by Aria Ford
“There were too many ways… but he isn’t worth my fists.” Luciano’s voice was gruff, gravelly, and I hummed as his heart pounded against my cheek. Squeezing the air from my lungs, he pulled back to tuck his gun away before grabbing my arm. His eyes were hard, the same pitch black they had been when we met, but my heart swelled knowing it wasn’t directed at me. Tugging me towards the stairs, he gave one last look at Sylvi only to snort in disgust as Marco played with his pale, pain riddled face.
“Call Tretet. Make sure he doesn’t die.” Marco only waved Luciano off, a sick, gleeful expression painting his face as he poked and prodded. Tearing my gaze away, I followed Luciano silently up the stairs and down the hall.
In the safety of my room, the haze that had spread through my mind cleared. It was just us- Luciano and I. Releasing my arm, he made his way silently to the bathroom, and I pulled my lips between my teeth. The muscles on his back rippled dangerously before they disappeared, but he didn’t bother to shut the door. Water pelting tile filled the room, and for a moment I stood near my bed.
“Aya!” Luciano’s booming call made me jump, and my legs carried me with no thought from my head. My heart pounded harder as I crossed the threshold into the bathroom. His jeans were on the floor, gun on the vanity, and I gulped down the cotton that settled against the roof of my mouth.
Blood rushed to my cheeks at the sight of Luciano’s nakedness, his rod standing proud and hard against his abdomen. Inching forward, I could clearly see the line where his pants had kept Sylvi’s blood from touching him. Flexing my fingers, I reached to smear the red, warm liquid before he reached for the hem of my borrowed shirt.
“Get in, mia Aya.” Sucking in the warm, moist air through my teeth, I lifted my arms for Luciano’s small tenderness. Carefully stepping into the shower, hot water splattered against my ankles and rushed my feet. Closing my eyes, I relished the feeling before Luciano entered to position himself under the burning spray.
My hands had minds of their own as they crept up his back, gently rubbing his taut skin. Just as he had at the gym, he braced his palms against the tile under the shower head. Water tickled my face in tiny droplets, and I reached for the hand towel that hung beside us. The sense of déjà vu was almost overwhelming, and Luciano groaned softly as I wiped away the blood that clung to his side.
“I love you.” Speaking softly, I almost wished Luciano hadn’t heard me; to risk shattering this beautiful moment. Even the water hitting the tiles wasn’t enough to drown out my declaration, and under my hands he stiffened.
My mind was clear- there was nothing behind me fueling my words.
Slowly turning, Luciano stared down at me as I carefully removed the evidence of the day from him. There were two people’s blood still staining his clothes, but he would be free. Free of Sylvi. Free of Georgio.
Free of everything. For me.
Luciano cupped my face, tilting my head up to press a soft, innocent kiss on my lips. His earlier fierceness was gone, replaced with a determined delicateness that said what he couldn’t put into words.
AGAIN
Prologue
I recalled the feeling of his hands on my skin, soft and stroking and loving. The way he had looked into my eyes as he pushed into me, his hardness making me cry out, first in pain and then, an instant later, in wonder.
I had melted in his arms and afterward, after our slow, sweet passion was spent, I had wept with the beauty of it all.
He was my first man.
Maddox Jefferson. Handsome, funny, rugged. The first man in my life and the one who had taken my heart along with everything else I had to offer at the time.
Then, for some reason, he’d left. I guessed it had been natural. That’s how my mom had made me see it, anyway. Natural and logical. We were sixteen at the time and of course, she said, things were not going to last between us. When he walked away without contacting me, she made it seem like I was foolish to expect anything else. Except that it hadn’t ever faded away…not for me.
“Ms. Trent?”
“Mm?” I blinked up at my secretary as she came into the office.
“Papers for you to sign.”
“Oh. Thank you, Jess. If you could just leave them there?”
“Yes, Ms. Trent.”
I sighed and focused on the print as I lifted a page to my eyes, trying to think straight. Somehow, my mind was full of Maddox today. I looked out of the window: the sky was a delicate blue, springtime visiting the city again. I suppose that was it. It was a season where the heart naturally thinks of loving. And it was five days before Valentine’s. That must be it.
“And here I am, in Trent Incorporated, signing…um…forms for the customs bureau?”
I put my signature to the papers, put my elbows on the desk and rested my head in my hands.
I was twenty-six, and my life felt so empty.
It was actually quite full. My father was the CEO of Trent Incorporated—a massive international freight company—and I was all set to take over from him. Running a big business empire should have made me excited. As daddy’s daughter, I would have expected it to. I was very like him in some ways, or so mom always said. And dad was leaving me in charge this week while he jetted off to Singapore for talks there.
I knew I had a full life. But it was only three months since I split from my ex-boyfriend and I still felt all the trauma after that as well. He had been a critical, belittling and undermining guy, always telling me that I fell short or implying I wasn’t quite good enough for him. It had only been when it became clear he had met someone else that I finally had the courage to step away. Now that I was free of him and his small cruelties, I should feel so much happier. Oddly enough, though, I didn’t.
