The French seductress is an actual villain. Whoa. But if Diego was only eighteen, that means she was, like, thirty. Oh my.
He looks sick to his stomach when he meets my eyes again. “I thought she loved me. I wanted to please her so badly, to show her I could play the con, that I could sound smart and look the part. She bought me clothes and dressed me up and introduced me to a world of art and sex and lavish things. And for a while it was enough. For a while I believed it was real, that it was my life.
“I learned fast—living in foster homes my whole childhood taught me how to adapt. The only trouble was that Francesca got tired of me quickly. And while I was perfect arm candy, or an available toy in bed if she was bored, she eventually noticed how good I’d become at the con, and I guess she started to think I was a threat. So, she found a replacement for me, another eighteen-year-old to teach.” He swallows hard. “The moment I saw that kid come into the house on her arm it hit me. I realized what she'd been doing to me—how wrong it was. It was like I'd been smacked in the face. I saw that kid, all dirty and desperate, and I saw myself. I saw how she used me to get what she wanted. It made me sick. So, I left. Four years ago I went legitimate and found a way to stay clean. And I haven't gone back.”
I can hardly process it. He was a thief. He stole things and was a criminal. A real one. I study him in shock, wondering if I know him at all. “Diego, you were getting cozy with her the other day! What the hell?!”
“I was not getting cozy,” he says, obviously pissed at the idea. “I was trying to ask her for money, a loan. But I didn't, I couldn't get it out of my mouth, because as soon as I saw her again I couldn’t breathe. I felt trapped. I felt like I'd never gotten free of her.” His eyes move to mine, the pain clear in them again. “Like I'd never found you.”
“Me,” I say.
He steps closer. “I was so hurt, so lost. I had done so many things that were horrible. I robbed and lied and cheated. I was a thing to everyone around me, and everyone around me was a means to an end. I was broken from it all. Until the moment I met you.”
I feel his words deep inside my chest. He’s talking like he . . . as if he might—but no, he couldn’t feel that much for me. That’s insane.
“I saw you at the school that afternoon,” he says, “and you were so bright, so full of life. I wanted you to teach me how to be like that; I hoped your bright spirit would help free me somehow. So, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I took you under my wing.” Then he whispers so I can barely hear, “And I can't hurt you. Not like that.”
My gut clenches—he thinks he's repeating the pattern of what the freaky woman did to him? He thinks he's being abusive to me, like she was to him. Oh my God.
“You are not hurting me,” I say moving to stand in front of him again. “Yes, your rejection of me hurt, a lot. And your lies hurt. But that’s all you running away. Just be real with me, Diego, that’s all I want.” I step a little closer, hoping he’s hearing what I’m saying. Hoping the words are sinking in. “I don't know what to think about the criminal stuff. But you've never hurt me like that woman hurt you Diego, not ever."
“I could.”
“You won't.” And I know this with everything in me, looking at him, his weighty shoulders, the torment in his eyes. So, I say it again, “You won't hurt me like that. Just, please, stop pushing me away.”
He looks like he wants to protest more, like there's so much he wants to say, to confess. But I don't want to see the pain in his eyes anymore. He was a boy who needed love and the woman who gave it to him handed him poison instead. It breaks something in me, thinking of him trapped by someone he thought he could trust. It's so wrong.
Whoever he was before, he's not that person anymore. He's my friend, he’s been my safe place for a long time. And I want him to feel that. I want to show him how it feels to be cared for.
So, I reach down and pull my shirt over my head.
NINETEEN
He stares at me, at my body, like he’s starving. And I see in his reaction, my own beauty and power.
“No, Verity.” He steps back, the fear obvious in his eyes as the walls he’s built up over the years begin to fall.
I ignore his protest, ignore my nerves, and drop my shirt on the floor, stepping closer, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I don't care who you used to be. I know who you are today. And that guy is amazing. I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone. So please, don't push me away anymore. That'll hurt me more than anything else right now.”
He can't seem to move or speak for several seconds but then my heart leaps as he reaches out, his fingers grazing my jaw.
“You're so beautiful,” he says, like he's in pain. “So much more than I deserve.”
My body starts to shake as realization sinks in; this is Diego, and he's looking at me like I'm the only thing he's ever wanted. It's a dream. It has to be a dream. I never want to wake up.
“How could you forgive me?” he whispers.
“Have you ever stolen from me?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you still having sex with that French woman?”
His jaw clenches and he shakes his head again.
“Then there's nothing to forgive anymore.”
His fingers slide down my neck. “You deserve to be worshiped. To be cherished.”
My throat tightens at his words. They’re a caress against the inside of my chest. A promise.
He takes my face in his hands, gently cupping my jaw, fingers tangling in my hair.
Then his mouth slowly descends, and the harnessed hunger in his kiss steals my will. My head spins from his reverence, from the force of his delicacy.
The sound of my labored breathing fills the air. The thunder of my pulse shakes my bones. As his mouth moves in a dance over mine, forcing me to feel his need for me with each tortured caress. My insides heat, my legs become useless, and I have to lean against the back of the couch to keep from falling over.
