Chapter 10
CLEO
H e was so damn restless.
Guitar strings twanged as his calloused fingers danced across them with caged energy.
One moment, he was strumming out a melancholic tune; the next, he set the instrument aside with a huff and paced the creaky wooden floorboards.
With a growl, he pushed the front door open and strode outside, prowling like a lost man around the property.
Moving like a caged panther, shoulders hunched, head down, wearing a trail in the green grass.
His gold coin bounced off his knuckles as he paced back and forth.
His leonine eyes darted, scanning the horizon, the trees, and the sky—searching.
His other hand was thrust into his trousers, clutching something inside his pockets like he had a few times now.
I assumed a lucky charm.
Given his girth, strength, and brooding menace, I supposed he was the last man who needed one.
Still, we were all allowed a measure of weakness and a reprieve in how we sought to relieve our worries.
I wondered what it was, for he’d kept it away from my view.
I guessed a rosary, but as I’d never sighted whatever it was, fuck if I knew.
He strode along the edge of the creek, his gaze sweeping over the water, the rocky banks, the towering trees.
He moved with a predator’s grace, all coiled strength and sharp edges.
Like he was casing the place, searching for what? Weaknesses? Escape routes?
I shivered despite the warm sun filtering through the leaves.
While I now had an idea about what had brought him to my doorstep, with his brooding energy, I still sensed murky waters and secrets.
Underneath the gloss of his golden eyes, I perceived a wolf lying in wait. But only time would tell who his ultimate prize and prey were.
I busied myself with other more minor chores inside, determined not to look outside.
A few minutes later, I heard his footsteps thumping up the porch steps. He paused in the doorway, his bulk filling the frame.
‘Place looks secure,’ he growled. ‘You’ve got good sight lines, natural barriers with the creek and boulders.’
Then that cold as fuck predator light in his eyes went on. ‘But your fence needs some work. And a dog wouldn’t hurt. ’
I bristled at the implication that I couldn’t take care of myself. ‘I do just fine on my own,’ I murmured. ‘The neighbors look out for me.’
His gaze sharpened. ‘What neighbours?’
I sighed, leaning my hip against the counter. ‘The Hendersons, about a mile down the road. And old Mr. Jameson across the way. They keep an eye out, but most times, they mind their own business.’
He grunted, unsatisfied.
He stalked the living area, hands stuck in his pocket, rolling whatever was in his pants.
His restless energy filled the small kitchen, making me twitch.
I needed to find something for him to do before he drove us both crazy.
‘I’ve got some loose tiles on the roof that need nailing down,’ I murmured. ‘Think you can handle holding the toolbox for me?’
His eyes flashed at the challenge. ‘Lead the way.’
I did, first, to the shed, where I wordlessly pointed to the ladder.
He understood the assignment and lifted it onto his shoulders, his solemn expression unchanged despite his injury.
I reached for my toolkit, then stopped short as he extended a hand for it, too.
We locked eyes in a battle of wills until I gave in to his icy glare.
I handed it to him and marched outside.
The sun beat down on our backs as we placed the ladder along the roofline where I needed it.
I clambered up the rungs, hammer in hand .
He followed more with care, his movements stiff and careful. I pretended not to notice his grimace of pain as he settled himself on the roof beside me.
We worked, not speaking, for a while; the only sounds were the hammer’s steady thump and the birds’ distant trilling. Sweat trickled down my neck, plastering my hair to my skin.
At one point, he descended to the ground and disappeared into the cabin before returning.
Damn, he was athletic and freakin’ resilient.
Most men with the injury he had would be writhing in bed, yet here he was on a canopy, handing nails to me at the same time, keeping an eagle-eye view of our surroundings.
Granted, I was doing the hammering, and he was on light duty, but still, it gave me insight into his dogged spirit. This was a man who never yielded to anyone.
‘Here.’
A bottle of water appeared in my peripheral vision.
I took it with a grunt of thanks, chugging half of it in one go.
His eyes studied me, something unreadable in his eyes.
‘You know your way around a toolbox,’ he muttered.
I shrugged. ‘Had to learn. Repairmen charge an arm and a leg to come out here.’
‘I’ll help out while I’m here. Earn my keep.’
I squinted at him, trying to read his brooding energy. Was it a genuine offer or just a way to ease his boredom?
In the end, my practicality won out. ‘I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands,’ I allowed.
He nodded, something like satisfaction flickering over his face. We returned to the task, the silence between us less strained .
