Chapter 9
9
GIANNA
The door catches my weight with a dull thud, but I barely feel it over the violent pounding of my heart. My hands tremble as I press them to my chest, trying to contain the wild thing rattling beneath my ribs. Every muscle in my body turns to liquid, and as I slide down the length of the door, the sticky wetness between my thighs creates a sweet friction against my sensitized clit that makes me moan. I bite my lip.
What is this?
He didn’t even kiss me—didn’t do anything overtly sexual—and yet here I am falling apart like some bumbling virgin. My head falls forward, fingers sinking into my hair. What the hell is wrong with me?
I force myself up on watery legs. What I need is an ice-cold shower and a solid eight hours of sleep to reset my brain. That’s it. That’s all this is—exhaustion. Not to mention the lingering adrenaline dump from almost getting kidnapped. My circuits are fried, synapses misfiring left and right, making me react to him like he’s oxygen and I’m drowning.
Yes. That’s the explanation.
I nod to myself, stripping off my clothes and tossing them onto the bed as I make my way to the ensuite. But the second I step into the bathroom, my gaze locks onto the shower, and a crystal-clear image slams into my head?—
Michael.
Walking out of his bathroom.
Steam rolling off his ink-decorated skin.
His cock bobbing with each purposeful step towards me, that wicked silver barbell glistening at the tip, stretching across his thick, swollen head.
My thighs clench.
“No,” I moan, squeezing my eyes shut as more wetness leaks from my already-drenched core.
The way he turned slowly, gave me a perfect view of his tight butt before facing me again. All while his cock grew harder right in front of me.
The sheer want in his gaze as he hovered over me.
He should have fucking kissed me.
I gasp, snapping my eyes open and shaking my head furiously like that will somehow rattle the thoughts loose. What the hell am I thinking? “That image is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?” My sigh echoes off the bathroom walls as I get into the shower.
I crank the tap as cold as it goes and yelp the second the punishing spray hits me. The shock knocks the air from my lungs, but it does little to douse the fever licking at my nerve endings. If anything, the icy deluge only sharpens the hypersensitivity buzzing beneath my skin. Makes every inch of me feel raw. New.
Gritting my teeth, I turn my face into the frigid torrent, breathing through the full-body shudder as the cold sinks barbed hooks into my flesh.
Let it ground you , I coach myself, even as my nipples pucker painfully and goosebumps rise down my arms. Remind you of what’s real. Of what matters.
Survival. Freedom. Staying one step ahead of the monsters snapping at my heels. That’s what matters. Not the traitorous clench between my thighs. Not the hollow ache in my chest. Wash him away.
By the time I step out, my teeth are chattering, and I can’t feel my toes. But hey, my clit has retreated back into my body, so I’m counting it as a win.
I’m not thinking of him anymore.
I should have licked a line down the fiery burst of colors of that phoenix on his chest when I had the chance.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I smack my forehead, trying to physically dislodge the thought. This isn’t helping. Nothing’s helping.
Grabbing a towel, I scrub my skin roughly, skin pinking under the harsh treatment. Then I make my way back to the bedroom and pause, debating whether to grab fresh clothes from my backpack.
I decide against it.
If I’m running away from Michael tonight, I need to keep my clothes as clean as possible. No telling when I’ll next find a laundromat.
Or you just want to spend more time in his clothes.
“Shut up,” I whisper to my brain as I get under the covers.
It sure would be nice to have a hot, muscular body to cuddle.
My nipples harden.
“Shut the hell up,” I repeat, fiercely. I can’t afford to get aroused again.
I try to empty my mind, but the rogue organ between my ears keeps shoving Michael back in. So I force it elsewhere, to something darker. Something painful—the life I left behind.
Uncle Aldo. Aunt Marie. Dario.
That does the trick. But instead of the more recent horrors, my brain takes a detour, dragging me further back—years back.
The day I arrived at their home.
The day after the incident that cost my parents their lives.
“This is going to be your new home, Gigi. What do you think?” My uncle Aldo’s voice is soft, his smile small as he waves towards the huge mansion looming before us.
My heart aches as I watch the beautiful, shiny house. I don’t want a new home. I want my home. I want my mom and dad.
Tears spill down my cheeks, my trembling lips barely able to form words. I clutch my teddy bear tighter, my fingers curling around my mom’s necklace like a lifeline.
Uncle Aldo crouches in front of me when I don’t answer. “I know how heartbroken you must be right now, Gigi. Cesare and I lost our parents when we were just a little older than you, and it was like someone suddenly turned off the sun. Everything was dark.”
I lift my gaze to his blurry face. That’s exactly how I feel. Like the sun, the moon, the stars—the whole universe—have just been taken from me.
More tears spill down my cheeks, and he raises a hand to gently wipe them away.
“I’m not going to tell you not to cry. But I want you to know you’re not alone. You have me, your aunt Marie, and Dario. We’re your family now.”
