“Can we move on from the kid talk and the love talk? What am I supposed to do?”
“Get your head straight and figure out how you feel. It’s not right to pursue him because you’re lonely, or because Satan bruised your ego.”
“Hey,” says Brad, hurt. “Did you nickname me Satan?”
“Yes, and it’s an insult to the lord of darkness,” scoffs Danielle.
“I think,” continues Jenner over the interruption, “you should do exactly as Matteo suggested and take some time. You’ve endured some of the most traumatic things that can happen to a person, all within the space of a month. You ended a significant relationship. Your father died. You moved to another country. Your business burned down—”
“Your business burned down?” shout Brad and Danielle in unison.
I fish the corkscrew from a drawer and open the wine.
“As I was saying,” thunders Jenner. “Even if it were possible for you to know without a doubt how you feel right now, it’s impossible to begin a relationship that has any chance of lasting during such a chaotic time in your life.”
He’s right. My life is chaotic.
And the only thing that has kept me grounded has been a man who blackmailed me for kisses and held me up during my father’s funeral and threatened to break Brad’s legs for hurting me and challenged, infuriated, and excited me at every turn.
I hear my father’s voice in my head speaking the last words he’d ever say to me, his final piece of wisdom before he left this earth.
The easier it comes, the easier it goes. The truly valuable things and people will always test your mettle, but every bit of pain will be worth it in the end. Don’t give up when something is difficult. Dig in your heels.
“I have to dig in my heels.”
Everyone says, “What?”
“It’s a long story. Listen—I love you guys. Thank you so much for worrying about me, and thank you for being my friends. But I think I know what I need to do. And Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not totally off the hook, but making this phone call goes a long way.”
When he says, “Thanks,” he sounds dejected.
“What’s the matter?”
“Um . . . I sorta liked the idea of the dress.”
I say goodbye and hang up before the conversation can take any more unexpected turns, then dial Matteo’s number.
I’ve got some heel digging to get to.
THIRTY-FIVE
MATTEO
I see her number on my phone, and it feels as if I’ve been shot through the heart.
No one ever told me this love business would be so painful.
I take a deep breath and hit “Answer.” “It’s you.”
“It’s me. Please don’t hang up.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good. Because I need to say important things, and I need you to listen.”
Frowning at the strange tone of her voice, I stand from the chair I’ve been sitting in for the past hour and feeling sorry for myself. “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes!” She sighs, going from enthusiastic to wistful. “But not because I needed liquid courage to call you. Because I was depressed.”
That makes two of us. I stare at the flames crackling in the fireplace, wishing my chest wasn’t so tight so I could breathe.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” I lower my voice. “And I don’t like the idea of you drinking alone.”
“Cut me some slack, Count. It’s not every day I get dumped by the man of my dreams. And before you ask, no, I didn’t get drunk after Brad left me at the altar, and no, he wasn’t the man of my dreams. He was a fantasy I made up in my head who ticked off a bunch of boxes that didn’t matter because they weren’t real. You’re real. You’re what I was looking for all along, only I was too busy dealing with all my disasters to realize it.”
She pauses for a moment. “Though I have to admit that you’re incredibly irritating when you want to be. I’ve never met anyone who can do smug better than you.”
That roar in my ears is my pulse. I can hardly hear her voice above it. I’m not sure how much of what she’s saying is the alcohol, how much is the truth, or if I want to know the difference. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
She laughs. It loosens some of the tightness in my chest. “You get a gold star for effort, that’s for sure.”
My mouth wants to turn up into a smile, as it always wants to when I hear her voice. Or see her face. Or think of her.
But I meant what I told her earlier. She needs time. I won’t be a rebound. I can’t be—not for her.
I have to be her everything, or nothing at all.
“M’kay, you’re doing your silent smoldering thing, so I’m just gonna go ahead and talk, and you can be over there all broody and non-sharey to your heart’s content.”
“Exactly how much alcohol did you drink?” I say, worried.
“I want you.”
She says it with total disregard for my question, with an abruptness that borders on curt, and with a dark, solemn tone that makes it clear she’s completely serious.
Suddenly I’m no longer concerned about her alcohol intake.
“I want you because you’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re talented, and you respect your mother, and you make me feel capable of murder, and flight.”
“Flight?”
“When you kiss me, I feel like I grow wings. It’s a cliché, but it’s true, so bear with me.”
I understand exactly what you mean.
“I want you because I’ve never met anyone who challenges me like you do. Who looks at me like you do. Who makes my heart stop beating the way you do when you walk into a room.”
The tightness in my chest is back with a vengeance. It’s in my throat, too. I have to struggle to draw a single breath.
We sit in silence for a while, until she adds, “Also, your hair is incredible.”
Now I can’t help but smile. “You’ve been talking to my mother.”
“I really like her.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
I chuckle. “She’s an acquired taste. But worth it.”
“Totally. Moving on.” She hiccups. “I have many more compliments for you if you’d like to hear them.”