He tips too, pressing me into it, the full length of his body meeting mine. And I moan into his mouth, nibbling at his lip as I move my hands down his chest, trying to feel him. But I want his skin on mine.
I pull at his shirt, managing to tug it off. And I take in the sight of him. I can barely breathe as I slide my fingers over the beautiful color of his tanned skin, over the ridges and lines of the muscles that shape his shoulders, his torso, his stomach.
His chest moves from his quick breath. His head falls forward, resting on mine. And I'm stunned to see how my touch affects him. It's captivating.
I brush my lips against his neck, his shoulder, his breath stuttering as my hair tickles his skin. He releases a sound of frustration and takes my face in his hands bringing my mouth to his in a hungry intake of air.
His urgency is palpable now. His hands move from my jaw to my shoulders, his thumbs caressing my collar bones, my arms, until they reach my hips and then he grips my waist and presses into me again, as his kisses begin to trail to the soft spot of my neck where I melt into a puddle as his hands shape my ribs, my hips.
With each touch he seems to ask how much I want him. I answer by pulling him closer, by letting my body respond with gasps and whimpers.
I’m so completely lost in it all that it throws me when he breaks the kiss and pulls back a little, like he’s catching his breath after a long run.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my nerves surfacing again.
He shakes his head and then kisses me gently on the temple before moving away, allowing more space between us. I assume he’s about to leave but instead he stands there and takes in the sight of my body for several heated seconds before he lifts his head to look me in the eyes. We stare at each other, breath still heavy. The intensity in his eyes sears through me, and I realize he’s surrendering, he’s going to give in. And something about it all breaks my heart. He doesn’t look away, not even as he reaches up and slides my bra strap down my arm.
“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he s
ays, his voice coarse and low; a confession.
My pulse thunders. Only twenty minutes ago I thought I was alone. And now . . . it’s like a dream.
“You should get to feel everything,” he whispers. “Will you let me show you?”
I swallow hard, knowing he’s asking to cross a line with me. A line that can’t be uncrossed.
But I can only nod. There’s nothing I want more.
TWENTY
I wake in slow motion, my body limp, every limb heavy with satisfaction. A smile curls my lips.
Diego.
Diego’s hands. His mouth.
My god.
Tingles roll over me at the memory of him tormenting me for more than an hour. He wouldn’t let me reciprocate. He wouldn’t have sex with me. He said it couldn’t be about him. Not yet. He just wanted me to finally feel satisfied. And, wow, did he ever satisfy me. Several times.
I sigh in remembered pleasure and hug the soft blanket to my chest as I open my eyes to the studio. It looks different somehow. Is it dark outside?
I glance to my left, thinking Diego will be sitting on the couch beside me. But the only thing there is the stack of my clothes, folded and neat, panties and bra on top. I frown at it and sit up, looking around. I glance at the office windows but he’s not there, either.
A hollow pang hits my stomach. I brush it off, trying to hold onto the intensity of what must have been only a few minutes ago. But then I notice the clock. Not minutes. Hours. It’s five to ten! Five minutes until Fin is picking me up for a date. A date.
What was I thinking?
You weren’t thinking, genius.
But then I spot something on the glass coffee table. A piece of paper.
I lean over and read: I'll call you soon, I promise. Don’t give up on me. You deserve more than what I can give you right now.
What the hell does that mean?
My chest tightens, and cold confusion fills me. I don't understand—
But then the buzzer goes off at the back door.
Shit. Fin.
I leap from the couch, clutching the blanket to my chest, grabbing my stack of clothes and heading for the bathroom. I pull on my shirt and slither into my skinny jeans—damn skinny jeans, who thought skintight denim was a good idea?
I hop around until I’m buttoned up and then glance in the mirror to check my hair. I comb it with my fingers, heart racing. But then I spot something in the reflection. I move closer to the mirror and study my neck. Is that . . .?
It is. It’s a hickey.
Heat fills my cheeks and guilt falls on my head like an anvil. I can’t believe I’m getting ready for a date with Fin after what I just did with Diego. What is wrong with my head? I can’t do this. I have to come clean, tell Fin it’s officially over. I have to. Because I’m with Diego now.
Right?
Wherever he is he better be calling to explain. Soon.
I pull my hair over my shoulder, covering the splotchy red mark as best as I can, then run to the back door. I take a few deep breaths and plaster a grin on my face before opening it. “Hey!” I say, sounding way too cheery.
He smiles back, and laughs, like he’s not sure about me. “You okay?”
“Sure! I mean, yeah. Totally.” I wave my hand, like I’m swatting away a fly. “Just working hard.”
“Looks like it. You’re drippin’ sweat.” He reaches out and wipes my temple with his thumb.
I laugh nervously, pulling from his touch, but I sound more like I’m choking. I’m a horrible person.
“You ready for our first date?” He winks, looking like the kindest, sweetest boy next door.
I can’t do this. I have to tell him.
My heart does the cha-cha against my ribs as I start, “Listen...”
He looks at me intently, his face open and his hand reaching out to take mine.
And I can’t say it. I just can’t do it. I’m the biggest coward ever, but I can’t crush him when he’s looking at me like that. “Let me grab my purse,” I say instead of what I should. And I run away to find my bag and consider escaping out the front.