I’m just being silly.
My phone rang. I glanced at the clock—1:15 p.m. Weird.
I didn’t expect that phone to ring—very few people have my personal number. My dad. Mom. Harper, my best friend. And Valery, when he was my boyfriend. Now he’s blocked.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Macy!” It was Harper. I smiled.
“What’s up? Listen, it’s the end of lunch hour—I haven’t got time now…” I began quickly.
“It’s nothing. Just wait! Listen! I’m having a Valentine’s party. I wanted to invite, you know, all my friends. I wanted to invite you most, of course.”
I smiled. Harper was a wildly enthusiastic type, the sort who got hyped about everything. A party at her place would be fun. “Sure,” I said. “Count me in.”
“Great! I’ll chat later. We can plan more then.”
“Okay,” I said cheerfully. “Chat later then. Bye!”
“Bye.”
After I hung up, I leaned back, feeling much happier.
It was only after I’d thought about it for a bit that I realized that Harper, in her own special way, was probably planning to set me up with someone. I wasn’t sure I wanted that. Not now.
There was only one guy I’d ever really loved, I thought sadly. I sighed.
He was not for me. For so many reasons. But even so, he was on my mind a lot at the moment. Maddox Jefferson.
It was, I decided ruthlessly, about time I stopped thinking like that. I was twenty-six years old, and I should have grown past these rare stabs of nostalgia in which I missed Maddox. The times when I thought of him and wondered what had happened all those years before when he had, so abruptly and without any reasoning, ended our relationship.
It was time I got over him and opened myself out to someone new and special who would sweep me off my feet.
The thought made me smile. Maybe there was a guy like that out there for me. Someone sweet and funny and kind who would fall for me as much as I fell for him. Another guy. Maddox had been the first. But who was to say there wouldn’t be others. It had happened once, after all. And now it seemed like I had a chance to find out if something that lucky could happen to one person, twice.
A party for Valentine’s, organized with Harper Hampton’s s
pecial flair for a party. Who knew what might happen?
I put my phone back in my Calvin Klein handbag, feeling better than I had for a while.
CHAPTER ONE
Maddox
“Damn it.”
I leaned back on the sofa and put my head in my hands. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m okay in the head. Reese, my pal from work, insists I’m fine—just a few knocks too many from football—or so he says. Myself, I’m not so sure.
I rolled my shoulders, the muscles aching from my session at the gym this morning and threw my overdue bills on the countertop. I ran my hands through blond hair and closed my eyes.
If I was as okay in the head as he insists I am, I probably wouldn’t be doing any of this.
Well…that’s not exactly true. I’m very glad I’m doing some of it. If nothing else, it’s really great to have a job. And a good one too. At least, the pay is good. It’s boring, but it’s good.
I reached for the other envelope, the one from Maxwell Security, my employers. I hadn’t opened it yet. I guess I was nervous, fearing bad news.
“Dear Mr. Jefferson,” I read. “With reference to your excellent record in the company thus far, we have selected you as part of the team to work in Gracefield Mall. This additional work will of course bring added remuneration benefits and a revised schedule for the next two years.”
Well, that sounds perfect.
I read through the rest of the letter, feeling some of my anxiety drain from me. The “remuneration” they mentioned (why can’t they just say wages? I’m a simple guy, no fancy colleges or anything) was a big help. Just what I needed, in fact. I was struggling on my current pay as the lowest grade of security officer in the firm. I needed this break. And now I had one.
Whew.
The rest of the job description explained that I would have shadow the existing security guard for a fortnight, just to make sure I was clear on protocol and stuff. After all, they had fancy clients in the mall—a new upmarket shopping establishment in the Inglewood district. I was on probation for the first month.
Which was good, since the first month started, technically, tomorrow.
“What?”
I cursed the postal service under my breath and checked my calendar. It was right: Today was the ninth of February, and my term at the mall was going to start on its opening, the tenth. I was free tomorrow afternoon, which was just as well: my first shift started tomorrow lunchtime.
I needed coffee. I went through to the kitchen, wincing as my leg cramped after too long on the treadmill this morning, and switched on the kettle.
Tomorrow, things are finally looking up.
I was excited. Any change is a good change. At least, I was telling myself that. Not that all the changes in my life had been good just recently. My single status, for example, was a change I was a bit ambivalent about.
I guess it’s actually better after all. Cheri wasn’t the right girl for me. She had been demanding and critical and I knew she was looking for a guy way different than me. At least now we were both free. Or that’s what I told myself.
I put the kettle on, put the granules of coffee in my mug and waited for it to boil. My mind strayed to Cheri as I stood there. It wasn’t her fault things didn’t work out. It was mine. My heart has never been mine to give.
That was because someone had taken it and I’d never quite succeeded in getting it back.
Macy Trent.
I closed my eyes as the kettle boiled, the water bubbling and chortling in the background, and let myself recall her.
