programs that rely on my money to fund them. Not to mention this is my city, they’d be dead within an hour.”
“Point taken,” I conceded.
“My turn. Why does wealth make you uncomfortable?”
“Wealth doesn’t bother me,” I replied too quickly.
He gave me a look that said my answer was bullshit, instantly irritating me. How the hell did he keep reading me so clearly? I wasn’t that obvious, was I? Screw it, what could the truth hurt?
“It’s not wealth that bothers me. It’s the flip side of it.”
“Ah, the money is the root of all evil argument,” he acknowledged.
I shook my head in rebuttal. “Money isn’t the root of any evil. Money is nothing but printed paper. Money does not lie, steal, murder, or flaunt its own prosperity. People––human beings––are the root of all evil.”
There was a shit-ton more I wanted to add to that, but I didn’t want to get into a heated debate with him––especially not about this. Not when he was the seed in which some of those roots grew and thrived from.
“That’s very insightful for someone so young,” he mused, taking a sip of his drink.
Realizing that was another piece of information I hadn’t received. I found myself leaning back to take another good look at him. I had no idea how old he was. His birth-date wasn’t listed anywhere. As I studied his profile, I summarized that he could be anywhere from his mid-twenties to early thirties.
“I’m thirty-three.” He answered my unspoken question.
Holy shit, no wonder he considered me young. I was eleven years his junior. He looked incredible for his age. I eyed his hands in search of a tan line that would indicate he was once married, but saw they were bare aside from the family crest ring on his index finger.
“Is that a problem?”
“Oh, of course not––I mean, no. Why would it be?”
His age was a positive check in the pro column. I had a taste for men who were older. I looked down at my freshly painted nails when silence elapsed again.
When I glanced back up he was studying me so intently, the urge to blend in with the black of our leather booth was overwhelming. Had I said that aloud?
“Women usually don’t act this way around me. You’ve barely looked at me longer than a full minute since we’ve been here. I know what you look like when you come, know what your tight pussy feels like around my cock, and very soon I will make you beg me to fuck you, yet you still behave like this.”
He cocked his head to the side, a devious smile spread across his face. “Do I intimidate you minha beleza?”
There was no way I was going to justify that with a response. He knew damn well he did. I reached for my ice water and took a healthy swig. “What does that mean?”
“It means my beauty.”
“Yours?”
“Yes, meu––mine.” He spoke the word with the same finality he had the day of the post-reception.
Gooseflesh skipped across my skin upon hearing the translation. The claim should have pissed me off. The raw possessivenes
s he was already exerting over me when we weren’t together should have terrified me. Instead, it once again poked and provoked a feeling inside me I should have suppressed but didn’t.
Something that had gone stagnant was ready to flourish under his influence. I didn’t know what to do with that. I knew obtaining a relationship with him was my goal and I had naturally developed feelings for him but that didn’t explain why he was so deadest on us being an item. My insides were beginning to feel like the ball of yarn a kitten battered back and forth before being unwound.
“What do you want from me?” I came right out with it, looking him in the eye to see if I could catch a reaction. I couldn’t.
He had an excellent poker face. “Is it just sex? I thought that’s all it was to you. Today you say you want more, but more of what? Am I a challenge? I’m not sure I even want to know these answers. I’m just trying to understand why I’m here…with you.”
“Elena,” he groaned. “You clearly don’t know what a man who wants ‘just sex’ looks like, but I imagine that’s because you’ve only been with boys.”
My face flamed. It wasn’t true, but I’d walked right into that. The overhead light only amplified the blush staining my cheeks. Of course, he saw this and smiled devilishly at me before continuing. “You’re not a conquest, and this is much more than just sex. I don’t wine and dine my one night stands. I don’t ever need to work this hard to obtain pussy. That’s not why I asked you out.
“If all I wanted to do was fuck you, amada, I’d have lifted your dress and done it when you had your sweet round ass bent over that banister. We wouldn’t be here right now.”
His brass words had my body temperature starting to rise.
“Stop it,” I hissed at him when I saw the woman in the booth across from ours was listening intently to what he was saying. He ignored my protest and kept talking.
“As for you being mine…in the manner I want you to be.” He paused and openly ran his eyes over me again. “We have much work to do. That’s why I asked you out. I’d like to start by getting to know one another aside from being inside you, and to do that, I need more than random weekly meet-ups. I need you in my world, fully, and you haven’t even skimmed the surface yet.”
My surprise couldn’t be tempered. His words, his geniality––once again threw me into a state of confusion.
I could tell he meant it. He truly wanted to immerse me in his world.
I knew I was going in for my sister, but that was completely different to going in with him. There would be no leaving.
“I don’t know what to say…I mean what more do you need from me?”
“It’s all really simple. Just say yes. You’re going to be mine utterly––completely. And I do mean that in every barbaric, possessive, fucked up way there is.”
Whoa. Full-stop.
“Not what you were expecting?”
I shook my head.
He lifted his hand in the air to catch our waiter’s attention. “I know. I’ve been watching you very closely for a while now. You were expecting me to take what’s between your legs the first chance I got tonight, but I’m not a horny teenage boy who can’t control himself.
“I would love to sit you on top of this table, spread your legs, and feast on your cunt before burying my cock inside you and continuing to ruin you for anyone else.” He paused and took in my wide-eyed expression. “But I want all of you, Elena.”
“Why?” I internally cringed at how flustered I sounded.
He ignored me and picked up the menu, asking if I wanted dessert. “You can answer me later.”
