Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
ZACH
T he night feels endless. I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and I can’t get the image of her out of my head…Jenny, standing there, calm as you please, talking about that godforsaken hotel as if it weren’t a hellhole. As if the noises, the fights, the danger she was surrounded by were just an inconvenience.
She could have been hurt. Hell, she could have been killed.
I clench my fists against the memory of her voice when she’d called me, trembling but trying to sound composed. It had done something to me…an immediate, instinctive response I couldn’t stop. I’d leapt out of bed like a lunatic, my heart pounding so hard I could barely see straight. The sheer terror that something might happen to her had made me reckless. I’d called the police, fully prepared to unleash hell if I didn’t find her within minutes.
But she’s fine now. Of course, she’s fine. Probably asleep in her plush, safe suite without a care in the world while I’m here, losing my goddamn mind. I’m furious at her stubbornness, furious that she’s still so damn naive. And even angrier at myself for letting her get under my skin like this. She’s just a girl, I remind myself. A girl I’m supposed to be controlling, not obsessing over.
I don’t blame her though. Not really. How could I? She doesn’t realize the effect she has on people. On me. It wasn’t like this before. I’ve known her since she was a child, wild and free, running around the estate like she owned the place. Back then, I never thought twice about her…never allowed myself to. But there was always a softness, a quiet affection. I’ve spent years protecting her without her ever knowing. Stepping in when things could have gone wrong. Making sure she was safe, smoothing over the rough patches her father couldn’t fix on his own.
That was different. Simple. But now, it’s like she’s become someone else entirely…a woman. It’s difficult to handle. I feel lust for her, undeniable and consuming, but it’s not the same as romance. And that’s the problem. I want to indulge in it, to let myself feel it fully, but a part of me worries if I can ever truly remain detached. I’ve always been detached with other women; it’s how I’ve kept control. But Jenny isn’t just any other woman. And now, I’m not sure if I can let her be just another fleeting indulgence…or if I even want to.
My stomach growls, breaking the spiral of my thoughts. I skipped dinner in my irritation, and now it’s catching up with me. I throw the sheets back and sit up, running a hand through my hair. I’m still wound up, still restless, but hunger wins out. There’s a bottle of wine sitting on the small bar cart near the balcony. I grab it, twisting off the cork and pouring a glass as I step outside.
The night air is cool, carrying the faint hum of the city. Rome sprawls out before me, glittering and alive even at this hour. I lean against the railing, the wine glass dangling from my fingers, and let out a long breath. The view is stunning, sure, but it does nothing to distract me from the lingering knot of frustration in my chest.
And then I hear it…the soft click of a door opening beside me.
Jenny steps out onto her balcony. My first reaction is anger, a sharp spike of irritation cutting through the quiet. Of course, she’d be here. Of course, she’d ruin the brief moment of solitude I’d been desperate for. I don’t turn, don’t acknowledge her, hoping she’ll go back inside. But even as I try to ignore her, my body betrays me. Lust rises, unrelenting and immediate, like a fire catching on dry timber.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, and for a brief moment, I let myself watch her. She’s wearing the thinnest slip of a nightgown, the fabric whispering against her body, clinging in all the right places before it flows down over her frame. Her hair falls loose and tousled, as if she just rolled out of bed. And yet, she looks like she belongs in a dream…something untouchable, something I shouldn’t want but can’t stop craving.
My cock hardens instantly, throbbing in time with the heat coursing through me. The sound of her soft footsteps, the faint hitch of her breath, the way the air seems to shift around her…it all lights a fire under my skin.
My eyes drag lower, catching on the way the soft glow of the city outlines her breasts. Her nipples press against the fabric, two faint peaks that I can’t help but notice. My throat tightens, and my jaw clenches as my hands grip the railing. All I can think about is how she’d feel in my arms, the weight of her body pressed against mine, her breath hitching as I?—
Stop. For fuck’s sake, stop.