The temperature became oppressive as the sun rose, baking the shingles beneath us. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, smearing gritty granules of sand and tar across my skin.
‘Time for a break,’ he announced, easing himself upright with a slight wince. ‘I’ll rustle us up some lunch.’
I opened my mouth to protest that I wasn’t hungry, but my stomach let out a mortifying growl at that moment.
Heat that had nothing to do with the weather rushed to my cheeks.
He smirked, a glimmer of amusement shining in his eyes. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
So he had a sense of humor under his fuckin’ brooding facade.
It was refreshing to witness, for it meant he also had a heart beating beneath that tight, muscled chest.
He navigated back down the ladder, my gaze on his taut ass, admiring the fluid grace of his movements despite his obvious discomfort.
It set off a mini fantasy in my mind, the heat and hazy weather adding to my fervor.
Lost in lust, I almost missed the enticing aroma wafting up from below. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee mingled with something savory and rich. My mouth watered in anticipation.
He reappeared bearing a tray one-armed, laden with a platter of sandwiches and two steaming mugs.
‘Cleo,’ he growled, striding toward a log in my garden without waiting for my reply.
I descended, tracking to the outdoor sink to wash my hands.
I found him sitting on one of the alfresco benches. One thigh crossed over his knee, mug in one hand, fist cradling his chow .
The subs were simple but appetizing - thick slices of fried steak, cheese, and crisp lettuce stacked between hearty whole-grain bread.
The brew surprised me. It was a flawless macchiato, with espresso and crema layered in the glass vessel.
‘How did you -?’ I trailed off, gesturing to the heavenly creation.
He shrugged, lips curling. ‘I noted you had a machine in the kitchen. Thought you might appreciate something a little fancier than plain black espresso.’
I took a sip, letting the velvety foam coat my tongue. It was delicious, the espresso’s bitterness balanced by creamy sweetness.
‘It’s perfect,’ I murmured. ‘Thank you.’
His eyes met mine, heated and unfathomable. ‘You’re welcome, mia sola.’
The endearment slipped out, so natural, it took me a moment to register it. I glanced away, busying myself with grabbing a sandwich.
As we ate in companionable silence, I couldn’t help sneaking glances at him from the corner of my eye. The dappled sunlight played across the planes of his face, highlighting the gold threading through his hair.
His tongue peeked out from his lips, and I bit back a groan.
‘Like what you see, cara?’
The drawl threw me. As did his following words.
‘You’d like it more if I was over you, inside you, loving you. Making you cum.’
I jolted. ‘Are you hardwired to speak shit, or do you have some kind of verbal diarrhea ailment you’d like to share?’
I tagged the shameless smirk play at the end of his mouth and inhaled, glowering at him.
Hating the stirring in my heart for him.
I dampened it seconds later, whispering my Nonna’s name to remind me of what was at stake if I swooned over him.
Or let his unabashed sensuality lure me in.
After a few minutes of quiet chewing, he cleared his throat. I glanced over, catching his searching gaze.
‘Tell me about this area,’ Alessio rasped.
Eager to shift our conversation away from his feral mind, I obliged him. ‘It’s rural, with a healthy Italian population. Migration from Italy to the Goulburn Valley began in the 1920s. Today, over 5,000 residents have Italian heritage, with many migrants coming from small towns with farming backgrounds attracted by work in the fruit industry. Over time, they bought farms and introduced traditional Mediterranean vegetables and horticulture. The Italian community, now in its third generation, is well integrated into various sectors, including medicine, law, and business.’
‘And this farm?’ he rasped, gesturing to the expansive property stretching before us. ‘How long have you lived here?’
I swallowed the bite of my sandwich, considering my answer. ‘A few years now. It was my grandparents’ old place. When Grandpa Cesare passed, and Nonna Guilia went into aged care, I took it over.’
He nodded, taking another sip of his espresso. ‘Bellissima.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ I agreed, looking out over the distant mountain ranges. The view never failed to take my breath away.
‘Tell me more.’
‘I have an organic veggie patch and fruit trees, indigenous bush tucker, and wild medicinal herbs growing in some of the most fertile black soil you’ve ever seen. I have an off-grid set-up due to a near-new solar array and batteries. I run a range, air conditioner, kettle, and a coffee machine. Just not all at once.’
He huffed.
‘The fireplace and wood stove heat the whole house in winter, and with 50 acres of pristine and wooded forest, you’ll never want for quality firewood. The land is half clear valley floor and bushland with wattles, grevilleas, red, both yellow and white box plus eucalypt trees.’