Macy. That soft chocolate-brown hair and those big gray eyes. Her skin, like satin, scented with roses. Her beautiful face. Her body, like all my crazy teenage fantasies were made of sweet flesh. I had never fallen for anyone the way I’d fallen for her. But she was so far above me it wasn’t worth thinking about.
The kettle boiled, and I took the coffee through to the sitting room, mind lost in memories.
We met at a christening. Of all the crazy things. I was friends with her cousin, Grady. Given that I was the kid who grew up playing football in the seamy backstreets of the Vermont Hills district, that seems weird. It was.
I met Grady Mansfield at Lakewood College, the prestigious school where I had a football scholarship. Grady—lively and as close to ADHD as anyone I’ve ever met—hadn’t wanted to attend the christening of his cousin’s baby alone. He’d said it would be too boring. So I went along with him.
“Hi,” a friendly voice had said as I stood in the marquee, trying to keep away from the rest of the guests. A shy, friendly voice. I turned around. I stared.
She was at my shoulder, a shy, smooth-faced young girl with soft brown hair and the biggest, most striking gray eyes I’d ever seen. Long-lashed and wide, they’d drawn me in and drowned my soul in their misty gray depths. I hadn’t been able to think, much less look anywhere else. The scent of her perfume had wafted across to me and I’d lost my wits.
“Uh,” I’d stammered. Come on, Maddox. Get a grip. “Hi,” I’d said. My voice sounded like it had melted, along with most of my brain. I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Hi. I’m Maddox.”
She’d smiled at me. “I haven’t seen you before,” she said. “Are you here with my cousin?”
Her soft lips, were painted a pale rose color with some lipstick. When she smiled it lit those amazing eyes. Her lips were plump and moist and I felt my groin ache. She was smiling at me? I tried to focus, hoping I wasn’t embarrassing myself overmuch.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling my face stretch with a big stupid grin. “I’m a friend of Grady.”
“Oh.” She’d raised a brow. “Auntie Cheryl mentioned he’d brought someone with him. You must be him. The friend.”
“Yeah,” I’d laughed. “That’s me. The friend.”
She giggled. “That’s nice. Pleased to meet you. Maddox is a nice name. Like the painter. Maddox Brown.”
I drew in a deep breath, feeling like I was trying to breathe through Elmer’s glue. “How did you know that?” I asked.
She giggled. “I studied art history, Maddox. It was just a guess,” she’d added modestly, looking down. I sighed in wonder.
Maddox was the name my mom had picked for me. She was a pianist, actually, not an artist. She came from a different background than my dad: her dad was a college lecturer and her mom a painter. She’d named me for the artist Grandma most admired. It had been a stupid name to have at a Vermont Hills junior high and when I’d got the scholarship I’d hoped the teasing would go away. It had, but simply because no one really bothered with me either way.
Macy was the first person who’d guessed the origin of the name.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “Ford Maddox Brown.”
“Wow,” she’d said. “That’s right.”
I was eighteen years old, and this was the first time I’d actually had to introduce myself to a girl. Crazy, that. I was hardly innocent of guy-girl stuff, but I’d never formally met someone before. All my other encounters had happened at friends’ parties. My ignorance partly accounted for the fact that I took a full five minutes to realize I hadn’t asked her name. I cleared my throat.
“Who…”
“Hi,” she said, taking the words out of my lips. “I’m Macy.”
We looked at each other and our eyes locked. I swallowed hard. She was so beautiful. She was wearing a soft blue dress with a little matching jacket and high heels. She smelled like heaven, some mix of roses and other flowers that set my senses racing, and her skin shone in the sunlight. I felt as if my whole body was catching fire.
I had dried up, totally unsure of what to say next. I shrugged, my face red. “It’s a nice day,” I said lamely.
We were in a marquee tent, tables and chairs stretching out under the dense plastic. Everything was decorated to perfection. The sun shone in through the entrance, making dark shadows on the floor. I rolled my shoulders in my suit, feeling like I was suffocating.
She giggled. “I guess we
should find a place to sit, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
To my utter amazement, she led me to sit beside her. When I noticed that another name was on the placemarker, she’d rolled her eyes mischievously.
“What do you say we do some swapping?”
I’d stared at her, aghast. “No way! We can’t do that!”
“Who said we couldn’t?” she’d asked.
I shifted uncomfortably. “Well…”
Even as I spoke, she was swapping the elegant calligraphic place names, moving them a few seats down the table and replacing mine and Grady’s with the ones she’d moved. I winced.
“We’ll get in trouble,” I whispered urgently.
She winked. “Leave it to me.”
That was the start of our association.
I think that I fell in love with her at that moment. After the luncheon, we’d walked in the garden together. I’d followed her as if I was attached to her, every nerve screaming that if I let her out of my sight I might die.
“Macy,” I said softly as we stood in the sunlight, overlooking fragrant flowerbeds.
“Yes?” she’d asked.
“Would you, um, come to the football match Tuesday?” I asked. I felt like I might faint—asking her out was scarier than anything I’d ever done.