Tangling Hearts (Hearts Series Book 3)

by Faleena Hopkins

  So I wait as he looks around the room, his frustrated glance grazing the spiral staircase. He walks to it and looks at me, an animal in his eyes as he points. I hurry over pulling off my panties from underneath my skirt as I go. He watches me with a look that says he wants me now, and he doesn’t want to wait for things like taking off panties or walking.

  “Grab that table.”

  I look over to where he’s pointing. “The little one by the coffee table?”

  “Yes.”

  I run over, breasts bouncing in the breeze of my speed as I run in my heels, hair blowing back a little, too. Grabbing the small table, I carry it back quickly and set it by the stairs where he’s standing. He licks his finger and reaches out to tease my nipple, sending a moist shiver into it and making it even harder. “Put your leg there.” I plant one heel on the little table and push my knee out. “Hold onto the railing.”

  He watches my breasts move up as I raise my hands and hold on, elbows slightly bent. He stands back, his eyes clawing their way across my body from the ground up. With those eyes of his and that dark hair, he could be a werewolf or a vampire. And me? I could be the happiest girl on planet fucking Earth.

  “I’m loving every second of this,” I whisper.

  “Did I say you could speak?” His eyebrows rise.

  I smile and shake my head, sucking on my lips to stop myself from saying No, sir. Sorry, sir. Anything you say, sir.

  He slowly unbuttons his shirt, pulling it off. Now it’s my turn to stare. The ripples of his muscles are insane. He throws the shirt down and slips off his belt and plays with it before he tosses it away with a twinkle in his eyes. I grin at him and his eyes go dark again as though to say, this is serious stuff here.

  I nod and lose the smile. He tilts his chin up and unbuttons his form-fitting, weathered blue jeans, slowly unzipping them as my knuckles go white from grabbing the railing harder so I don’t race over and lick him. My eyelashes fall as he pulls out that gorgeous, hard, cock I can’t get enough of. Completely naked, he stands slowly running his hand up and down that perfect shaft. I glance up to see his full lips open, his eyes smoldering, looking at me like I’m a horse he’s about to ride. He walks over and slides his fingers up my thigh, into my skirt and into the folds of pussy. With tiny circle-flicks, he teases me before he slips his middle finger inside me, pushing in, then coming out to circle me again. I begin to pant desperately and he pushes my leg open more. I throw my hips forward and look down to see him bending and guiding his rock-hard cock into me. Who needs to go see a movie when you’ve got this for entertainment? And the soreness will only last for a couple seconds. I can take it.

  With a sexy groan, he looks down, brings his foot up on the table with mine and we rock together. His full lips are open as his eyes slide up to meet mine. We stare at each other through half-closed lids, our bodies moving like they finally found what they were always supposed to be doing. With every push, my pussy’s tight around him and driving him wild. The slow movement pulls us into ecstasy bit by sweet little bit. The ache can’t be rushed. He’s still got to be careful, and what’s surprised me the other three times we fucked today is that when you don’t rush it when you want to, it builds an even deeper orgasm than you could have created of your own free will. If I were to grab his body and pull him to me hard and abandon myself to this wave of erotic pleasure pulsating through my veins, it would be great, but holding back… until I can’t hold back anymore… until the climax comes to take me no matter what I do or want… it’s a high I never thought possible.

  The burning ache pulls from within us as we kiss and moan… and then we feel it everywhere. Every cell in our bodies ignites. A tremor unleashes in my pussy. I throw my head back with the contractions, the inside of my walls pulsating onto him, pulling him with me over the edge of the cliff. I cry out as he jerks up and plunges deeply into me. He yells out and takes my mouth in his, my cries quieted by his tongue. My leg hooks around his and I let go of the railing to slip my fingers into his hair, kissing him with all the love I have for him. My Brendan. My heart. My impossible dream come true.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brendan

  Friday: Location Times Three

  As soon as I get off the elevator and walk into the enormous main room, I’m accosted by welcoming voices. “Hey B-man! Welcome back!” “Making surgery look good, my friend.” “Did you really take a shot to the lung?” “Did you get my flowers? My wife sent them. Don’t look at me.” “Margaret wants to see you. You’re looking good, man!”

