Chapter 8
My body went into autopilot.
I washed our dishes and carefully set everything into the drying rack. When I turned to wipe down the counter, something beside the stove caught my eye.
One of his rings.
Immediately, I gravitated to it. Picking it up, I was surprised by the weightiness in my palm.
Guess I could mail it to him. He wasn’t going to show his face around here again.
The ring slipped into my pocket to deal with later. I gathered my discarded heels and purse and put them away.
When I came back out of my closet, three more rings were waiting for me on the nightstand.
“What the hell, Nicky?” I whispered. Just how long had he been sitting in my apartment?
I collected them. One was ornate and expensive-looking, engraved. The other two were nothing more than smooth, wide silver bands. I liked them best.
Curious, I slid one over my index finger. It immediately slipped back off.
His hands were way bigger than mine.
God, I had been so close to finding out what they felt like on my body.
It would’ve been a spectacularly bad decision. I probably would hate myself afterward.
But for one night, at least… I would’ve known he wanted me, too.
The rings were tucked inside a Ziplock bag. I wandered through the apartment one last time, making sure I hadn’t missed any.
It was like a fucked up Easter egg hunt, except there was no prize at the end.
Well, there was a prize. It was just sadness.
I wandered over to the curtains to close them for the night. My apartment overlooked a little courtyard. Most of the residents were older, so by this hour it was usually deserted.
But there was one dark figure I spotted from my vantage point above.
Nicola stood on the sidewalk below. He stalked toward the street. Stopped, turned around.
Then paced right back again.
He was messing with something crumpled between his fingers-- probably a gum wrapper-- before he threw one hand into the air like he was arguing with himself.
Despite everything… I laughed. If anyone else saw this, they’d absolutely assume he was a psychopath.
A black Mercedes rolled to the curb. A man immediately jumped out to open the passenger door.
My smile faded as Nicola crossed the tiny courtyard and to the street.
His hand braced onto the car frame. Nicola bent down to climb in, but he froze.
My heart lurched. Waiting to see what he did, I found myself pressed so close to the window my breath fogged the glass.
Nicola’s head dropped a moment, then he slammed the passenger door shut and marched straight back toward my building.
“Oh, shit.” I jerked away from the window. He was coming back. Maybe he’d forgotten something.
I was holding half his jewelry collection, after all.
...
Or maybe, maybe he was coming back for me.
My gaze caught my reflection in the darkened window.
I looked awful. Tear-stained. Mascara smudged. Still wearing the world’s ugliest orange T-shirt.
I hurriedly wiped beneath my eyes and pulled my hair free from the messy bun.
It didn’t help much. I’d just reached up to fix a streak of eyeliner when the apartment door flew open.
A tiny yelp bubbled out of me as Nicola burst through the door.
Before I could say a word, he turned me to face him. The little bag of rings was still clutched against my chest as I stared up at him, wide-eyed and speechless.
Slowly, his hands came up and cradled my face. His eyes were dark and intense, his shoulders were heaving with uneven breaths. I knew he sprinted all the way upstairs.
“Fuck,” he whispered. His eyes closed, then his mouth found mine.
The bag slipped from my fingers. My arms wrapped around his shoulders before I even realized I’d moved into him.
Holy shit, Nicola kissed me.
His lips were soft, and the kiss wasn’t frantic, nor demanding. It was careful. Like he was afraid he was going to fuck it up somehow.
He pulled away only a fraction of an inch to look at me.
“You came back,” I breathed.
His mouth found mine again, and suddenly I couldn’t tell where the hunger ended and the relief began. Warmth spread through every inch of me as he broke the kiss and his forehead rested against mine.
“I didn’t go anywhere.”
Those words wormed their way past all my defenses and settled deep beneath my skin. My fingers disappeared into his hair, and his body instinctively leaned into mine.
A quiet sound escaped him, like a strange combination of a groan and a moan. He broke away from me and took one slow step backward.
Nicola kicked the front door shut without taking his eyes off me. God help me, that hooded gaze, the bruised lips, the tousled hair...
“Bedroom," he ordered.
I was fairly certain my panties were soaked.
Obedient, I walked across the living room. He followed me while my brain floundered.
You’re on your own, it said.
The second we passed the bedroom’s threshold, Nicola shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across my dresser. His tie quickly followed. He toed off his shoes before nodding toward me.
“You, next.”
“What?” I blinked at him. Was he commanding me to strip?
“Pajamas,” he clarified. “Your hazmat suit. A fucking Chewbacca costume. Anything but that orange shirt.” He pointed at it with genuine offense. “It’s burning my retinas.”
Despite everything that had just happened, I laughed. “I caught it from a t-shirt cannon,” I said, feeling the need to defend it.