I don’t want a new family.
Fresh tears fall, and I sob as I follow his pointing finger to a boy, who looks to be a little older than me, stands watching with quiet curiosity. When our eyes meet, he offers me a small, hesitant smile that I try to return, but I know I fail because his smile dims. Then I look at the woman standing behind him, and I flinch. Her eyes aren’t curious. They’re cold. Hostile.
I turn away, just in time to see Uncle Aldo shaking his head at her, his eyes dark with what seems like anger.
“Now, come on, Gigi. Let’s go inside. You’re going to love it here. It’ll be as if we’re your original family.”
“No.” A strangled whimper slips from my lips as my hand flies up to clutch my necklace protectively—but it’s not there.
I gasp awake, my lashes heavy with tears, my breath coming in shallow, uneven pants. Blinking against the disorientation, I slowly push myself up on the soft bed, hot tears stinging my cheeks as they keep falling.
Then it all comes rushing back. Uncle Aldo said they’d be like my original family—what a big fat lie that was.
Aunt Marie never warmed up to me. And a year later, Uncle Aldo and Dario became even crueler than she ever was. It was like losing my parents all over again. And yet, I still clung to hope, foolishly thinking that if I did everything they asked—if I were a good niece—they might finally accept me, start treating me like family again.
Stupid.
With shaky fingers, I wipe my face and glance at the nightstand. Mom’s necklace glints in the dim light. Relieved, I pick it up, wrap the chain around my wrist, and tie it securely so it won’t slip off. Then I slide off the bed.
I can’t believe I actually fell asleep.
Padding over to the window, I peel the curtain back and peek outside. The sky is pitch black. I must have slept for hours, but I don’t feel rested at all. In fact, I feel the opposite—my limbs heavy, my head pounding like I’ve been hit with a brick. With a sigh, I let go of the curtain.
Rested or not, it’s time to go.
If anything, that dream just solidified my decision. I can’t overstay my welcome with Michael. What if he wakes up and decides to take me back to Uncle Aldo? The thought makes me shudder.
I don’t wait for my brain to spiral further. Jaw tight, I hurry back to the bed where my backpack is waiting.
I take off Michael’s clothes and hesitate. No, I can’t take them with me . I fold them neatly, placing them on the nightstand before slipping into my own clothes—a pair of thermal leggings and a sweatshirt. Seattle can get really chilly at night.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I grunt at the weight. The canned meals inside feel heavier than before, but I don’t dare leave them behind.
Moving carefully, I open my door just a crack and peek into the hallway.
It’s empty.
Still, I tiptoe down it, just in case Michael is a light sleeper. As I descend the stairs, I wince at the motion-activated lights flicking on with each step. My breath catches, and I glance behind me, half-expecting to see Michael standing there, frowning at me.
But he’s not there.
Good.
…Then why do I feel a little disappointed? What the hell, Gianna?
The front door opens easily enough, making my stomach twist. Is this too easy? I shrug it off and slip outside, hurrying down the front steps and around the driveway, towards the stretch of road leading to the gates. But something stops me.
I turn around to stare at the pretty house one last time. It felt more like home than Uncle Aldo’s ever did.
My throat tightens. “Thank you,” I murmur, even though he can’t hear me.
Michael might have ulterior motives, but he’s still the first person to show me kindness in as long as I can remember. He rescued me. Gave me a place to stay. Let me sleep in a warm bed, eat a real meal…
I linger a little longer than I should, letting the feeling settle deep in my gut before I shake it off and force myself onward.
Enough.
“You need to pull yourself together, Gianna Cabello. You can’t go crushing on the first hot guy who’s nice to you.”
I’ve barely made it a few feet from the house when something cold and wet lands on my nose. I frown, tilting my head up?—
And the sky opens up.
Heavy, icy rain drenches me in seconds.
“Of course. It has to fucking rain again tonight.”
Fuck Seattle.
As if the universe itself wants to rub salt in the wound, a flash of lightning slashes across the sky?—
And strikes the ground right in front of me.
I let out a choked scream, my body jolting backwards as thunder roars, swallowing the sound.
My heart skitters, and for one brief, humiliating second, I consider just turning around and running back inside like a coward. Maybe Michael hasn’t noticed I’m gone. I could just slip back in, pretend this never happened.
The thought tempts me.
Hard.
But I banish it and press on through the downpour, the rain soaking into my clothes, my fingers already numb. I swipe at the water dripping into my eyes, blinking furiously to keep my vision clear.
One foot in front of the other. I don’t stop.
I won’t stop.
Then, finally—the gates. I pick up my pace, hope swelling now that I can taste freedom—only for it to crash right back down when I get a good look at them. These aren’t like the more traditional ones at my uncle’s compound. No keypad. No manual lock. Just an impenetrable metal with a built-in scanner. No getting through unless I’ve got a registered face or fingerprints.