God, she’s adorable. And completely drunk. “I’d like to hear you drink a large glass of water, take aspirin, and go to bed.”
Her voice softens. “Why don’t you come over and put me to bed?”
The thought of her lying naked in her bed makes me groan.
“Was that a yes groan or a no groan?”
“It was a groan of frustration.”
“Drive over here and be frustrated. We can be frustrated together. Until we’re not.” She giggles.
“I can’t be a rebound,” I say, my voice thick. “I can’t be a placeholder or a crutch until you get your life together. I meant what I said: you need time—”
“What I need is for you to stop telling me what I need and get your ass over here,” she cuts in. “What I need is to kiss you and apologize and tell you all about how I was plotting to crash your show at Fashion Week.”
Cue the sound of squealing brakes. Crash my show?
“Yeah, it was dumb,” she admits sheepishly when I don’t say anything. “I was gonna make Brad wear a really pretty dress I’ve been working on—hopefully Jenner and some of his model friends, too, but he wasn’t on board yet—and get up on the catwalk with a sign around his neck that read Moretti Sucks Balls. Or something like that. I hadn’t exactly figured it out yet.
“But you broke up with me, and I realized it was a stupid plan and it wasn’t revenge I wanted, it was you. And the way to get you probably didn’t involve making a scene at your show.”
She’s got me completely confused. “Who is Jenner, and why the hell would your ex agree to wear a dress?”
“Jenner’s my be
st friend from San Francisco. You’ll meet him, he’s great. He’s coming to Italy for Fashion Week. And Brad’s still trying to make amends for the whole wedding debacle.”
I’ll bet he is.
If she’s trying to make me jealous, it’s working. My blood pressure just shot through the roof. Though she told me not two minutes ago he wasn’t the man of her dreams, she also told me they had “unfinished business.” Now she’s telling me he was willing to completely humiliate himself in public to make amends for how he humiliated her.
The son of a bitch is still trying to get her back.
I should’ve broken his legs when I had the chance.
“Hello?” she says, sounding nervous.
“Still here.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, bella,” I murmur, wanting her so bad it’s a physical ache. “But you’ve been drinking, and I already told you I don’t take advantage of incapacitated women.”
“I am very capacitated,” she says, attempting to sound sober. It would’ve been a passable attempt, too, except for the burp at the end.
Even that is adorable.
More proof that I’m totally gone for this woman. That I’m doing the right thing by staying away.
The last thing she needs is another man muddying the waters. She has to decide what she wants for herself.
In time.
When she’s sober.
Since she brought up Fashion Week and the show, I’m tempted to tell her about my own plan, but decide now isn’t the time.
Besides, I want it to be a surprise. That was my intent from the beginning.
“Go to sleep, bella,” I say, though it nearly kills me.
“You’re blowing me off again?” She sounds outraged and so dejected I have to grit my teeth against the urge to grab my keys, run from the room, and go to her.
“No, I’m saying good night.” Good night, sleep tight, I’m madly in love with you.
“I can’t believe my groveling didn’t work,” she grumbles to herself. “That was some A-plus groveling.”
“It was. Go to sleep.”
She sighs. “Fine. But if I die of alcohol poisoning, you can’t say I didn’t try to convince you to come over here and save me.”
She hangs up before I can say another word, leaving me staring at the phone.
Definitely the death of me.
I swipe my car keys from the dresser and head out, growling under my breath.
When she wakes up in the morning, she’s going to have worse things than a hangover to deal with.
THIRTY-SIX
KIMBER
I come awake slowly, feeling hot and thirsty. There’s heat at my back, and a weight over my waist, and my first thought is that Cornelia’s in bed spooning me again.
Then I remember Cornelia’s in Milan with the marchesa, and open my eyes.
The weight around my waist turns out to be an arm. A human arm. Judging by the muscles and overall size, it belongs to a male.
“You snore,” says a husky voice behind me.
I’m swamped with sweet relief. He came! “No, I don’t.”
“Like this.” Matteo breathes heavily in and out, mimicking Darth Vader.
“You’re lying! I do not!”
When I hear him chuckle, I want to elbow him, but then I get a kiss on my bare shoulder and melt instead.
“I’ll record it next time.”
I roll over onto my other side and snuggle into his chest. He’s fully dressed, including socks, which I discover when I slip my feet between his.
“You’re under the covers with me.”
“I am.”
“And you have all your clothes on.”
“You have a gift for stating the obvious.”
If I didn’t hear the affection in his tone, I’d slug him, but his voice is so sleepy and warm I sigh with contentment instead and snuggle in deeper. With my eyes closed, I whisper, “I didn’t die from alcohol poisoning. Wanna know why?”
His chest rises and falls with his heavy exhalation.
“Because you came and saved me.”
“You’re deeply strange.”
“C’mon. Play.”
Another exhalation, accompanied by a kiss pressed to the top of my head. Despite the pain behind my eyeballs, I’m so content I could float right out of bed.