His attention was still on the menu when a pretty woman with long dark hair walked by the table. She smirked at me and caught his attention, winking at him and being rewarded with a smile as she continued on her way.
. The steak knife looked too dull to penetrate the back of her head, so I was stuck contemplating the usage of a fork. Had I took even a second to examine my own behavior I would have realized I was behaving just as irrationally and unhealthily possessive as he was.
“Elena.”
I glanced at him, seeing a smug smirk and glared. He thought this was funny.
“Who the hell was that?”
“She was–––.”
“What the fuck are you looking at?” I snapped at the same woman who had listened in just moments ago.
“That’s enough. You’re going to make a scene,” he cut in.
Scoffing, I pushed away from the table and weaved my way back outside, cupping the back of my neck as soon as I burst through the glass doors. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there receiving curious stares from the valet and other patrons coming and going.
“Elena.”
I ignored him, pissed I’d left my clutch in his car.
The heat from his body pressed against my back. “I have fucked other women, Elena, but I don’t stick my dick in every pussy thrown at me.
That woman was Claudia. She’s my cousin, and she knows who you are to me.”
Instant shame and embarrassment flooded through me. Wasn’t it less than two hours ago I was calling him a psycho? Wasn’t this pot meeting kettle? “I’m sorry,” I turned to face him, slightly stepping back so I could see into his eyes. “I––.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to my lips that effectively hushed me. “It’s okay. Let me take you home.”
The second the Mustang was back in its parking spot, I waited for him to open the door and then stepped past him, heading back through his darkened house.
I was hoping I was going the right the way when he caught me by the arm and turned me around.
“You continually run away from me, and I continually have to catch you.”
I glared at his hand. “Let me go.”
“No,” he said harshly. “Explain to me what happened between the parking lot and me pulling in the garage.”
“I don’t know if I should take your word on what you want from me. I easily believe everything you say. I’m…naïve, and I think you know that. You could be mani–––.”
“Please shut the fuck up, Elena.” He said it so softly it made an even harsher demand. His ‘please’ added a hint of tenderness.
Unsurprisingly, I found myself doing what he asked. His hand found its way to my throat, where he gripped me firmly. “Is this how it’s going to be between us, amada?
Do you need me to treat you like a worthless bitch that’s only good for being fucked once or twice and then discarded?”
I opened my mouth, just to close it again on a whimper when his grip grew tighter and he eased me back against the wall. “I didn’t say you could speak yet.”
My lips slightly parted on their own accord. He cocked his head and took in my uncontrollable reaction. He leaned in, touching his nose to mine and tightening his grip again, so I felt an obstruction when I swallowed. “I know I scare the shit out of you, but also that fear makes you want me even more.” He eased up so I could speak; I swallowed trying to regain my bearings, still stuck between his solid body and the wall behind me.
“You need someone mentally stable to deal with all the baggage that comes with you. I’m not mentally stable. You have no idea what kind of walking disaster I am and how...crazy I can get. You would either kill me or hate me in the end––maybe both.”
He dropped his hand altogether and took a fraction of a step back to contemplate me. “Are you trying to scare me away? If you are, you’re doing a really shitty job.
“Your warning is only enticing me all the more. Give me your baggage, I can handle it.”
How could he so nonchalantly be okay with everything I’d said? Because of who he is, a little voice whispered. He’s an underground king. He was the best kind of poison to be addicted to because he was immune to the venom I unintentionally injected into others once our relationship ever moved forward.
How could I possibly compare my baggage to his? He could take me on, on his worst days, but could I do the same for him? And then w
hat about…Eva? I couldn’t bring that up yet. I didn’t trust him enough. I didn’t know what he would do with the information or if he already knew and was waiting on me to slip up.
I hadn’t forgotten the look he gave me at the post-reception, the one where he seemed to know exactly what my motive was. And I still couldn’t place why the smell of him was so familiar.
I drove myself fucking crazy, I really did.
It wasn’t fair, because I wanted him in all the ways I could have him even though I knew better. I was reaching for a star that didn’t belong in my sky.
I shut my eyes for a second and heavily exhaled. Upon opening them I took two steps towards his front door He exhaled heavily.
“You’re thinking too much into this too. I want to get to know you. I want you in my house when I get home from dealing with the things I have to deal with. We don’t have to plan our future together within the next five minutes. There are many ways this can go.”
“What if I say you can’t have me?”
He pressed his chest against my back, caging me in. Leaning down to brush a kiss over my cheek, he spoke softly, his words laced with a darker undercurrent, “You don’t get to dictate what I can and can’t have.”
“Why won’t you give this up?” It was barely audible.
“Because you may not believe in instant connections or love at first sight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t.” He eased back and turned me around, ensuring he had my full attention. “From the second I saw you I was infatuated.” His sincerity shined through again, truth reflected in his golden eyes.
“You’re going to give us a chance. If you keep running from everything you’re afraid of, you’ll never live.”
We bypassed three closed doors and one that led into a bathroom before he came to a set at the end of the hall. My stomach dipped when he pushed them open and we stepped into his room.
A soft table lamp glowed from a nightstand. The faint light from his landscaping shone in through the French doors on the far side of the room. There was a large four poster bed, two matching dressers, a curved flat-screen mounted on the wall, a plush love seat, and a small mini-bar. The masculinity of it all fit him perfectly.
Queen of Diamonds: A Dark Erotic Romance (Old Money Roulette Book 1) Page 7