Chapter 7 Valentina
VALENTINA
Since my cell’s battery died halfway into my trip, I sit by the window with knees drawn up and my forehead an inch from the rain-dotted pane.
The last train to Carlisle speeds through the rain-soaked countryside, slicing through the air like a bullet.
The swift, reckless motion turns the passing scenery into a blur of lights and streaked glass.
The pace is exhilarating, but it also slumps my shoulders.
Chasing this train by car would be futile.
Not even the most determined driver could achieve such speed.
So even though I’m picturing the stranger behind the wheel of his SUV with his jaw set and his eyes burning with that daring glint that makes my heart race, the scenario I’ve tried to ignore the past hour isn’t likely to occur.
He’ll never beat me to Carlisle… though I do hope he gives it his all.
My inner monologue makes me annoyed and hopeful all in the space of a single breath.
I don’t want him to chase me, but a sensation miles above fear trickles through my veins when I replay the scene in Palermo. It’s the same needy pulse that thrummed through my lower stomach when his eyes locked on mine through the train’s glass doors as they slid shut.
The wildness in his eyes makes me wonder what would have happened if he’d caught me. Would he have kissed me? And would I have let him?
The uncertainty has me flustered and—God help me—playful. Those are two responses I didn’t anticipate today. I should be exhausted and wrung out, but instead, I feel alive and electric, as if the world is suddenly brimming with possibilities.
Closing my eyes, I try to convince my brain to let the rhythm of the train lull me toward peace.
Before I can get even ten seconds of rest, images of the stranger’s face and smile jolt me awake.
I think about the trail of fire his touch scorched on my skin when he sheltered me from danger, and how his low and commanding timbre still sent a shiver down my spine even when he treated me like a member of his staff.
And then I recall the way he looked at me as if I were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
As the train slows and the lights of Carlisle appear, my thoughts return to the present. A peculiar sensation settles over me as I gather my belongings and make my way to the doors. Carlisle is safer than Los Angeles, but you still won’t find me loitering near a station at this time of night.
The weird sensation grows when the train glides to a stop. The car is nearly empty, so fellow commuters aren’t to blame for my body’s odd responses. My emotions feel swept up in the chaotic storm the stranger’s attention whirled around me when he commenced chasing me.
Just as I’m about to step onto the platform, the rain starts up again. It splatters the dry concrete with big fat droplets that will drench me in under a minute.
After pulling up the collar of my shirt and saying a silent prayer not to get sick, I venture into the downpour. Shockingly, my clothes remain bone dry. Not a drop of water lands on me or my clothes.
I understand why when I look up. As a bodyguard would shield a princess, the stranger I left in the dust in Palermo holds an umbrella above my head, uncaring that the downpour is ruining his pricey suit and hundred-dollar haircut.
For a moment, I just stare at him, stunned.
How did he beat me here? It’s not possible. The train is the fastest thing on this island. It operates at a top speed of 190 miles per hour. No car could have made it in time.
Yet here he is, standing so close that his expensive cologne adds to the pulse between my legs.
A mix of excitement, disbelief, and fear rains over me. Are his interests so potent that he chased me all the way from Palermo? That isn’t something a sane individual would do, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t excite me.
If only I could erase the memory of where I found him as easily as his interest captivates me.
He was at a clinic commonly visited by couples, which prompts many questions. Is Valeria his girlfriend? His wife? Or worse, is she about to be the mother of his children?
The questions burn in the back of my throat, but before they’re voiced, the dark-haired stranger guides me across the platform. With one hand on the small of my back and the other commanding the umbrella, he moves with such animalistic grace that several passengers pause to admire him.
My pulse spikes as I debate whether I should fight or follow. His basic touch makes what should be a simple deliberation seem impossible. I’m not even sure which way is up. All I know is that the further the train slips behind us, the more the questions I need to ask disappear with it.
When he stops mere feet from the SUV he was leaning against in Palermo, I finally find my backbone. “What are you doing here?”
“Driving you home,” he answers nonchalantly, his tone both authoritative and kind.
I attempt to assure him that I’m fine, but the truth is, I’m not. The rain is coming down harder now, and my phone is well and truly dead. If I don’t accept his offer, I could be stuck at the station for hours.