“Fucking Michael,” I grumble under my breath. Who the hell needs this much protection? It’s a house, not a goddamn government facility.
Fuck, what do I do now?
I bite my lip, glancing at the ridiculously tall fence that stretches endlessly in either direction. Can I scale it? I doubt it. But I start walking towards it anyway, determined to at least try.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I scream. Not a little yelp—a full-body, heart-in-my-throat scream. I spin around so fast I nearly slip on the wet ground.
Michael is standing there in a black trench coat that billows in the wind, water streaming off his frame. He looks like an avenging angel .
Even in the dark night, and heavy rain, he’s still handsome as sin, damn him. I glare at him to hide how he affects me. “Must you always sneak up on me? Do you get off on startling people?”
He ignores my indignation, his gaze flicking to the fence. “It’s electrified. You touch it, and you’ll get the shock of your life. Literally.” His lips quirk, arms crossing over his chest. “But if you don’t believe me, go ahead and try. It’d be entertaining to watch.”
I believe him.
“I knew it was too easy,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my soaked face. I start towards him, frustration burning hot in my chest. But somewhere inside me—not quite as deep as I’d like—there’s a stupid little thrill.
He came to find me. He cared enough to stop me before I fried myself on his fence.
Shit. Stop it. I shouldn’t give a fuck about him or what he thinks about me.
When I reach him, I slam my shoulder angrily into his chest—not that it does anything. He doesn’t even budge. I glare up at him just as lightning splits the sky, the flash illuminating his electric blue eyes. My heart jumps for a completely different reason this time as I now stare, mesmerized.
My lips part, and his gaze drops to them, sending my heart into overdrive when those blue eyes darken, vivid with desire. He licks his lips, his head tilting the slightest bit towards me.
I stop breathing. My eyes flutter shut as I tilt my face up, anticipation buzzing under my skin. I wait.
And wait.
And—
Nothing .
I crack one eye open, only to find him already walking away. That fucking?—
Heat rushes to my face, and I stomp after him, equal parts fury and humiliation warring in my chest. I feel his gaze flick to me as I push past him, but I ignore him, yanking the door open and storming up the stairs to my room where I make sure to slam the door shut. The sound echoes through the room while I glare at it, breathing hard, fingers twitching at my sides. And then it hits me.
I just threw the biggest bratty tantrum of my life.
Damn it.
Sighing, I drag myself to the bathroom. My clothes are soaked through, clinging to my skin like a second, colder layer, and the chill is starting to seep into my bones.
I strip out of them, towel off quickly, then pull on Michael’s clothes—the same ones still waiting for me on the bed. After that, I gather the cans of food from my backpack and stash them in the bedside drawer along with the ziplock bag of money. Finally, I take my backpack and wet clothes to the laundry room where I toss both into the dryer.
And then I wait. Again.
Once everything is dry, I fold my clothes back into the bag and return to my room. But instead of lying down, I pace.
I should probably go talk to Michael.
But embarrassment keeps my feet glued to the floor. Not just because I tried sneaking away without telling him—but because I was so painfully, stupidly eager for his kiss.
A kiss he purposely withheld from me.
I groan and sink onto the bed, dropping my head into my hands. How the hell do I face him after that?
A soft knock on the door makes me freeze. My head snaps up, my heart stuttering, but he doesn’t try to open it.
“You must be cold, I made some hot chocolate for you, and I heated up your dinner. Come downstairs.”
My heart melts even as my lips turn down in confusion. There he goes again . Toying with my emotions. Why does he keep doing this—acting like he cares, like he knows me? I run a hand through my damp hair and pull it back into a ponytail so it doesn’t look like a complete disaster.
When I open the door, he’s already gone. I sigh as I close it behind me and trudge down the stairs through the living room to the dining area—where a steaming mug is waiting for me.
Hot chocolate.
With mini marshmallows and pirouette cookies floating on top. And what looks like chocolate syrup drizzled over them.
What’s left of my heart practically plops into his hands as I sink into the chair, my gaze locked on the mug, deliberately avoiding his.
Something about him making hot chocolate for me exactly the way I like it does things to me. But what really gets me is the plate of food next to the mug. I swallow hard. “How do you know exactly how I like my hot chocolate? And the foods I eat?”
What is he, a stalker? Was he stalking me even before I ran away? Or did he dig into my past, study every little thing I did, every meal I ever ordered? That second thought makes more sense than the first. And yet… it doesn’t weird me out like it should.
If anything, it makes me feel closer to him. Safe. Cared for.
My aunt, uncle, cousin—my so-called family —never bothered to learn the things I liked, let alone provide them for me. And I never let myself make friends, too afraid they’d get hurt by my family. So maybe that’s why his kindness affects me so deeply.
“It was just a lucky guess.” He shrugs carelessly, but deep down, I know it wasn’t. And I think he realizes that I know, because he shifts on his feet, the slightest bit uncomfortable.
“Just who are you?” I ask, finally meeting those electric eyes.