by Soraya Naomi
Marliya is standing at the bar, sliding her trey over to the bartender, and when she sees me approaching her, she starts immediately, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“What happened last Wednesday? It looked like you were mad at Michael and me when you brought dessert.”
“I was mad at him.”
She frowns, then her lips twitch. “He and I weren’t on a date if you think that. I told you he was your problem and I meant it. You just happened to see us the few times we did speak, and I asked him to go for a drink because I needed some advice on how to deal with the host, who clearly doesn’t like me. Since I don’t really talk to Adriano or Luca, I thought maybe he could advise me, and he did – he wasn’t an ass.” She lets out a chuckle.
“But I saw you in his apartment.”
“He forgot his phone and I returned it. That’s it.”
“It looked intimate; you touched him and he doesn’t like that.”
“I know he doesn’t, but I never touched him.” A deep crease wrinkles her brows. “I only handed him his phone and was inside his apartment for five minutes before I left. You saw wrong. Maybe it appeared as if I touched him, but trust me, I wouldn’t dare. More importantly, I’m pretty sure he was also using me a little to make you jealous...There’s absolutely nothing between us.” She loosens her thin black tie since her shift is over.
“Really?”
“I think he has feelings for you, Brielle. And you feel the same for him,” she whispers, and when she perches on the stool, I sit on the one next to her.
I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about Marliya. She seems genuine and she’s corroborated Michael’s story. “I don’t know if he’s capable of having feelings for another woman anymore. He’s loved before, you know, and it left scars.”
“Or he doesn’t know how to deal with his overwhelming emotions for you,” Marliya counters. “Maybe he didn’t feel for her what he does for you? I don’t even think you notice how he watches you all the time. And he doesn’t flirt with any of the waitresses, in case you think that.”
“I don’t know what to think with him.”
“But you really like him?”
“Yes...” I reply, making her grin. “I need a drink. I’m done working. You too?”
“Yeah. Good idea.” She waves over the bartender and orders, “Two tequilas, please.”
“No, a red wine for me.”
She pouts at me. “Have a shot with me first.”
“Okay,” I relent, and when the bartender sets the shot glasses down, I forego the salt and down the tequila before biting into the lime wedge at the same time Marliya does.
“Why do people like this?” I grimace from the sourness, causing her to laugh.
“It’s an acquired taste. I can do shot after shot.”
“Let’s not do that right now.” I address the bartender, “Two red wines, please.”
“Coming up, Brielle.” He grabs the bottle and two glasses, and after he pours a generous amount, we each reach for a stem and clink the rims.
“To...?” I start.
“To...us standing up to the Palermo men,” she toasts around a smirk.
“Cheers.” I take a sip. “So why is the host on your back?”
“Apparently, I’m the slowest waitress.”
“Don’t worry; you’re not.”
She downs her wine. “He’s a slave driver.”
Chuckling, I retort, “No, he isn’t. He’s just very strict.”
“I’ll handle him.” She leans over the bar and gets her purse as we talk about mundane things.
We’re already on our third glass of wine when she says conspiratorially, “I like you, so be careful inside Palermo.”
I freeze, wondering what she suspects. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve also noticed the shady men hanging around here at night.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s wise for us to be a bit careful.”
“I agree.”
“Be back in a minute.” She scoots off the seat. “Going to the bathroom.” Then she struts away.
As I place my glass down, I almost knock her purse off the bar but catch it just in time. It’s much heavier than I expected, so I glance toward the restroom before I zip it open and see her wallet, lipstick, phone, and a black handgun inside.
Another person who carries a gun.
Seems like most Chicagoans I know have a permit. Though a part of me still finds this a little strange, I keep the info to myself. I slide her purse back to its original place, and I sway a bit on the stool because of the wine running through my system. At that moment, I notice a familiar tall man in a tailored charcoal suit with a black shirt – always something black – advancing toward me, and I can feel the heat of his gaze searing through me. Sitting up straight, I sweep my hand through my hair when he stops right next to me. He smells fresh and clean, as if he just got back from a walk on the beach.
“Talking to Marliya, I see,” Michael comments with a big smile.
“Yes.” I point to his mouth. “What’s with the shit-eating grin?”
“Seeing you with her, I know I’m off your shit list because she must’ve verified what I told you. And now you know that I’m not lying to you.” A calculating smile lifts his lips.
“She did and I do.”
He touches my dimple with his thumb in a tender gesture before leaning down, his breath hitting my cheek. “Now we can talk it out.”
“Yes,” I whisper and, unexpectedly, he gives me a brief kiss.
“Stop kissing me,” I protest, but the amusement in my tone contradicts my objection.
Michael arcs a brow and straightens. “Fine. Next time when I kiss you, it’ll be because you asked me.”
“It’ll never happen,” I retort proudly, sticking out my chin.
He brushes my chin with his finger. “Yes, it will. Sooner than you think.”
“Oh, the arrogance; don’t me make laugh!” I jerk my head away from his touch, tickled. “I hate it when you turn on the charm.”