‘Lonely?’ he mused, his tone casual but his eyes sharp on my face.
I shrugged, brushing a few stray crumbs off my jeans. ‘I like the solitude. And I’ve got good neighbors, even if we keep to ourselves.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Still, a young woman living alone in the middle of nowhere. Aren’t you worried about your safety?’
I bristled at his words, my spine stiffening. ‘I can take care of myself,’ I clipped. ‘I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.’
He held up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Scusa. Just concerned.’
My anger deflated as fast as it had risen.
He sounded sincere, his worry genuine.
‘I appreciate that,’ I murmured. ‘But I’m fine. I’ve got my wits about me and a shotgun under my bed. I can handle whatever comes my way.’
His mouth quirked. ‘Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.’
I gave him a slight turn of my lips, the tension between easing off.
We lapsed back into silence, but it was a comfortable one now.
I gathered our empty plates and mugs, ready to head back inside, when his voice stopped me.
‘These neighbors of yours,’ he said with casual nonchalance, his gaze fixed on the distant hills. ‘They make sure you’re okay?’
Damn, still on that?
I nodded, balancing the dishes in my hands. ‘Yeah, the Hendersons next door. They’re an older couple, sweet as can be. They’ve adopted me as an extra daughter.’
He glanced at me, his eyes unreadable. ‘And how does that work? They check up on you from time to time?’
I shrugged, a smile tugging at my lips as I thought of the kind-hearted pair. ‘We chat over the fence sometimes, swap recipes and gardening tips. But they make sure I’m still kicking. If they don’t see me for a day or two, they’ll come knocking, just to be certain.’
He hummed, his fingers drumming against his thigh. ‘Bene. I like that they care. That you’ve got someone looking out for you.’
I tilted my head, studying him. ‘I’m glad we meet with your approval, oh wise King,’ I taunted.’
He huffed, but his intensity of narrowed eyes made me wonder what he was thinking.
‘It is good,’ I agreed. ‘But like I said, I can handle myself. I’m not seeking for anyone to save me.’
His gaze met mine, a flash of something fierce and protective in their depths. ‘I know you can. But everyone needs an ally in their corner. Even the strongest among us.’
I swallowed hard, my heart doing a funny flip in my chest. He held my glance for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us before he spoke again.
‘Your face is sad, cara,’ he murmured, his voice rasped and intimate.
I fought the urge to look away.
His words, spoken in a timbered burr, like a caress against my skin.
I couldn’t remember when somebody had taken note of my sadness and cared enough to comment.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied after a beat, stammering, the monotone automatic, a reflex born of years of practice.
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. I had the unsettling inkling that he perceived all of me and knew how not fine I was.
‘You don’t have to pretend with me,’ he said with quiet emphasis, his gaze never leaving my face. ‘I know what it’s like to carry pain, to feel like you’re all alone in the world.’
His words hit me like a gut punch, stealing my breath from my lungs.
How might he understand the depths of my loneliness, the aching void that ruled my existence for so long?
I opened my mouth to respond, but my self-doubt kicked in. All utterance escaped me, helpless as I gazed into his eyes.
Raw, exposed.
He’d somehow managed to strip away all my constructed defenses with just a few simple phrases.
And yet, even as I sat before him more vulnerable than I had in years, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else. Something that bordered dangerously close to hope.
I blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay. I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I couldn’t.
For so long I’d painted calm on my face, keeping my composure, like everything was cool.
Crying was a weakness I couldn’t afford to show, not even to this man who appeared to see straight into my soul.
‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I said, my voice rough with emotion. ‘You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve lost. You may have stalked me from afar but never saw me, not into my core. No one ever did!’
I spat the words with some venom, dialing down after a beat, realizing how petulant I sounded. ‘I had no parenting to speak of, and my grandparents, though kind, were too told for me to bother with my problems.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re right. I don’t know your story. But I know what it’s like to feel alone, like you’re carrying the world’s weight on your shoulders.’
Gazing into his eyes, I detected a depth of suffering that matched my own—anguish that spoke of loss, heartbreak, and loneliness that can break a person.
It blew me away when he continued. ‘I lost my father years ago. He and my mother were killed in a car bomb.’
I inhaled, rocked to the core.
I reached a hand to touch his arm in instant commiseration.
His gaze tracked my gesture, eyes narrowing even further, teeth clenched, a tic in his jaw.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I breathed.
He shrugged and glanced away, his face dark and clouded. Ever the brooder, he was a tortured soul. Dangerous, too, he wielded power with ease, which drove me crazy but also enticed me.
