Lindsay #2
“The man you made plans to meet with here?” Matteo asks. “He’s gone. Took off as soon as we showed up.” There’s irritation in his expression. “I had questions for him.”
“About what?”
“About who he works for. About who’s been feeding him intel and sending it your way.” He watches me steadily. “Your contact isn’t a rogue informant, Lindsay. Someone positioned him. Someone who knew you’d use whatever he gave you and knew exactly where that information would land.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “Chase is a thread I haven’t finished pulling yet. When I find the end of it, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Why would you tell me that?”
“Because,” he says, “whatever’s on the other end of that thread is probably pointed at both of us.”
Why are you meeting men in shady places like this, Lindsay?”
I swallow. Knowing I’m on thin ice, I decide to answer honestly.
“He said he had information on who shot my father. I just wanted to know.”
“I see,” he says, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“That’s it?” I question, confused. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What else would you like to hear?”
“I don’t know. Where’s the speech about me putting myself in danger and how this was reckless and stupid?”
“It seems like you’re well aware of what you did.”
He’s too calm. It’s really starting to creep me out.
My eyebrows rise. “You’re seriously not mad?”
“I’m done getting angry at you, Lindsay.”
Something in my chest sinks at that. “Don’t.”
“What?” Matteo says.
“I don’t want you to be done being mad at me.”
What I really want to say is that I don’t want him to be done with me at all.
His expression softens. One beat passes, then another. Without talking his eyes off me, he signals for the bartender.
“I’ll have a bottle of Peroni and for the lady, a glass of tequila,” he orders. “I’m calling a truce. How about we recreate the night we met?”
I scoff. “What, including the amazing sex that ended with regrets?”
“No, not that,” he murmurs. “Let’s talk, Lindsay Beaumont. A real conversation. Tell me anything.”
“How about you tell me something?” I retort, settling into my seat comfortably.
“Like what?”
“For example…. Why do you only drink beer? It’s in poor taste.”
“Hey, Peronis are great. It’s my favorite thing to drink,” he defends.
I laugh. “That might be the weirdest thing about you. It just doesn’t fit your whole persona.”
“And what is my persona?”
“Mysterious, broody, calculative, rich. Maybe a little uptight.”
“I guess I am all of those things,” he agrees.
“Yes, but you’re also so much more. You’re incredibly smart. You’re a great dad, and you’re loyal. You protect the things you care about fiercely.”
My face grows a little hot by the end of all of that. But it’s true and I want him to know that sometimes I see him for who he is underneath it all. I see the man he tries to hide.
The smile Matteo gives me is nearly enough to make my heart stop. It’s sweet and genuine, and for a second I think the look on his face isn’t dissimilar to the one he gives Leo. Like he’d burn the world down to keep him safe.
“Alright your turn, princess. Now I get to psychoanalyze you,” he states.
I roll my eyes. “Go on.”
He pauses for a moment, staring at me like he could drag out all my innermost thoughts and lay them bare.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he begins, “full of light and energy, and you’re capable of making the world and everything in it fall at your feet.
Success has always come easily to you. You’ve always been intelligent and capable, and so you set out on a path you thought would prove that the most. You climbed the ladder and I’m sure you’ll climb even further.
“However, I’m not sure you really want that.
You love being a prosecutor because it’s proof of your capabilities, but you also want something more, princess.
I’m not sure what it is, but I see it in you.
The desire to find yourself. The ache in your chest that you don’t understand.
You’re searching for something. I’m sure if you pursued it, you’d find it just as easily as anything else.
You’re just… scared,” he finishes, his voice gentle, soft.
The expression on his face is hesitant and cautious. Meanwhile I’m reeling as I take it all in. It’s like he did read all my innermost thoughts and lay them all bare.
A part of me wants to get angry. Because I can’t believe I’m that transparent. He read me even better than I do myself and it’s left me feeling naked, vulnerable. I could lean into that feeling, the anger.