“Turn on the charm,” he repeats, amused, before he continues on to the staircase and up to the second floor where Adriano’s waiting for him.
I shake my head just as Marliya returns, motioning upstairs toward Michael.
I bring up my palm in a manner that I’ve seen Michael use to effectively shut people up and get off the stool. “Don’t even ask. I still don’t know what’s going on between us. I just need more answers from him.”
“Then get your answers.”
“I will. Not tonight though. The wine has gone to my head and I like my current buzz, so I’m going home to chill.”
“Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gives me a wave and I make my way to the kitchen to grab my belongings and say goodbye to the staff before taking a cab home, feeling lightly intoxicated and relaxed.
I ENTER MY APARTMENT and shuffle through the living room to plop down in the middle of my loveseat, tossing my purse beside me. When I hear a click in the lock, I crane my neck. The door opens and Michael steps inside as if he owns the place.
“W-what are you doing here?” I spring up as he shuts the door. “How did you get in? You have to stop breaking in!”
“I’m not breaking in.” He dangles a key from his forefinger. “Fallon’s spare key.”
“What! She gave that to you? I’m going to have a talk with her!” I hold out my hand, wanting him to relinquish it, but he sets it on the side table in the entry before coming over to me. I intend to glare at him, yet I feel my lips curving up into a grin, so I point to myself. “Even though I’m smiling, I am mad. It’s just that I’m a bit”—I bring my thumb and forefinger close together—“drunk and my expression doesn’t match my emotions.”
His brows lift slightly, and he releases a chuckle.
“Stop laughing at me.”
&nbs
p; “You entertain me; I can’t help it,” Michael tells me as he casually unbuttons his charcoal suit jacket.
“What do you want, Carrion?”
“Isn’t it clear?”
“No,” I answer, and when I walk past him into the entryway, he swivels around. Getting the key from the side table, I glide the drawer open and store it inside.
“I want you seated on my cock,” his voice drawls.
Slowly, my stare shifts to him as I ask, “Are you drunk?”
He forces a smile. “No.”
“Too bad. I like you better when you’re drunk; it’s the only time you’re honest.”
Michael advances toward me and I retreat just as quickly.
“So since you seem to think I was only honest that drunken night we slept together, let me inform you that I remember every second of that night. Of your full lips wrapped around my dick. Of how I licked you. Of how I bent you over and fucked you hard.”
I hit the wall right beside the door, my breath catches, and he plants his hands on either side of my head.
“You wonder if I think of you? Well, let me set the record straight—”
Then there’s a knock on the door and we both freeze.
“Brielle?” Ivo calls out, making Michael clench his jaw.
I bring my finger to my lips and push Michael backward so that we’re away from the door while I panic about what Michael will do.
CHAPTER 39
Brielle
AFTER I SHOVE MICHAEL into the living room, I insist, “Oh my god, you have to hide!”
“What?!” he whisper-shouts, his eyes burning dark and stormy.
“Michael, please!” I wince, clutching my hair.
“You tell him.” He stands tall.
“He hasn’t done anything! He doesn’t deserve to find out about my feelings for you like this. Oh, god...what have we done...”
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” he points out in a low tone.
“I wouldn’t be dating him if you had never left! Please...go hide.” I’m nervously wringing my hands when there’s another knock.
Michael sighs. “Calma.” Calm down. Then he brushes my hair back with his hand and cups the back of my head in that firm manner I adore as he warns, “I’ll hide, but if he touches you, I won’t stay hidden.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
He places a featherlight kiss on the tip of my nose that makes me feel precious while it eases my anxiety. “Get rid of him or I’ll hurt him...”
“Michael!” I grind out quietly, yet he responds with a supremely devilish grin, challenging me to defy him. I sense that Michael’s eager for a fight, and if that happened, he would crush Ivo. “Fine.” I pull his arm down. “Go to the bedroom.”
“No.” He passes me and stands next to my front door. “Open it.”
I glare at him and he shrugs, and as I touch the chrome handle, he quickly rubs my ass, giving it a greedy squeeze and smirking when I smack his hand away.
Then I open the door and the first thing I notice is Ivo’s disheveled appearance. “Hey, I was on the terrace and heard a knock. Have you been here long?”
Ivo looks past my shoulder; however, I remain still to avoid raising suspicion, but his freaked out manner and his wrinkled dress shirt have me frowning. “Yeah, I’ve been knocking for a couple of minutes.”
“What are you doing here? I’m beat from work and was going to shower and then read in bed,” I lie.
“Okay. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by, but since you’re tired...”
“Yeah, I’m exhausted.”
“Another time then,” he relents, and I simply nod, sensing Michael’s glower burning into me.
“Good night.” I edge backward, and thank god, he doesn’t lean in for a kiss on the cheek because it would infuriate Michael.
Ivo turns away, and I wait until he’s inside the elevator to close and lock my door, telling Michael, “That was weird. He’s never come here unannounced. And how did he get past the receptionist?”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Michael steps forward while I bite my nail. “I’ll talk to your receptionist. It won’t happen again.”
