Chapter Eighteen
Lucas
I clench my jaw, willing this day to be over so I can go back to the gym where she’ll be teaching her Friday classes.
I know Chiara’s schedule by heart, I’ve been stalking her like a fucking lunatic for over a week now, and there’s not one thing about her new life that I don’t know.
Every second I’m not near her grates on my nerves.
Yet here I am, strolling from room to room behind a realtor who is trying to convince me of the charm of the fourth house I’ve visited since I set foot in this goddamn small town.
The only thought circling my mind is, will she like it?
I imagine her by the kitchen island, laughing as she shakes her head at me for dipping my finger in the cake batter and licking it clean.
Or maybe, having her lick it clean for me.
Or better, I’d lick her clean after I covered her with chocolate from head to toe.
I clear my throat and adjust myself in my pants.
Would she want to live here permanently, or just sneak here now and then, like a gateway love nest, once I have her back with me in Boston where she belongs?
The realtor’s voice cuts into my thoughts, too high-pitched and sweet. “And over here,” she says, brushing her hand lightly over my arm, “you could have your morning coffee with the sunlight streaming through. Don’t you love how good it feels?”
I stiffen. My jaw tightens as her hand lingers suggestively on my arm. Good? No, it’s irritating. Everything about this interaction is irritating.
“And maybe, if you like,” she continues, leaning a little closer with a flirty smile, hand still resting on my arm, “we could look at some other listings together afterward? I know a few more places that are perfect—”
“Send a colleague for the next visit,” I cut her off, my voice clipped and low as I shake off her wandering hand.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Oh? But—”
“I’m not buying this house,” I snap. “And I don’t need…inappropriate behavior while I’m wasting my time.” With that, I pivot on my heels and stride out of the house. This is definitely not our future home.
While I drive back to the modest but clean hotel I’m staying in, my thoughts circle back to Chiara.
Or Cara, as she calls herself now. She has definitely changed.
There’s a new layer on her. Or maybe there is a layer less?
The mask she has been wearing all this time finally dropped to give me a glimpse of the woman underneath.
She is no longer the soft-spoken Mafia princess I used to know.
And damn me if this doesn’t drive me feral with the need to uncover her, layer after layer, to claim and possess every part of her.
The old Chiara had awakened a fire in my veins, but this new version of her ignited a fucking inferno that is consuming me from within.
And the thought of Ethan gnaws at me. That bastard thinks he can have her. I grit my teeth so hard they ache. She doesn’t belong to anyone else. Not him, not anyone. And it’s time that she sees it, too.
* * * *
In the evening, I wait for all the women to file out of the gym before walking in.
And my heart stops like every time my eyes take her in.
She is radiant, honey skin glistening from sweat, wearing only a tank top and some clingy shorts that hug her toned body and make me want to fall on my knees at her feet and worship her.
Her golden hair is up in a high ponytail, and I can’t help imagining it wrapped around my fist while I pound into her from behind.
She stiffens as soon as she senses me. I know she does, because I have the same awareness of her.
I can feel it too, this tingling brushing over my skin like a caress, the electric current running down my body every time she is near.
She turns toward me with a scowl, and I hold back a smirk.
She is so fucking cute and adorable, but she’ll definitely scratch my eyes out if I tell her that.
“What do you want from me?” Her voice is laced with frustration, and she throws her hands up in the air. “Can’t you just…leave me alone?”
I shake my head with a frown. She is still asking the same questions over and over as if she didn’t believe me. I’ve told her again and again that I won’t leave, and still, she doubts me. I clench my teeth. Maybe I should show her how serious I am, that’ll make her understand.
“I already told you, I’m not letting you go.” I move closer, and she doesn’t back down, despite knowing how easily I can overpower her. Fucking cute.
“I don’t get it, Lucas,” comes her irritated reply. “Why me, why now? What has changed? I don’t get this. I don’t get this new you.”
Fuck…
My heart hammers in my chest, I let out a breath and rake my fingers through my hair. How do I tell her? Make her understand the depths of my obsession?
Because it has always been you. Because without you I can’t function or fucking breathe.
You left me in hell once and I’d rather die than face your absence again.
I changed, because you changed me, you ripped me open and left me to bleed out.
The man died and had to become a beast to be able to claw his way back up from hell. And now the beast is claiming its due.
“You left,” I say instead. “You left me. And I can’t have that.”
She huffs. “This doesn’t make any sense, you’ve never even wanted me, why now?”
I take another step forward and grab her upper arms, ignoring her rigid form.
“Never wanted you?” I let out a deranged laugh and she flinches.
I look into her eyes, willing her to see the truth there.
“I’ve always wanted you. But I was too…blind, too fucking dumb to admit it.
I convinced myself you weren’t for me. But the truth is, I want you, always have and always will. ”
Her eyes widen in shock then she shakes my hands off and takes a step backward. “Don’t lie,” she snaps. “I heard you with Tiffany Greco the evening of the gala.”
I frown. Tiffany? What does she have to do with this?”
Then I remember. The gala six months ago. I had been drinking and talking nonsense like a cocky asshole who had the world at his feet. Dread crashes through me as I frantically jog my memory, trying to remember what bullshit I had spewed out that night.
Chiara must see that because she sneers at me. “Remember now?”
The ground shifts under my feet. Fuck, what had I said? She was there, listening?
“Let me help you with your memory,” she goes on. “‘I would never date her, she’s not my type. She’s too soft and delicate for the likes of me.’”
Goddamnit. I rake my hand through my hair. “It was not what it sounded like—”
“It was exactly what it sounded like,” she cuts me off.
“So just go, return to fuck her since she looks ‘good enough to eat’ and let’s ‘just be friends.’ Or better yet, let’s not be anything at all since I’m nothing but your charity case, the woman who ‘needs people to support her because she has no one else.’ Guess what? I don’t need you, or your damn pity.”
She throws the last words with contempt and brushes past me, shouldering her bag as she walks out, leaving me standing alone in the wreckage of my life.
My brain freezes. For the first time in my existence I scramble for words. I want to deny, but I can’t. I had said all that shit, hadn’t I?
She doesn’t look back, doesn’t hear my weak plea for her to stay and listen, doesn’t see me break when my brain finally makes sense of everything.
I have been a fucking idiot, and I am paying the price now.
I let out a tortured roar as I slam my fists into the boxing bag again and again, bellowing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” with every punch, until the skin of my knuckles breaks and blood smears the leather.
But even when the pain in my hands becomes excruciating, it does nothing to drown out the agony of my chest splitting open.