Chapter 14 #3
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, that mischievous spark lighting his eyes. “You can’t do that. Not on your last night here.”
I crossed my arms, amused. “Really? And what do you suggest, then?”
“Come out with me,” he said smoothly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Into town. One unforgettable night.”
I let out a small laugh at his teasing tone. “I’m not going on a date with you, Matteo.”
The words came out a little too quick, a little too defensive.
He smirked, tilting his head and acting innocent. “Who said anything about a date? Just two people spending time together.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Truth was, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I liked him too much. More than I wanted to. And spending an entire night alone with him in some little Hawaiian town sounded like the kind of trouble I shouldn’t let myself fall into.
But then he leaned in, voice softening just enough to make my heartbeat stumble. “I promise you a good time, Francesca. Nothing more. And I’ll always respect your distance.”
The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. No teasing. No cocky grin. Just him.
I felt the smile forming before I could stop it. “Fine,” I said, shaking my head. “One night.”
His grin spread, slow and genuine. “I’ll pick you up from your door in one hour. Don’t be late.”
I laughed softly as I pushed my chair back. “We’ll see.”
I grabbed my beach bag and started toward the path leading back to the villas. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching me. I could feel it – his gaze lingering, warm and heavy, all the way to the door.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t try to hide my smile.
Exactly an hour later, there was a knock at my door.
I glanced at my reflection one last time – white dress flowing softly around my legs, gold sandals catching the light just right – and took a slow breath to steady the flutter beneath my ribs. Then I opened the door.
Matteo stood there.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The warm hallway light spilled over him, outlining the sharp planes of his face, the tan glow of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders under the crisp white linen shirt.
The top two buttons were undone, revealing a hint of chest and the glint of his gold cross chain.
White trousers, tan shoes, a gold watch on his wrist. His hands rested casually in his pockets, but there was nothing casual about the way he filled the doorway.
And then he looked at me.
His eyes swept over me slowly, reverently, like he was seeing me for the first time. For a heartbeat, Matteo Di’Ablo – cartel heir, infuriating flirt, impossible man – looked completely star-struck.
“You look breathtaking, Donna.”
His voice dropped low, a little rough around the edges. My pulse skipped. The nickname, the way he said it – it wrapped around me like silk.
We stood there, suspended in something warm and electric. The soft Hawaiian breeze drifted in through the open balcony doors behind me, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers and the distant ocean.
I stepped closer, my heels clicking softly against the tile, until there was barely any space between us. My hand lifted almost on instinct, smoothing over the front of his linen shirt. The fabric was warm from his skin, the solid wall of muscle underneath unmistakable.
“You look good, too,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.
His answering smile was slow and devastating.
We finally stepped out, the night wrapping around us like velvet. I slipped my arm through his, linking it around his bicep as we started down the path toward the waiting car. His arm was solid beneath my touch, his warmth seeping into me in a way that made my heartbeat a little too fast.
He gave me that infuriating smirk.
“So I don’t fall,” I said quickly, lifting my chin a little.
His smile softened, something almost tender flickering across his face. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.” Then, lower, almost like a promise, “Don’t worry, princesa. I got you.”
And God help me… I believed him.
The town was alive beneath a velvet sky.
Golden string lights draped from palm to palm, casting a warm, magical glow over the cobblestone streets.
Laughter spilled out from cafés and bars; surf shops still had their doors open, boards stacked against the walls like colorful sculptures.
The air smelled like vanilla, hibiscus, and sea salt, and the night breeze was soft on my skin.
We walked side by side, my arm still holding onto his, the sound of our footsteps mingling with distant music.
“So,” I finally asked, glancing over at him with a raised brow, “where exactly are we going?”
Matteo shoved his hands into his pockets, the corners of his mouth curling into a half-smile. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”
I blinked. “You don’t know?”
He looked almost boyish then, with his open collar and sun-touched skin, grinning at me like he had a secret. “You need to let loose, princesa. It’s all about the adventure.”