“Your dad let me borrow his extra car,” Fin says as he ushers me out and opens the door to my dad’s Audi. “Grand, aye?”
I nod and sit myself into the plush confines. Then I pull my phone out and text Diego: What's going on, Mister? Call me!
I slide it back into my pocket, taking in a deep breath, trying to sift through my nerves and figure out how to explain this to Fin.
He goes around, getting behind the wheel with a grin. I can see from his face that the comfort and richness isn’t something he’s used to.
Once we’re settled in the Audi and heading out he starts telling me about the rest of the session the boys had after I left them at the studio. There’s barely any awkward silence. But in my head there’s a cacophony of accusation, as if my mom is in there having one of her Verity Sucks parties. You’ve been leading Fin on. You’ll never find a man this way. Diego’s probably about to jump ship like Phoenix and all the others who never found you satisfying. It’s not like Diego got his rocks off with you. No wonder he ran off before you woke up.
Tears fill my throat as I stare out the window, watching the city pass. The litany of my wrongs, my worries, rumble around in my head.
It takes me a second to realize Fin’s gone quiet. I try to hide my face, pretending I’m focusing on something interesting out the window. It’s too dark to find my sunglasses and put them on. That would be a bit obvious.
“Hey,” he says, touching my leg gently. “You okay?”
I nod, not turning to look him. I need to get these tears to go away but I can’t seem to make it happen.
“Verity, I’m not that thick.”
I release a shaky sigh and lean back, resting my head on the seat and shutting my eyes. The collected tears spill down my cheeks and I’m caught. If I ignore him, he’ll know I’m hiding something. He doesn’t deserve that. “Something happened,” I manage. “With Diego. He and I, we’re . . . we . . .” I’m not exactly sure how to say it, except, “We care about each other.”
I finally found that thing I was looking for with a man, and all I feel now is insanely confused and horrible.
Fin doesn’t say anything and I can’t bring myself to look at him. He pulls into a parking garage across from the club. It takes him a minute, but he finds an empty spot on the top floor and tucks the car in, putting it in park. He pushes the button to turn off the engine and then sits there, staring at his knuckles as he grips the steering-wheel. His jaw is iron and there are waves of intensity pulsing from him that are starting to scare me.
I can’t stand the silence, so I whisper, “I didn’t mean for anything—”
“To happen?” he interrupts.
“Yeah.” But that's a total lie. Of course I meant for things to happen. I’ve always wanted Diego. I just never thought there was even a chance. But then he finally opened up to me and all my good sense was completely lost.
“I knew it,” Fin says, sounding sick. “I knew it from the second I saw you with him at the pub that night. He was claiming you, and he’d get you. Even I can see the draw of the guy. I’m a dumbshite for not listening to my instincts.”
“I’m so sorry, Fin,” I say, miserable. “I really do like you.”
“Yeah, well, not enough it seems.” He curses and swings open the door, then slips out, slamming it behind him with a loud thud.
I sit for a second, but I can’t be a coward anymore, so I get out and follow him as he heads for the elevator.
“Wait,” I say as I come up beside him.
He stops suddenly and turns to me. “I have no idea why I give a shite! That pisses me off like nothing else. I barely know you, right?”
“Right,” I say, unsure what he wants me to do.
“Then why do I feel like my insides are melting?”
I shake my head. “I feel it too.”
“You had me, ya know. I never feel this way anymore. B
ut I did—I was starting to—for you.”
“I’m so sorry.” I could’ve kept my thing with Diego from him, let him down another way. Maybe I should’ve feigned illness and just canceled the date. My damn honesty is going to be the death of me one of these days.
“You had sex with him,” he says, like a statement.
“Not exactly . . . we . . . kissed.” Among other things. I don’t know how to say what happened out loud.
He stares at me. “You care about him?”
“He’s one of my best friends,” I say, feeling guilty for how much I care about someone that isn’t Fin. But Fin’s right. He and I just met. We were just starting to get to know each other.
So why do I feel so panicked to lose him?
He nods. “I get it. I do, really.” He runs a hand through his hair and then wanders in the other direction, walking across the parking lot.
I follow him, close behind. We come to the edge of the roof and look out at the lights of the city. It’s lovely and bright and a total sham.
“I haven’t felt this way about someone in so long,” he says. “It sucks ass.”
I stay quiet, standing beside him.
He turns to me then, taking me in his arms, wrapping himself around me, hugging me to him, shocking me. He holds me, cradling the back of my head. “You have something, you know. A spark. You made me feel again, Verity. I was beginning to think I had no heart left to break. So, I should thank you. For reminding me that I don’t have to be a numb jackass.”
I hug him back, tentatively, not knowing what else to do. But as I sink into it, I realize it’s exactly what I need. My insides settle a little as the panic in my head stills. His chest rumbles against my ear as he releases a low laugh. “I knew you were trouble the second you interrupted my good time with that blond slapper.”
“I saved you, is what I did.”
He pulls back to look at me. “How you figure that?”
“She probably would’ve given you Chlamydia.”
Twisted In You (a Twisted Romance Book 1) Page 14