I could tell him it’s all a lie. And that he has no idea what he’s talking about.
Instead I turn away from him, facing forward, and taking a sip of my tequila. “Wow, Matteo, you should really look into being a therapist. It would probably suit you better than being a mobster,” I say lightly.
He wasn’t expecting me to react calmly to his little speech. I take that as a win. He turns as well, facing forward.
“Like I keep telling you, Kitten, I’m not a mobster. I’m an—”
“Accountant,” I finish for him. “Yeah, yeah, keep selling your bullshit.”
“My MBA from Wharton would disagree with you,” he says, offended.
I smile, “You’re such a snob.”
“Oh yeah? Says the rich girl who went to law school at Columbia.” He chuckles with a shake of his head.
“This is so annoying,” I say, groaning softly, “Do you know everything about me?”
“Not everything. Some things you can’t find with a background check and scrolling through all your social media,” he points out.
“Like what?”
“Let’s see… what’s your favorite color?”
“That is so lame. It’s not like you have one.”
“I do,” he protests. “Black.”
“Typical.”
He starts to argue with me that it’s makes no sense that I don’t have a favorite color.
I insist that I don’t. The truth is I’ve never really been able to choose.
We go back and forth over it and then we talk about other things.
Fun, easy things. In the meantime, the bartender continues refreshing our drinks.
I get in three more tequilas before my head starts to get a little woozy.
“What’s your biggest fear, Matteo?” I ask lowly.
He smiles, watching when I dip my finger inside my glass, stirring the last dregs of liquid inside it. I gulp it all down before looking at him expectantly.
“Being unable to protect the people I care about,” he answer easily. “How about yours?”
My answer comes to me easily as well.
“Never finding myself.”
My vision grows bleary for a moment and I shut my eyes before opening them to dark ones, intense, deep.
My heart starts to race, my breath growing uneven.
Matteo tips his head back slightly to down the rest of his bottle.
He only had one, which is kind of annoying considering I definitely overindulged.
My eyes are drawn to the trunk of his throat as it bobs. Then the veins bulging in his arms with the movement. He’s just so inherently sexy. Every inch of him oozes sex appeal. I want to feel his arms around my neck, around my waist. Gripping me there while he fucks me.
I think about the last time we were together. I think about how good it felt when he was inside of me.
The air around me grows hotter. I want to have sex with him again.
In his bed, in the shower. I would slip through the door and press myself into his wet, naked body.
Maybe I’d sink to my knees and take him in my mouth.
Wrench control from him and bring him to his knees to do the same to me once I’m done.
“Okay, time to go,” he declares.
I blink, and the sexual fantasy playing out in my head dissipates. “What? No! We’re having fun.”
“Yeah, and I need you to get you to bed. You’re drunk, princess,” he states, amusement in his expression.
“I am not,” I retort, standing to my feet to prove it.
But thankfully he’s already standing too and is therefore able to catch me before I slide to the floor. His arms wrap around my waist and a light chuckle floats over the top of my head.
Curse my low tolerance.
“You are so incredibly stubborn.”
He holds me until I’m a little steadier on my feet. I look up at him, and his eyes soften as they search my features. When his hand cups my jaw, a shiver racks through me. His thumb trails the curve of my cheekbone. It trails farther down, across my button lip, along my chin.
My heartbeat flickers like a flame. His touch feels so good against my skin.
“Let’s go home.”
Home. I’d like that very much. I’d go anywhere as long as I’m with him.
He leads me out of the bar and into the backseat of the car before climbing in with me. He sits right next to me and tells the guard behind the wheel to start driving. I scoot even closer, craving his warmth.
I yawn softly, exhausted from all the sneaking around.
Matteo doesn’t object when I lean my head against his shoulder. He shifts so I’m comfortable, wrapping his hand around me. His scent clouds my senses. And his chest is so warm and familiar. I yawn once more before my eyes fall shut.
I fall asleep to the sensation of him stroking my hair.