I drag in a sharp breath and force my gaze upward, but it’s no use. The damage is done. She’s invaded my thoughts again, and I know it’ll take hours to shake the images she’s burned into my mind. She’s trouble, I remind myself. Pure trouble. And yet, every time I’m near her, I’m torn between wanting to pin her against the nearest wall and walking away to preserve whatever’s left of my sanity.
She moves closer to the railing, still oblivious to my presence, and I feel the tension coil tighter in my chest. Her hand brushes the metal, her fingers delicate but sure, and I notice the slight shiver that runs through her as the cool night air hits her skin. It’s ridiculous how something so simple makes me want her even more.
And then she notices me.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and her hand flies to her chest, pressing against her breasts in a way that only draws my attention there again.
"Zack!" she gasps, her voice breathy and startled. "I didn’t realize you were out here."
I bite back the sharp reply on the tip of my tongue, my frustration barely leashed. "Yeah," I say, my tone clipped as I raise the glass of wine to my lips. Anything to give my hands something to do other than reach for her.
A long stretch follows as I wonder what she will do. Head back into the room, or be definitive and engage, and remain out here.
She of course chooses the latter like I expect.
I force myself to take another sip of wine. "Couldn’t sleep?”
She shakes her head slightly, her hand still resting on her chest, toying with the necklace against her skin. "No, I... I just needed some air," she murmurs, her tone quiet. There’s no defiance here, no sharpness. Just her, standing there, unsure of how to fill the silence.
I don’t reply, letting the quiet stretch between us. But my eyes betray me, dragging down once again to her breast.
I imagine my palm replacing her hand, the way her skin would feel against mine, and the thought sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.
Her gaze flicks to the glass in my hand, breaking my train of thought. "Is that wine?" she asks softly, her tone curious but cautious.
I nod, swirling the glass lazily. "It is."
“Care to share?" she ventures, her voice gaining a bit more confidence.
I let out a low laugh, though it’s rough with the effort of restraint. "I don’t think it’s suitable for minors."
Her lips part slightly, surprise flashing across her face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Her eyes narrow, and with measured grace, she straightens her posture, holding herself with quiet strength. "Minors?" she repeats, her tone calm but laced with unmistakable challenge. "Do I look like a minor to you, Zack?"
Her words are deliberate, each one cutting with restrained anger. She’s not raising her voice, but the weight of her indignation is impossible to miss. It’s not just a question…it’s a reminder that she’s no longer the kid I once thought she was.
I ignore her, but she takes a step closer, closing the gap between us. Her eyes meet mine, searching, and I know I should step back. My mind goes back to the conversation she’d had with her friend, and I straighten away from the railing. My intention is to return to the room before I find myself pinning her against the wall or her, down on her knees with my cock in her mouth. But instead, I stand there, for some reason unwilling to leave, the tension between us tightening with every passing second.
I let out a low laugh, though it’s rough, barely masking the strain I’m under. "I don’t think it’s suitable for minors," I say, the words sharper than they need to be.
Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering across her face, but it quickly hardens into something else. Offense. She straightens her back, her posture composed but tinged with quiet anger. For a moment, she just looks at me, and I feel the weight of her thoughts before she even speaks.
"I’m not a minor," she says softly but firmly, her voice steady. "I’m nineteen. Almost twenty."
Her words land with more impact than they should. Nineteen. It shouldn’t make a difference, but somehow, it does. She’s not that little girl running around the estate anymore, and she wants me to know it. Wants me to feel it. And damn it, I do.
She pauses, her hazel eyes searching mine, looking for something I’m not ready to give. "Do I really seem like a minor to you, Zack?" she asks, her tone quieter now, less sharp but no less piercing. Her words are calm, but her eyes... they dare me to answer, to acknowledge the obvious.
I don’t answer, not immediately. How the hell am I supposed to? I look away, swirling the wine in my glass like it holds some kind of escape. But there’s no getting away from this. From her.