“I know, but what was I supposed to say to him?” I pause and finally muster up the courage to ask, “That aside, why are you suddenly taking care of things for me now when you just left after we...had sex.”
“You keep saying that I left and that I forgot about you, but how do you think you’re living here at the Ivory? Do you think Ivo did that for you?”
Yes. “What are you talking about? He got it for a really good price.”
“No, I paid the extra fifty grand so that you could get out of that shitty apartment you were living in. I told Fallon to assist you. I came to Palermo the day I left to say goodbye to you – you saw me in the doorway – but you looked so sad, and I was sure that I was the reason.”
I knew I saw him that day!
“I was aware of everything that went on in your life because Fallon kept me updated. I asked Fallon if you asked about me and she said you never did, so stop saying that I forgot you. I planned for everyone to look out for you while I was away,” he reveals all at once, without even raising his voice.
Stunned by his confession, I probe, “Why?”
“Because I’ve had an overwhelming need to protect you since we met, Brielle. I’ve never understood it. I’ve fought it. I fled from it for six weeks, but the moment I came back, I still felt that pull to you. With your amusing ways, which, granted, annoyed me at first, you’re the only person who’s ever been able to drag me out of my thoughts,” he adds, grinning.
My heart skips a beat as we inch closer until we’re nose to chest. I peek up through my lashes into his vulnerable ashy-grey eyes. For once, he shows his emotions as he takes my hand in his and presses it to his solid chest.
“So what exactly did you do when you were gone?” I twine my fingers with his.
“I went to a retreat in California to get over my grief. But I was also trying to forget you – I just didn’t realize it at the time. My interest in you might have been about the bracelet at first, but I figured out quickly that you didn’t even know about it and, still, I sought you out. And then, the way I acted toward you had nothing to do with my grief or with Rachel. What I feel for you scares me in a way I never experienced with Rachel,” he says the words I’ve been longing to hear. “You know why I felt so bad after her death? Because I realized that she wasn’t the one for me, and that made her death even more like something that could’ve been avoided.” His expression is filled with sincerity.
“Are you sure that’s it? Because I can’t fight the ghost of the love of your life anymore.”
“She isn’t the love of my life. I know that because I never protected her to the extent that I protect you. I take care of things for you because I can’t stand you being in danger, and that has nothing to do with Rachel,” he speaks her name in a calm voice, which he didn’t do before. “It has to do with an uncontrollable need to keep you safe and with me by any means possible.”
“Why?” I ask again, wanting him to say exactly what he means so that I don’t misinterpret him.
Cradling my face in both hands, Michael strokes my cheeks with his thumbs. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you’re the one who helped me with my grief by simply talking about yours, by giving me a book that actually had helpful advice. You know me in a way others don’t because you’re the only one I let get close. But there are things in my life you don’t know about, and that’s one of the reasons I was forced to stay away from you.”
“Things about Rachel?”
“No, she has nothing to do with the current issues. My biggest regret isn’t Rachel anymore.”
“It’s not? So what is it?”
There’s a long pause before he responds, “My biggest regret—no, my biggest mistake was leaving you after that night, to let fucking Ivo swoop in! Is that what you want me to say?!” He weav
es his hands into my hair and grips the roots.
“Yes! I’ve wanted to hear that for so long, but you hurt me with your lies. And then you broke my heart by leaving, Michael. And you still confuse me...”
“I’m sorry I hurt you. You’re the last person I wanted to hurt,” he admits at last.
I shut my eyes as he rests his forehead against mine, and I savor his apology. Warmness settles in my veins when he presses his lips against my temple, his musk cologne hitting my nostrils. As he pulls me close, my arms wind around his middle, and I allow his broad frame to comfort me in the way I’ve yearned for.
Then Michael rears back a bit. “By the way, you confused me too, but in hindsight, I realize that it was in a good way. And I’ve thought about you non-stop since you first found my gun and aimed it at me.”
I smile sadly. “I wondered what you were doing all the time, but I didn’t have the courage to call or message you because I thought you’d forgotten about me. I thought that maybe it was really just a drunken one-night stand to you.”
“You aren’t a one-night stand,” he mutters. “And I still need to know one thing: tell me that nothing happened between you and Ivo.”
As I study him, I notice that he’s gritting his teeth. “Nothing happened besides a kiss. But didn’t you meet anyone in California?”
“I haven’t been with anyone since you, and I’m not planning to be,” he answers with conviction and cradles my face, his thumbs lingering at my dimples, making my breath lodge at the innocently sensual gesture before he says, “Ask me.”
I know exactly what he’s referring to – our earlier encounter where he told me that I’d ask for a kiss sooner than I realized. “Kiss me,” I whisper.
With both of us desperate not to waste another second, he slams me against door before he crushes his mouth to mine. Forcing me to open as he slips his tongue inside, he makes me forget everything except the two of us in this moment. It’s a skill he’s honed to perfection.