  I nod, thank them, answer when needed, and head to Margaret’s office to the back right wall. She spots me through the glass and waves, looking to her computer screen quickly, a Skype call underway. I stroll in to hear, “Yes, well, when we go public, you’ll hear it from me, not the grapevine, so stop jumping to conclusions.” She motions for me to have a seat, but I opt to stand while she finishes the call. I feel too good to confine myself to a chair just yet. She smiles, looking me over. “I’ve got a hero in my office. I have to go.” Without further ado, she hits the close-chat button and leans back in her very expensive, white, massage, desk chair.

  “You’re looking good, Mags.”

  She waves at my chest area. “Can I see it?”

  My eyebrows go up in mock-surprise. “Now that’s sexual harassment.”

  The pen in her hands flies at me and I catch it and spin it around a few times, slipping it in and out of my fingers and thumb as she exclaims, “Not that! I want to see the gunshot wound, you sicko!”

  A knock on the open doorframe pulls our attention and Tommy’s standing there, his eyes on me. “Hey, B. How’re you feeling?”

  I slide my hands in my pockets. The pen, too. “Good. You?”

  He nods, flicks his glance Margaret’s way. “Better. How are you, Margaret? You look stunning today.”

  Eyes alight with fun, she looks at him from behind a subdued smile. I watch and wonder if they have any idea how obvious they are. If she weren’t above me on the ladder, I’d razz her about their affair. I’ve curbed that urge for a long time now.

  “Thank you, Tommy. I see you’re all better, too?” She sensually spins back and forth in her chair, eyeing him.

  With curiosity, I look over to Tommy as his eyes quickly land on me. “I was out sick. Same time as you.”

  I nod, intrigued. “What did they ever do without us? Margaret, how’d you get by without the brains of the business here? Did you guys have to shut the doors? And here I thought Tommy would have everything under hand. Lord knows he could.”

  Tommy’s surprise takes a minute to get hidden. Margaret glances to the window, looking languidly at the city beyond. “The fog was thicker without the two of you here. Now get out of my office.” She points at my pants. “And don’t steal my pen.”

  I pull it out and take a short step to lay it on her desk. “But it’s such a nice pen.”

  “Stealing is wrong, Brendan,” Tommy says on a chuckle, picking up on the vibe of the room and looking more comfortable now. “But if you’re gonna do it, you need to be more sly than that. Even I saw you tuck it away.”

  Touching my chest with a faux-wounded ego, I shake my head and pick up the pen again, turning it for a good inspection. “Damn. Why doesn’t someone teach lessons in thievery?”

  Tommy leans on the doorframe, gives a shrug. “Don’t look at me. I’m honest as the day is long.”

  Margaret grins. “Alright, you two. Go and make magic happen, would ya? We need some ideas flowing or I’ll have no money to count.”

  I give her a wave on my way out, and Tommy turns to leave with me.

  “Brendan! I heard from Rebecca that she’s gone back to Arizona for a time.”

  Tommy stops walking, same as me. He looks to the floor, waiting. I run a hand through my hair, considering what I want to say to that. “Probably going to be a long time, Mags. Sorry. It didn’t work out.”

  “Pity. I like her.”

  “Yeah. She
’s a good one.” I tap the door, a habit I’ve picked up from Annie. Tommy waits to walk with me, our offices right next to each other. The energy between us is different today, a lot better than it has been in years. Maybe even since before my ex pointed out his failings way back in our sophomore year at State, which makes me think it’s been my fault we’ve been so at odds for so long. If my good mood can make things feel different, maybe I’ve been the one with the problem. “So, what were you sick with?”

  “Something I ate,” he says, looking ahead. Our feet match in time, shoes making a familiar sound against the cement.