She takes a step closer, the soft shuffle of her bare feet on the balcony tiles pulling my attention back to her. The moonlight frames her face, her hair glowing like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. She’s close now…too close…and every nerve in my body is on fire. I grip the glass tighter to stop myself from doing something stupid, but all I can think about is the way her lips would taste if I closed the space between us.
"Zack," she says again, her voice softer this time, hesitant, but her eyes flick to the wine glass in my hand. She tilts her head slightly, her loose waves catching the light. "Will you share? Is there any more left? I can’t sleep… it might help."
I glance at the glass, then back at her, measuring my response. She’s asking, not demanding, but there’s a challenge in her tone, an invitation almost. She’s too damn close. Too calm for someone who was inches from danger just hours ago.
I swirl the wine slowly, buying myself a moment. "Can you handle it?" I ask, my tone light but edged, deliberately baiting her.
Her brows knit together, just slightly, enough to show her irritation. “Really? You’re extremely condescending you know this right?”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself as her pride and stubbornness once again rear their ugly heads.
“Being an adult is not just about being able to handle wine," I say, my voice dropping as I tilt the glass toward her. "It’s about everything it requires…for instance, ensuring your safety, especially as a woman, is your priority at all times.”
She frowns at me deeply, clearly not interested in being scolded.
She hesitates for a beat, her eyes holding mine, searching for something I’m not sure she’ll find. Then, without a word, she steps closer and takes the glass from my hand, her fingers brushing mine. The touch is brief but electric, and it takes every ounce of control I have to stand still, to let her set the pace.
She lifts the glass to her lips, her movements slow, deliberate. I watch as she takes a sip, the wine staining her mouth a deeper red. She licks her lips once, catching a stray drop, and something inside me twists, sharp and primal. My cock throbs painfully, and I have to clench my fists at my sides to keep from reaching for her.
She hands the glass back, her gaze steady. "Is there anymore, or was that all you had left?" she asks softly, her tone careful but curious.
I gesture toward the bar cart near the balcony doors. "There’s more," I say. "Come inside, and I’ll pour you some."
She hesitates for a moment, as if considering, before nodding and slipping back into my suite. I follow the sound of her bare feet on the floor blending with the faint hum of the city outside. The room feels smaller now, the air is thick with something I can’t name but can feel all the same.
At the bar cart, I pour half a glass for her, the deep red liquid swirling like blood under the light. I turn and hold it out, watching as she takes it, her fingers brushing mine again. This time, the contact lingers, just for a second, but it’s enough to send another jolt of heat through me.
She drinks, slower this time, savoring it. I can’t look away, my eyes fixed on her mouth as it moves. A drop spills over the edge, sliding down the curve of the glass and onto her hand. She catches it instinctively, licking it off her skin in a single, unthinking motion.
The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just me. I’m losing it. I’m losing control, and I know it.
I watch her, my gaze heavy, lingering on the curve of her lips, the line of her throat as she swallows. Her lashes flutter briefly, and she sets the glass down on the edge of the bar cart. Her eyes meet mine again, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
The memory of our kiss in the conservatory flashes through my mind. The taste of her, the way her body had felt against mine, soft and warm and yielding. My chest tightens as the desire to take her again claws at me, stronger now, almost unbearable. But I can’t. Not yet. Not like this.
I step back, needing the space to breathe, to think. My hands move automatically, unbuttoning my shirt as I force myself to calm down. The cool air hits my skin as I shrug the fabric off, tossing it onto the bed. She watches me, her gaze flicking briefly to my chest before darting away, her cheeks flushing faintly.
"You should sleep," I say finally, my voice rough but steady. "It’s late."
I sit on the bed and start to take off my watch. Next goes my belt, and I wonder just how audacious she is…whether she’ll remain in that spot and watch me.
To my amazement, and perhaps a bit of relief, she doesn’t.
Instead, she just watches me for another moment before turning and slipping back toward her room. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone, shirtless, and still painfully hard. I drag a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath.
This trip is going to destroy me.