Chapter Forty-Four
Matteo
I don’t fucking get it.
I don’t understand her.
I took her out, and then - fuck , I took her home .
Not an apartment. Not a hotel room.
My home .
I’ve never taken a woman back there before. Not once.
Apartments? Sure.
A penthouse, a discreet hotel when I wanted privacy? Of course.
But never my actual house.
My space. My bed.
And yet, I took her there.
And the sex?
Dio . It wasn’t just good. It wasn’t just the kind of sex you think about the next morning and feel smug about.
No, it was the kind of sex that leaves a man wrecked .
The kind that gets under your fucking skin. The kind that imprints itself so deep in your mind that you can still feel it long after it’s over.
The kind that keeps me awake at night, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other wrapped around my cock, cursing the fact that she’s not in my bed.
And what’s worse? What’s most infuriating ?
I know she wants me.
I know it.
I see it when she looks at me, in the way her eyes flicker down to my mouth even when she’s pretending she’s not thinking about kissing me.
I sense it in the way she argues with me, how she throws herself into every snarky comment like she needs the tension as much as I do.
I hear it in her breath - how it hitches just before I kiss her, how it comes out in shaky little exhales when my hands are on her skin.
I feel it in the way her body moves against mine, in the way she melts into my touch no matter how much she tries to pretend she doesn’t.
She wants this. She wants me .
But she’s fighting it.
It makes no sense, though.
She makes no sense.
Women chase me. They always have.
I don’t wait around for a text. I don’t wonder if someone’s thinking about me.
I don’t fucking pine .
I rub a hand over my jaw, pacing my living room. I should be getting ready for training. I should be thinking about recovery, about the next game, about my performance.
Instead, here I am - checking my phone like an idiot, my stomach dropping every time I see that it’s not her.
It’s bullshit.
It’s a problem.
And problems need solutions.
Because there is no way - no fucking way - I’m letting her slip through my fingers.
I don’t know what her deal is. I don’t know why she’s holding back.
What I do know is that she’s a puzzle I need to solve, and tonight, I plan on getting some damn answers.
Because this isn’t over.
*
I should be high off this win.
I should be celebrating, riding the wave of adrenaline, soaking in the glory of scoring a hat trick in one of the biggest games of the season.
I should be out with my teammates, eating, laughing and basking in the fact that my name is now written even deeper into Roma’s history.
But I’m not.
Because all I can think about is her .
Daphne Sinclair - smart-mouthed, sharp-eyed, and still somehow a complete fucking mystery to me.
She was all knowing smiles and quick remarks in our post- match interview, but I’ve checked my phone a hundred times since then, and there’s still nothing.
Just silence .
And I hate it.
This woman has somehow managed to take up every inch of space in my head, and I don’t even know how she did it. One minute, she was just another journalist - a persistent, slightly annoying one, at that - and now?
Now she’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep.
We made progress after the charity event. Then after the locker room. And again, after I took her out to one of my favourite spots, and then took her home.
So why is she hesitating?
Why is she fighting ?
It’s frustrating as hell, but I’m not the type of man to just sit back and accept things I don’t understand. I need answers.
I need to fix this.
Which is why I showered and changed at record speed and am now standing in the stadium’s car park.
Her rental car was easy enough to spot, and I hang back, watching and waiting. I’m almost beginning to wonder whether she’s decided to ditch her car and take metro when I finally see her -
And something is off.
She’s moving too fast. Her shoulders are hunched, her fingers curled too tightly around her keys.
She’s looking over her shoulder, scanning the car park and surrounding area like she’s expecting someone to jump out at her.
My jaw locks.
Chapman.
I instinctively know that this asshole is responsible for it.
Did that prick say something to her tonight to spook her?
The thought makes my blood boil. My fists clench at my sides as I move, closing the distance between us.
I don’t bother hiding my footsteps, making sure she hears me coming -
But then she spins, her keys raised like she’s about to stab me in the eye.
I grin.
Even now, even on edge, she’s got fire.