The knowledge has absolutely no effect on my hesitation. I’m torn between caution and curiosity.
He must notice my hesitation. His slow, knowing grin weakens my knees. “Come on, Valentina. I’m offering to drive you home. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I almost insist that I can manage on my own, but something about him makes me throw caution to the wind. For all I know, he could just want to make sure I get home safely.
Furthermore, the last text I got from my aunt was that my mother had gone to bed, so the only time I’m stealing tonight is from my sleep.
“All right.” I try to sound casual. I shouldn’t have bothered. My voice is drenched in ambiguity. “But only because my phone’s dead and I don’t fancy walking home in this weather.”
With a triumphant grin, as if he sees straight through my lie, he takes my bag from me and places it in the back seat of the SUV. When he holds out his hand palm side up, I cock a brow and stare at him in suspicion.
“You said your battery is dead. I can charge it for you during the commute.”
“Oh…” I give him my phone without thinking, but instead of plugging it into the charging port in his SUV, he slips it into his pocket, then opens the passenger-side door for me.
I swallow the frustration and fear tangling in my throat, then climb in. I tell myself that it’s okay to be led when you don’t have a choice. The platform is empty, and the parking lot is just as desolate. The only noise is the thud of my pulse and the whispers of the questions I’ve yet to ask.
“Before anything else,” he says after jogging around his vehicle and sliding behind the wheel. “Have you eaten tonight?”
The memory of where I spotted him today has a lie sitting on the tip of my tongue, but my stomach betrays me with a loud, insistent grumble.
The stranger’s deep, rich chuckle makes my lips involuntarily twitch. He has a beautiful laugh. It’s as appealing as his panty-wetting face. “I’ll take that as a no.”
My breath hitches when his knuckles brush my chest. He’s not making an unwanted advance. He’s reaching for my belt.
“There.” He fastens the buckle with a quiet click before his thumb traces the stitched line in my belt. “Now there’s less chance of you outrunning me again.”
I resist the urge to tap a loose fist against my chest and murmur, “Thank you.”
Maybe the sedation hasn’t worn off and I’m dreaming?
This can’t be real. Surely. Men like him never notice women like me.
He’s so attractive that people’s heads turn without meaning to.
His face belongs in glossy magazines or behind the velvet ropes of movie premieres, not close enough to me that the weight of his attentive stare becomes a second layer of skin.
He arches a brow and smirks when he notices me staring. “See something you like?”
Though I’ve been caught out, I don’t look away. I could miss my only chance to showcase my flirtatiousness if I give up now. “Maybe.”
I more than like what I see, but there’s no chance of telling him that while still unaware of his relationship status.
He grabs at his chest, feigning injury. “Maybe? Ouch.”
When I playfully stick out my tongue at him, he laughs again, and the tingling in between my legs intensifies.
The further we travel, the more my nerves settle. The SUV’s heated interior dries my wet shoes, and the steady whirr of the engine gives me the perfect excuse for the buzz thickening my veins.
A short while later, we arrive at a family-owned eatery hidden on a side street. Steam has fogged the windows, and the scent wafting outside smells of fresh garlic and homemade pasta.
After parking the SUV, the stranger approaches my door, opens it, then helps me out. A jolt of electricity races up my arm with the slightest touch, yet I pretend not to notice.
Inside, the restaurant is cozy and bustling, and locals crowd its tables.
The still-unnamed man greets the owner by name before exchanging a few words with him.
I overhear portions of their conversation but nothing that identifies the handsome stranger.
It’s the small talk you have with someone you know but wouldn’t classify as a close acquaintance.
After the owner notes the extended period since the stranger’s last visit and inquires about his father, a deep groove mars his forehead as he replies that his father is well.
Since his curt reply ends their conversation, we’re shown to a corner booth tucked away from the noise and the glare of the overhead lights.
He orders for both of us with a commanding edge that declares he knows exactly what he wants, and he won’t stop until he gets it.
I don’t protest. I’m too preoccupied trying to figure out his identity to care if he upgrades our meals to include sliced chicken breast.