A laugh escaped me, quiet but real. I wasn’t used to not having a plan. And yet, with him, the not-knowing didn’t bother me.
We wandered for a while longer, the night wrapping around us like silk. I paused when a little boutique caught my eye. It was tucked between a surfboard shop and a tiny café, its lights dimming as the shopkeeper began to close for the night.
In the display window, perched on a velvet stand, was a delicate red hibiscus hair clip. The ruby petals sparkled faintly under the light, rich and vibrant – the color of summer, passion, and everything in between.
I lingered just a second too long before turning away to keep walking. But when I glanced back at Matteo, he was no longer beside me.
“Matteo?” I turned in a small circle, spotting him inside the boutique, exchanging a few quick words with the shopkeeper through the half-closed door. Before I could even ask what he was doing, he was back outside, walking toward me with something hidden behind his back.
He stopped in front of me, eyes dancing with mischief, and then held out his hand. Resting on his palm was the hibiscus hair clip.
I gasped softly. “Matteo…”
He smiled, a warmth in his gaze that made my stomach flutter. “May I?”
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to speak. I could only nod.
He stepped closer, so close I could feel his cologne – clean and warm, like cedarwood and the ocean. Gently, he lifted his hands to my hair, brushing a few loose strands away from my temple. His fingertips grazed my skin, light as air, but the touch sent goosebumps racing down my neck and arms.
When he slid the clip into place, his eyes lingered on mine, dark and intent. We stood there, caught in a bubble of silence, the night bustling on around us but not touching us at all.
I turned to catch my reflection in the boutique’s glass window. The hibiscus sparkled against my hair, bright and beautiful.
Looking back at him, I felt a smile spread across my lips. “Thank you. I love it.”
His answering smile was slow, deep, and devastating. “Come on,” he extended his hand, nodding toward the street ahead. “Let’s see what else they’ve got in this town.”
And just like that, I took his hand.
We kept walking, weaving through the warm-lit streets hand in hand, our fingers laced together so naturally it almost startled me when I noticed it. His palm was large and hot against mine, grounding, like he’d always held my hand.
Matteo suddenly slowed down, scanning the street with a strange glimmer in his eye.
I tilted my head at him. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, that infuriating, beautiful grin spread across his face, lighting it up in a way that made my stomach flip. He turned to the left, squinted toward something in the distance, and then looked back at me, eyes gleaming.
“Come with me,” he said, tugging at my hand.
Before I could question him further, we were jogging down the street, hand in hand like a couple of reckless teenagers. I laughed – loud and unrestrained – as my heels clicked against the concrete streets and the night air whipped around us.
The deeper we ventured into the heart of the town, the louder the music became. A low, pulsing rhythm echoed through the streets, wrapping around us like a heartbeat. Drums. Guitar. Trumpets. And that unmistakable sultry Latin beat that made you want to move.
By the time we turned the corner, the sound was unmistakable.
There it was – a Latin club nestled between two stone buildings, glowing like an ember. The line to get in stretched halfway down the block, people laughing and swaying in line, hips already moving to the rhythm floating out the open doors.
Matteo didn’t hesitate. He headed straight for the entrance, dragging me along.
“Matteo,” I hissed under my breath, half laughing. “There’s a line!”
He glanced at me, wicked amusement in his eyes. “Not for us.”
We cut straight to the front, earning a few muttered curses and raised brows from the people waiting. The bouncer, a mountain of a man in black, straightened in his chair as we approached, his hand already half-lifting in a silent ‘back of the line’ gesture.
Before he could say a word, Matteo pulled a folded stack of bills from his pocket, held it between two fingers, and said something quick and smooth in Spanish.
The bouncer’s serious face cracked into a grin. He laughed, replied in equally fast Spanish, and stepped aside, unclipping the rope with a flourish.
Matteo nodded like it was the most casual thing in the world, still holding my hand as we crossed the threshold.
The moment we stepped inside, the music hit us like a wave. Raggaeton boomed through the speakers, the bass vibrating in my chest. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, rum, and perfume, electric and alive.