“I don’t care if the Pope himself blessed it,” he snapped. “Go change.”
Still grinning, I disappeared into my closet. I traded the shirt for another pair of little sleep shorts and a camisole with a built-in bra.
Nicola was already in my bed when I emerged.
His trousers and socks had disappeared somewhere onto the floor. His dress shirt hung open at the collar, the first few buttons undone.
The sight of him stretched across my bed was… unfair. He looked comfortable. Dangerously attractive.
I caught myself biting my lower lip before I wandered back over.
His gaze traveled over me, and heat followed. It climbed up my bare legs before spreading across every curve of my body. By the time it reached my face, his palm was rubbing thoughtfully over his jaw.
“Well?” I held my arms out. “Does Don Moretti approve?”
“He approves,” he replied, sounding strained for some reason. “Though he could’ve done without the snarky comment.”
I bit down on my tongue.
“After all,” he continued, “Don Moretti drove all the way across Manhattan. You’d think the least you could do is wear something that doesn’t cause traffic collisions.”
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.
I climbed into bed beside him, then sat crossed legged with my hands in my lap.
“So...” I tilted my head. “Where’s the part where you put the moves on me?”
Nicola frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I want the full Nicola experience.” I waved a hand in his general direction. “I want to be wooed.”
“I just fucking sprinted up three flights of stairs in well-tailored trousers,” he shot back, pointing in the direction of the door. “Isn’t that wooing?”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He looked indignant.
It was easy to forget that the man currently arguing with me about the romantic value of cardio was the same Don Moretti everyone else feared.
“Okay, then at least tell me what you would whisper to them,” I said quietly and my face heated again. Nicola was no longer annoyed and looked curious.
“Whatever it was... it always seemed to work on them.”
Nicola slowly rose and crawled towards me on all fours, forcing me to recline back. He braced his palms over both sides of my head.
"Are you trying to tell me you like dirty talk?”
My brain and heart took a stuttering moment to register that Nicola was on top of me.
“I don’t actually know," I replied weakly. Things with my ex-husband were always so… quiet.
“Well...” He glanced thoughtfully toward the headboard. “I’ve got variations. I don’t actually know what I’d use on you.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t fit the mold.”
My smile faded into a frown and Nicola sighed.
“Alright, Aubergine.” He slowly looked me over, sucking his lips between his teeth like he was genuinely trying to figure it out. “If I saw you at a club—which, by the way...”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re never going to a fucking club without me."
He got back on track: "I’d probably send a drink over first.”
I frowned. “Okay. Kind of lame, but go on.”
His head tipped forward as he fought a smile. “Then, eventually I’d find my way over.”
“Mm-hm.”
“If you were with a group, I’d wait nearby until you came to me. Get you alone.”
His fingers absently caught a loose strand of my hair, gently winding it around them.
“Then, I'd say...” He leaned closer. His mouth hovered beside my ear and his voice dropped into a lower register. “‘Come with me.’”
My brow furrowed as I thought it over for a moment. “Oh.”
Nicola’s head jerked back suddenly. “What do you mean, oh?”
The veil had been lifted. He was insanely hot and a fucking Don.
Nicola don’t need a mind-blowing pickup line to hit on women. They were just waiting for him to come over. They would have blushed and giggled regardless of what he said.
“I understand what you mean now,” I said quickly. “That sort of stuff… it never would’ve worked on me.”
Nicola rolled onto his back and folded his arms beneath his head, glaring up at the ceiling fan.
“I can’t believe I cooked you filet mignon and this is how you repay me.” He shook his head in disappointment. “With fucking disrespect. In my own home.”
“Your own home? You didn’t even--" I caught myself and playfully hit his shoulder as he grinned at me. "Goddammit, Nicky, stop making me laugh! I wanted to be seduced, you know?"
My smile weakened. “I dreamed about it. So many nights.” I rolled onto my back beside him until our shoulders touched. We both stared up at the ceiling.
I heard him turn his head. When I looked over, a smug little smirk was waiting for me. “How many nights are we talking about?”
“The point is…” I hesitated, suddenly feeling much more vulnerable than I had a second ago. “You wouldn’t have needed to do any of that with me. Just... being you would’ve been enough."
I had been cowardly, forcing those words out while my eyes were averted. When I mustered the courage to look at him, his expression had fallen.
His throat flexed.
"So, I’ll ask again, Nicky," I whispered, gazing into his eyes. "What is this?”
Nicola was quiet for so long, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like his answer. He rubbed a hand over his face.
“I don’t know," he said with a heavy exhale.
My heart sank and he met my gaze.
“But I know how I feel when I leave. I don’t like it.”