He says, “Yes. I rode in on my stallion and saved you from a wine overdose. I’m a true hero. I deserve a parade.”
“At least a plaque,” I say, nodding. “Or a commemorative mug.”
“I’m angry with you,” he says, and really sounds like he means it.
My heart starts to pound. “Because of what happened with Dominic?”
“Because this is the second time I’ve been awake all night worried about you choking to death on your own vomit.”
I wrinkle my nose at the visual. “Ew.”
“Precisely. Do we need to talk about this?”
I stick my face into the space between his shoulder and neck and suck in a lungful of his scent. “Before I met you, I’d only had one other hangover in my life. It was the first and last time I drank gin. I was sixteen.”
“So you’re telling me it’s not a habit.”
“I’m telling you it’s not a habit.”
He exhales again, sounding relieved. His arms tighten around my back.
Smiling into his neck, I whisper, “You’re very protective for someone who’s giving me space.”
His voice gets all gruff and growly. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘Don’t poke the bear’?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because you are poking the bear.”
“I’m sorry.” I pause for a moment, then whisper, “But I’m crazy about the bear, and I don’t like it when he doesn’t want to be around me, so I have to chase after him with a stick and poke him until he pays attention to me again. Even though the egg isn’t supposed to chase after the sperm.”
Matteo pulls his head away and looks down at me, furrowing his brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I don’t know anymore. His eyes are so blue they’re blinding me. God, this man is beautiful up close. “Do you even have pores?”
He blinks. “You’re still drunk.”
“No, I’m sober. It’s just that you’re incredibly handsome.”
His expression sours. “You’re trying to butter me up.”
“Is it working?”
“No. I’m still angry with you.”
“I thought we made up!”
He looks confused for a moment. “Did we?” Then he shakes his head. “Even if we did, I’m still angry. And you still need time.”
“There you go, telling me what I need again. I think you should listen to someone else who’s telling you what I need. His ideas are much better.”
I flex my hips against the bulge in his pants so there’s no mistake about my meaning. Matteo lets out a soft groan and fists his hand in my hair.
“Stop.”
“You’re in bed with me with a raging hard-on. You don’t want me to stop.”
I kiss his neck, give it a gentle bite, and wriggle my hips in what I hope is an enticing fashion against him. For my efforts, I’m rolled onto my back with my wrists pinned to the pillow over my head, and glared at.
“I’m in bed with you because you hung up on me after threatening to die,” he says.
God, he’s hot. Look at this gorgeous hunk of a man, so pissed off and sexy.
He grits his teeth. “Don’t. Look. At. Me. Like. That.”
“Make love to me.”
He groans and drops his forehead to my chest. “You want to kill me, is that it? You’re hoping to murder me?”
“I can think of worse ways to go.” I arch my back so my breasts press against his face.
He makes a sound like he’s deeply in pain and nuzzles his nose into my cleavage. “What is this thing you’re wearing?”
“A nightie. I put it on hoping you’d come ov
er. Do you like it?”
“It’s not a nightie, it’s a torture device. I hate it.” He lovingly rubs his cheek against it and sighs.
I squirm underneath him, wanting him to release my wrists so I can paw his perfect body. “Let me go,” I say breathlessly, heat washing over me.
When he glances up at me, I catch my breath. His eyes have gone so dark. There’s a stillness in them, a new danger, and suddenly it’s very hard to breathe.
“No,” he says softly, as if to himself. “I don’t think I will.”
He transfers both my wrists to one hand and rips off his belt in a whip-crack move that has me gasping in surprise. He winds his belt around my wrists, ties it off to the headboard, and gazes down at me in hungry silence, inspecting my body.
His lips curve into a ruthless smile.
“Matteo—”
“Quiet.”
The dominant tone in his voice shuts me up just as fast as it turns me on. I bite my lip, watching him, feeling my pulse go from a trot to a gallop. I think I might ignite.
On his knees between my legs, he slowly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the floor. Looking at his abs, I squirm a little more, dying to feel him on top of me.
He climbs off the bed and casually strolls into the bathroom.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“Aspirin,” he says over his shoulder. “Water.”
I drop my head back onto the pillow, close my eyes, and gnash my teeth. From the bathroom comes a low chuckle.
“What was that noise? Do we have two bears in the room?”
“You’re so lucky I’m tied up right now,” I say, breathing hard with the urge to throw something at him—primarily myself. “If I wasn’t tied up, I’d kick your butt. I’d do such a gnarly karate chop on your head, it would fly clean off. I’d—”
“Good thing you are tied up, then.” He appears at the bedside as quickly as he left, holding a glass of water in one hand and two small white pills in the other. Watching me glare at him, he smiles.
“Is this punishment for believing Dominic?”
“No. This is punishment for making me worry and shaving years off my life with that mouth of yours. Take these.” He holds out the aspirin.
I stick out my tongue and let him lift the glass of water to my lips so I can drink. After I swallow, I go back to glaring at him.
Ache for You (Slow Burn Book 3) Page 27