"Easy, bella ," I say, watching as she exhales sharply and sags against her car.
" Jesus , Matteo!" she hisses, pressing a hand to her chest. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Waiting for you," I say simply. "That text you promised me… It must’ve gotten lost in the cloud."
Her eyes narrow.
" The cloud ?"
"It happens," I shrug. "Technology these days. Really unreliable. Unless, of course, you never sent it."
She crosses her arms, shifting her weight like she’s already planning her escape.
"I’ve been busy."
"Ah, sì, of course ," I smirk. "I can imagine you haven't had even thirty seconds to send a message."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a pain in the ass?"
"Yes, you. And yet, here you are," I murmur, stepping closer, boxing her in against her car. "Standing in front of me. Talking to me. Looking at me like you missed me."
"I’m not looking at you like that," she snaps, but her gaze flickers - to my lips, my chest, my hands braced on the car beside her.
" Liar ."
She swallows.
"If you’re quite finished -"
" Relax ," I say, tilting my head. "I just wanted to see you."
Her breath catches.
"Well, you’ve seen me."
I stay where I am, close enough to feel the warmth of her body, to see the rise and fall of her chest.
"Is that all I get?" I murmur. "A cold shoulder and no text?"
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, and then I remember the way she was moving just now - the way she kept looking over her shoulder, the way her grip on her keys was just a little too tight.
"Why were you so jumpy?"
She blinks, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic.
"What?"
"You were moving fast, looking over your shoulder like you thought someone was following you," I say, my gaze searching hers. "Did something happen? Did someone say something? "
Her lips part, but she hesitates.
"No," she says finally. "I just... I don’t know. It’s late. I guess I was just being cautious."
I don’t believe her.
Not for a fucking second.
But I also know her well enough to know that pushing too hard will only make her shut me out.
"You sure?" I press, my voice lower now, softer.
"I’m fine, Matteo," She nods. "Really."
I study her for another second, then nod slowly, filing it away for later.
"Alright," I say, my smirk returning. "But you know what’s not fine?”
She groans, tipping her head back against the car.
“Matteo -”
“That’s right. The fact that you still haven’t texted me."
"Not this again ."
"Oh, definitely this again," I say. "I gave you my number. I made it very easy for you. And yet? Silence . Pure, deafening silence."
I sigh dramatically, shaking my head.
"Do you know how that feels, Daphne?"
"Devastating?" she deadpans.
" Soul-crushing ," I correct. "Borderline traumatic . Truly, I don’t know how I managed to play football tonight. It’s a miracle, really. I was seconds away from collapsing on the pitch, clutching my heart, whispering your name like some tragic hero."
She lets out a reluctant laugh.
"You are such a drama queen."
"Am I?" I tilt my head, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a low murmur. "Or am I just a man trying to understand why a beautiful, intelligent, irresistible woman is denying herself the opportunity to talk to me?"
"Maybe because I don’t want to feed your ego?"
I press a hand to my chest.
"Ah, bella , you wound me." Then, I lean in, lowering my voice as if I’m about to tell her a great secret. "You say that, but we both know you love my ego."
"You’re delusional."
"And you ," I grin, "are breathtaking . A vision. A true gift to mankind. And yet you continue to deprive me of your presence. It’s honestly very rude."
She huffs, but the smile is there, lurking at the corners of her mouth.
"Fine," she mutters. "One text."
I slap a hand over my heart, gasping.
" Finally ! My suffering is over."
She rolls her eyes, but I see the smile she’s trying to fight back.
God, I love this game.
"But if it gets lost in the cloud again, I am showing up at your door."
"I mean it. You’re impossible."
"And you," I murmur, leaning in just enough for my breath to brush against her cheek, "are worth the trouble. "
Before she can respond, I dip my head and press a quick, soft kiss to her lips.
It’s over too fast, but I want to leave her wanting more.
I pull back, meet her gaze, and give her one last lingering smile before I turn and walk away.
I don’t have to look back to know she’s still standing there, watching me.
And this time?
She doesn’t run.