  “Shrimp?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I’m allergic to it. Not to where I’d die, just to where it makes me fall in love with toilets.”

  He smiles, throwing me a glance, his voice distant. “Yeah. I was in the shitter alright.”

  We part to head left and right, each to our own office door. I stop and turn. “Hey, Tommy.”

  His eyebrows raise, his head warily cocked to the side. “Yeah?”

  Glancing around to make sure we don’t have an audience, I take a couple steps forward for privacy. “Look. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you.”

  He blinks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “What do you mean? You haven’t been a…”

  I stop him with a look. “Come on.”

  He nods, looking to the floor for a second. He meets my eyes, his narrowed and wary. “Go ahead.”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to initiate a heart-to-heart. It just occurred to me that the strain was probably my fault. And I’m sorry about that. Canceling that date with Rebecca, I’ll never forget it. Seriously.”

  He smiles, holding out his hand for a shake. “Well, you don’t break the guy-code, right? You said leave her alone.” We shake. “I left her alone.”

  “Great. You want to catch lunch later?”

  He nods, watching me turn to leave. “Okay.”

  I tap the wall and head into my office. God, it’s good to be back.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Christiano

  Saturday Afternoon: outdoor market in Lucca, Tuscany. Mood: crap.

  “Cinque euro,” Maria argues, waving the bundled arugula at me in her balled fist.

  In Italian, I argue, “Maria, you’re out of your mind if you think I’m paying that.” She eyes me, sucking on her teeth between closed, tight lips. “Uno euro, e non di piú.

  “Bah!” She throws it on the pile and juts her elderly chin at me, refusing my price.

  Normally, I’d laugh, but not today. Today I walk away without a backward glance, disinterested in engaging further. Pulling out my phone, I look to see if I missed a call. We had a short text conversation yesterday and Annie promised we’d talk today, and it’s all I can think about. That, and of Sophia’s naked body, her wild hair, her musky smell.

  Merda. Life is not kind.

  Tucking the only thing I’ve bought so far under my arm – a paper-wrapped loaf of rosemary bread – I text Annie: “Quando?” It would have been just as easy to type: When? I know when she reads it, she’ll know the mood I’m in.

  “Christiano!” a friendly voice calls. Before I even look, I know exactly who it is.

  “Francis!” He walks to give me a hug, wrapping his arms firmly around me and smacking my back twice before letting go. “It’s good to see you, old friend. What brings you to Tuscany?”

  With a buoyant grin, he points at the sky. “Look at this sun, eh? You think the Brits have this in London?”

  Looking up at the day, I argue, “Then why did you move there? Are you a glutton for punishment?”

  He laughs, his big belly rocking with the sound. “I must be. It would explain my three ex-wives! Eh? Come! Let’s shop together.” He picks up a grape while a young vendor has his back turned. “Ah, it’s good to be home. And to be speaking with our mother tongue! Speaking of mothers, how is yours?”

  I step out of the way of running children to answer, “Well! And yours? How is Liana?”

  “Fine! Fine!” He waves to people as we pass, faces who beam at him with recognition. “Won’t stay out of my personal business, but that’s her job, right? I think it keeps her young.”

  I laugh in full agreement. “Mine as well. If she didn’t have me to ask about non-existent grandchildren – an ever-present request… no, demand! – then what would she have to wake up for?”

  He shakes his head at the truth of it. “Is that Sophia?” He throws me a look that implies her beauty is on his mind. “She looks incredible!”

  I glance and catch the darkness of her stare before she turns away. Francis is about to raise his hand to call her name, but I grab it before it goes up and silence him in the process. A cloud descends on my heart, but I keep my voice the same as best I can. “She gets better with the years, Francis. But let’s leave her be. I don’t want to share you just yet. When did you get back?”

  “Just last night! Only for a short visit. Ah, Antony!” Francis turns and hugs another from our neighborhood and I watch as they exchange idle conversation, catching up for a quick moment.

