Chapter 14
SOFIA
When Frankie kisses me, my first reaction is one of pleasure.
I love the way he smells, like expensive cologne and body wash.
I love the way his body feels against me.
He’s so unlike the rest of his family in a thousand different ways.
I can’t imagine him hurting anyone, and the way he holds me is more protective than anything else.
I’m one hundred percent convinced he had nothing to do with Danny’s death. I don’t even think he knows about it. His panic attack was real; there’s no way you can fake something like that. And now his lips feel so gentle against mine, as if there is nothing but love between us.
I allow myself to give in. This isn’t what I planned, but it feels right. I move to sit up so that I can press my chest against his. I comb my fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands slide like velvet against my palms. He’s so delicious, I can’t help myself.
I work my way into his lap. This is all moving so fast, but it feels good. I know that I’ll regret it if I let things go too far, but I can’t think about that now. I just want to soothe all the anguish that’s been building in my heart since Danny died.
In a blinding flash, I realize that I haven’t been with anyone since that tragedy occurred. I haven’t once allowed myself to love or be loved. I haven’t been intimate in any way, and I haven’t missed it until now.
My body feels like it’s coming alive after a long dormant period. Blood rushes through my veins, spreading out to all my limbs like an accelerant. My nerves are on fire. Every touch is amplified a thousand times, and his kiss reminds me I’m alive.
I’m hungry for his touch. I no longer care about taking his father to court, or getting justice for my brother, or saving innocent lives. All that matters to me is this moment, this stroke of the hand, and the feel of Frankie beneath me.
He runs his hands up my sides, avoiding my breasts. I’m sure he wants to fondle me, but he’s taking things slow. He’s a gentleman to the very end, even when the goalposts are in sight, he cares about my feelings.
I want to prove to him that he can go all the way. I take my shirt off, tossing it towards the coffee table, not worried if it will hit the discarded water glass or not. Frankie’s eyes go wide. He shrugs off the weighted blanket and takes my chin in his hands.
We kiss again, repeatedly, until I hear angels singing. Frankie leans over me, forcing me down until I’m lying on the couch. He puts one hand on either side, not pressing his weight onto me yet. He continues to pace himself, giving me the option to hit pause whenever I feel uncomfortable.
His self-restraint turns me on. It gives me license to take the reins, to steer the ship, and do things my way.
I’ve never been with a man like him before, and the thought of welcoming him into my body fills me with hope.
I want to make love to him. If only for a moment, I’ll be able to forget all the heartache I’ve suffered.
I reach down to his waist, tugging his shirt up over his head.
He shifts effortlessly to shed the fabric, gazing at me with wonder.
I can almost see myself in his eyes. He’s imagining a woman who has no idea who his father is.
He thinks I’m sweet and innocent, and he’s worried about taking advantage.
I know that if we go all the way, it will open doors for me in terms of information.
Men are much more likely to spill their secrets if they think they’re in a committed relationship.
If I follow through with what my body wants, I’ll be rewarded with “pillow talk.” Maybe I can gain some insights that will further my investigation.
I kiss Frankie once more, desperate to taste freedom again.
But this time, all I can sense is disappointment in myself.
I’m better than this. I can’t take advantage of him that way.
And when my article comes out, I want to accept the Pulitzer without shame.
Sleeping your way into actionable intel may be effective, but it’s not something I want to do.
I inhale sharply, placing both my hands on his chest. “Frankie,” I whisper.
“Sofia,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.
He thinks we’re still moving toward the bedroom, his touch tender and loving. I moan, allowing myself to be dragged under the current of our shared passion. It feels so good to touch another human being. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.
I grasp him at the waist, the touch of his skin burning away all thoughts of restraint. Sliding my palms around to his spine, I marvel at the slope of his lower back. I even allow myself to dip a hand beneath his pants, not reaching his rear end but hovering inches away.
I pull him close, forcing him to abandon the inches of space he’s keeping between us. When his chest hits mine, I feel a rush of relief. I don’t care what the repercussions are. I want him badly.
He moves on from my neck, kissing my collarbone and nuzzling the curve of my throat. I twist my hips up into his, putting my whole body into motion. I wrap one leg around his, succumbing to raw, animalistic passion.
I feel his hand cup my breast. Above my bra, the heat is still present, driving me further from my rational state of mind.
He nips at my chin, returning to my mouth to suck my lower lip deep into his mouth.
It’s torture. I’m spinning out of control.
Another minute longer and I’ll be hopelessly lost.
I get a flash of Danny’s body lying on his couch. It wasn’t the same couch, but if it were, I would be lying in the same position as I found my brother. That visual wakes me up. I raise my hands again, inching them between us. With more force this time, I push Frankie away.
He comes up, as if from a dream, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“No,” I reply on an exhale. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he insists, sitting all the way back to allow me to ease away. “We’re going too fast. I lost control.”
“No, you’re fine,” I assure him. “I just…panicked for a moment.”
He laughs, glancing back at me like a wounded animal. “I guess that makes two of us.”
“It was wonderful,” I exclaim. “I just don’t feel like I’m ready—”
“You don’t have to explain,” he insists.
“Can we just sit together?” I ask, looking around for my shirt.
I find it on the coffee table and reach for it, sliding it over my head as if it’s some kind of shield. Frankie follows suit, locating his clothes and putting them back on. We sit side by side awkwardly for a moment.
I’m surprised to see that the TV is still on. While we were making out, I completely lost track of sight and sound. The studio audience laughs about something, but I can’t concentrate on it.
“Do you want me to go?” Frankie asks.
“No,” I say quickly.
I stand up, figuring that if I just move around a little, the spell will wear off.
I go to the kitchen, which really isn’t very far away, and pour myself a glass of water.
Walking back to the couch, I’m not sure if I should sit down.
I don’t know if I can trust myself to be that close to him without resuming our make-out session.
Frankie seems to understand. He pushes the blanket away, banishing all thoughts of the bedroom. I give him a grateful smile, sitting down finally. He puts one hand on my knee, and I let it sit there.
I wish I could be honest with him. He’s so sweet, I almost feel bad about using him.
If only his father were a regular person; if only Danny were alive and I didn’t know any better.
But the situation can’t be changed. I need Frankie to fill me in on his family, and I have to remember what really matters.
Danny is counting on me to avenge his death, and I can’t let anything stop me.
Not even the kindness of a man who’s caught in the middle.
“Let’s just watch some TV,” I suggest.
“Perfect,” he agrees. “Because I’m dying to see how this episode turns out.”
“Are you?” I wonder. It seems ridiculous to be invested in this cheap comedy show.
Frankie gives me a wolfish grin to let me know he’s kidding.
I laugh, accepting the fact that there is now a very real elephant in the room.
Though neither of us are acting on it, the sexual tension feels like a living entity.
It sizzles in the air, promising a kind of savage relief that both of us are aching for.
Yet we are forced to deny ourselves the satisfaction because love comes with consequences.
I’m not ready, but not for the reasons Frankie thinks.
I put my head down on his chest, setting my glass next to his on the coffee table. Instead of making out like I really want to do, I allow myself to relax against him. He throws an arm across my shoulders and pulls me tight. Kissing the top of my head, he seals the deal.
We act like two normal people, watching stupid TV and enjoying each other’s company.
If only that were the extent of our relationship.
But unfortunately, I’m not able to actually enjoy myself.
I have work to do, and this connection that I feel with Frankie isn’t strong enough to sidetrack me.
I’m determined to take his family down, and once he figures out who I really am, he’s going to hate me. I’m sure of it.