21. Lucia
21
LUCIA
W e stay at Tate’s despite Kristopher, or perhaps because of him. While Saverio keeps a watchful eye on his brother, I find myself observing the ebb and flow of the crowd. People come in, grab drinks, hit the dance floor, and depart. It’s a diverse mix of partiers, ranging from fresh-faced twenty-somethings still enjoying their newfound legal drinking status to seasoned drinkers in their forties searching for a taste of excitement to enliven their dull lives.
I start ordering drinks just to keep the tension from rising above the level of my head. By the third, the world feels a little softer around the edges. I lean close to Saverio, swaying to the music and rubbing my arm against his. I can feel it, the warm buzz of vodka infiltrating my veins and making me want him. It happens every time; it’s why I should have stood my ground and said no when he invited me here tonight. I knew better, but here I am again, teetering on the edge of making the same mistakes I’ve made before.
The music in Tate’s pulses low and steady, a hypnotic rhythm I can’t help but bob my head along to. The bass thrums through my body, matching the quickening of my pulse. I glance at Saverio beside me, my eyes lingering longer than they should. He’s watching me with that half smile of his, the one that always makes my stomach flutter. His gaze is intense, dark eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bar. I feel a flush creeping up my neck, unsure if it’s from the vodka or his attention. Maybe both. “You could relax, you know,” I announce with a smile watered down by liquor.
He leans toward me, his lips tickling my ear, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. “Come home with me tonight,” he whispers, his voice low and persuasive.
I wanted this very invitation not sixty seconds ago, but now the rational part of my brain is trying to push through the haze of alcohol and reject him. “I should go home, Saverio.” I try to sound firm, but it comes off as breathy and desirous. “I have work to do.”
His lips brush against the shell of my ear once more, sending tingles down my neck and across my shoulders. I feel a rush that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “It’s 11 pm, Lucia. You’re not going home to work tonight. Besides,” he adds, his tone teasing, “you’re drunk. You can’t drive, especially not all the way back to Topeka.”
I shake my head vigorously, ready to argue, but when I stand up, the room spins in a lazy circle, and I have to grip the edge of the table with both hands to steady myself. My knees feel wobbly, and I blink rapidly, trying to focus my vision. Saverio watches me with a smug grin, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. He’s enjoying the sight of me trying to prove him wrong and failing miserably. The way he leans back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest, only adds to his air of self-satisfaction.
“Fine,” I mumble, digging into my purse and pulling out my keys. I hand them over with a reluctant sigh. “But you have to drive my car back to your place. I don’t want to get a ticket.” As he slides out of the booth, I fix him with a sharp stare. “And no funny business. We’re going to your place and going straight to bed.”
Saverio rises smoothly from the booth. As he stands, his hand finds its way to my waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my clothes. He pulls me close with a gentle yet firm touch, steadying me against the slight wobble in my step. The sudden proximity sends a flutter through my stomach despite my earlier protests. His eyes meet mine, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths as he guides us towards the exit. “You’re going to be my wife one day, Lucia,” he murmurs, his voice filled with that dark, seductive promise that always makes my heart race. “Straight to bed is all I want to do with you tonight, tomorrow, and every day until I die.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. His words, as possessive as they are, send a thrill through me that I can’t deny. There’s a reason we fall into bed every time we’re together: a magnetic pull that defies logic and reason. I try to summon indignation, but it slips away like sand through my fingers. Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, my resolve weakening with each passing second. “You’re impossible,” I grumble at him.
“And you love it,” he replies smoothly, guiding me toward the door with a confident hand on the small of my back. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You’re just as addicted to this as I am.”
I bite my lip, unwilling to concede the point but unable to deny the truth in his words.
The evening breeze has grown chillier in the time we’ve spent inside Tate’s. Exiting the establishment, we’re greeted by a refreshing coolness that stands in stark opposition to the interior of the bar.
Saverio doesn’t let go of me, his grip firm but gentle as we walk to my car. I lean into him, my earlier reluctance fading into something more willing. A part of me wants to resist, to keep some semblance of control, to maintain the walls I’ve so carefully constructed. But a bigger part craves this—him, us, together.
When we reach my car, he opens the door for me with a gentlemanly flourish, and I climb inside. As I look up at him to thank him, my breath catches in my throat. I catch his eyes darken with a familiar, carnal hunger that mimics the swirling feelings gnawing at my insides. “Take me home, Saverio,” my voice softer now, a hint of teasing in my tone. “And we’ll see about that funny business.”
He laughs softly, a low sound that rumbles through his chest. “Oh, we’ll definitely see about it, Dandelion.”
As he closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There’s comfort in his presence, a safety I’ve come to rely on even if it comes wrapped in danger. And as we drive away from Tate’s, the city lights blurring by as we escape to his house on the lake, I can’t help but feel that pull toward him, stronger than ever.
I may hate myself in the morning, but tonight, I’m his.