  Sophia, Francis and I used to play together as children. Her younger brother Eduardo joined us when we let him. But the three of us, we are all the same age, though Francis now seemingly wears more years. A financial tycoon, he has been the prize of several wives. He works too hard and now his hair is almost entirely gray, where mine is salt and pepper. To add to all that, his weight bears forty pounds more than it should. But his demeanor always brightens any room and his presence is welcomed by all.

  I believe it is this charm that has him three times married, and his ambition, three times divorced.

  “Caio, Antony!” Francis turns to me, and we continue on through the crowded market, but he steals a glance Sophia’s way and I peek, too, curiosity getting the better of me. Her back is to us, her legs slightly visible thanks to the sun shining through her dress. It traces outlines on the long waves of her hair, too, and Francis and I almost run into a cart of zucchinis from distraction. He laughs. “No woman I know in London has the sex appeal of that woman. I’ll have to visit her. Is she still single?”

  A sting of jealousy takes me by surprise, and I falter. “Sí.”

  His round cheek pinches in with a solitary dimple. “Look at that face! Did something happen between you?”

  Looking away to cover the truth, I scoff, “No! Of course not.”

  His eyes narrow, but I stop to pick up an heirloom tomato, squeezing it and bringing it to my nose for inspection. From behind me, he asks, in English, “And what of your American girl?”

  Handing the tomato to the young girl behind the fruit baskets, I’m reluctant to answer. “She is back home. America – not my home. For now.” To the girl, I say, “Cinque del tuo meglio. Grazie.” She smiles, her fresh face flawless around sweet brown eyes. Her little hands get to work selecting five tomatoes she thinks are superior.

  Francis leans in toward me, switching back to Italian. “Are you telling me your American is gone, Sophia is single, and you are here with me? Are you insane? When are you going to wake up?”

  I snort, looking to the sun, letting it blur my vision and squint my eyes. “You just asked about Sophia for yourself. Make up your mind.”

  He hits me in the ribs and takes the wind out of me, just like he used to do when we were nine. I grunt and smack him and he laughs and jumps back, crying out, “I was asking to make you jealous. You never learn!”

  “Learn what?” But he doesn’t answer as he walks off, almost waddling with his size. I frown and pay the girl. “Grazie.”

  “Prego!” she says, a shy smile peeking up at me. To the right her mamma sits on a short wooden stool, watching with a proud eye. I nod to her and she to me, before I turn and follow my friend.

  “Francis! Wait! How you can move so fast with those extra pounds, I’ll never know!”

  He guffaws and calls over his shoulder, “My years of running from lawyer
s!”

  A few feet before I catch up to him, my phone rings, vibrating in my pocket. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have heard the sound over to the afternoon market chatter. I step left to avoid a collision with an old woman wearing a shawl over her head to protect her from the sun.

  Annie’s name and photo shine up at me, and I quickly slide to answer. “Bella.”

  “Christiano, I’m so sorry I haven’t called earlier.” Her voice is quiet.

  She’s speaking in English and for a moment I consider answering her in Italian, but decide against it. “You are calling now. How are you? What has happened with…”

  She cuts me off, urgently whispering, “I’m fine. The bar is getting remodeled. We open on Sunday. We’ll be open during construction.”

  I look at the dirt rifled with small patches of green weeds beneath my shoes. “That is good. I am glad to hear… No, I am glad to hear your voice. That is what I am glad for. I need to see you, Bella. I want to go there.”

  She doesn’t answer at first, then, “Christiano, don’t. I need to tell you something. I’m staying here. For good.”

  My blood slows as I wait for more. Francis walks to me, his eyes meeting mine. I shake my head to tell him this is important, not to interrupt. “What has happened that has made you so sure?” She doesn’t answer me. Scowling, I wait, with Francis standing close by. I can feel his support. “Annie! No more silences! I deserve more!”

  She starts to cry, and instantly my feelings layer. I want to apologize, and I want to yell. The two are at war, and both are justified.