He electrified me not only because he was ruthless but because he was aware enough of it and didn’t try to apologize for it or cover it up .
‘I lost my granddad,’ I whispered, the words spilling out before I was able to stop them. ‘He and Nonna were the only ones who never let me down and always had my back. And now he’s gone. My grandmother is in hospice, and here on the farm, I’m alone again.’
My voice broke on the last word, and a tear slipped down my cheek. I brushed it away with anger, furious with myself for showing weakness.
Alessio didn’t serve me with pity or condescension.
Instead, he gave me a searching look with such meaning that its intense power hit me. ‘You’re not alone,’ he growled.
As I gazed into his eyes, a flicker of something I hadn’t sensed in a long time went through. Something that bordered on hope.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden racing of my pulse. ‘I should get these inside,’ I muttered, lifting the dishes.
He nodded, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Let me help.’
He followed me into the cozy kitchen, the worn floorboards creaking beneath our soles. I busied myself emptying the remains on our plates into the trash as he leaned on the counter, his presence filling the small space.
‘Cleo.’
I turned, the hotness of his raw, timbered whisper on my back.
He cupped my jaw.
His eyes searched mine as if trying to read something hidden below the surface.
My heart lurched.
His head lowered, and he brushed his lips to the corner of my mouth .
When he bent over, my breath hitched, all out of my element.
His hand brushed my cheek with a gentleness that undid me.
Then his lips touched my mouth, soft, testing the waters.
Heat spread through me, starting from where our lips met and radiating outwards, filling each cranny of my being.
The kiss deepened, every movement careful, deliberate.
Holy fuck, how he kissed me, a mix of tenderness and desire that made my knees feel weak.
I surged into him as our lips melded into a heated, searching exploration.
I reached up, threading through his golden locks, pulling him closer. His other hand found its way to the small of my back, the scorching heat of his touch imprinting through my clothes.
Time appeared to blur, and all that existed was the two of us wrapped in that perfect moment.
When we pulled away, our foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling. My heart raced as the world around us faded back into focus.
Yet, I was different now, touched by something beautiful, something I never wanted to let go of.
A long, sinewed finger lifted my jaw, canting my eyes to his.
‘Carissima, even the most capable people need relief. A companion to lean on, hope with, and fuckin’ play and laugh with.’
I stilled, my hands gripping his shirt. ‘Says the lone wolf,’ I quipped.
‘You’ve got me wrong, carissima. A Calibrese is never alone. We’re a pack of wolves. ’
I huffed at his apt description.
‘I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore,’ I admitted. ‘Leaning. Trusting. I feel like I’d be weaker to rely on anyone else.’
‘It’s not about weakness, mia sola,’ he growled. ‘It’s about knowing when to let someone help carry the load. Like I do for my family, and they for me.’
My eyes searched his. ‘Is that what you’re offering? To help carry my load?’
Something flickered in his gaze, a heat that made my breath catch.
We stood in each other’s arms for a long moment, the ambiance thick with unspoken tension. My heart raced in my chest, my skin prickling with awareness of his closeness.
He opened his mouth, but I preempted him, raising a finger to stop his roll. ‘Don’t answer that. Not when you’re holding me hostage so you can achieve whatever the fuck you’re up to.’
He shuttered down. His soul retreating, the warmth leaking from his eyes, his withdrawal causing such a whiplash that I hissed.
‘Cazzo, I need air,’ he growled.
I’d insulted him, somehow.
The realization sent shame flying through me.
He stepped away, turning and heading out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I listened to his footsteps fade as he retreated outside.
With a sigh, I forced myself to move, busying my hands and tidying up the meal’s remnants. But even as I went through the motions, my mind drifted back to him.
Damn, Alessio Calibrese unnerved and intrigued me .
He studied me as if he saw straight through to my soul. The way his presence filled a room, commanding attention without even trying.
And, hell, how he made me feel like I wasn’t alone.
Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to carry the world’s weight by myself.
I finished cleaning up and headed outside, needing the fresh air to clear my head.
As I stepped onto the porch, movement caught my eye.
He stood by the fence line, his back to me as he surveyed the surrounding landscape.
For many long moments, I studied him.
Taking in the strong lines of his scapulae, the set of his stance, the golden mane lifting in the wind, and the menace of his prowl.
He was like a gilded warrior surveying the lay of the land before a battle.
Like a man who foresaw a darkness and dread so terrifying it foreshadowed Hades.