Chapter Three
I MAKE A RUN FOR IT, of course.
I almost made it to the door, too.
Almost.
But he captures me just before I can turn the knob, and now it's too late—he's the one turning me around to face him instead.
His hand on my arm isn't bruising. It's not even tight.
He has me with the kind of grip that says I could let you go right now and we both know I'm not going to.
The information lands in my body before it lands in my head.
By the time my brain catches up, my back's against the door and Nicolo is half a foot in front of me, and he's not the man I thought I married, and he's also exactly the man I married.
"Did you really think you could escape me?"
His tone is lazy but the darkness of his eyes belies this.
He’s furious. With me. But I don’t care.
"Let me go—"
"Never."
"I will never believe you either—”
"Then believe this,” he grates out.
Noooo!
I'm already twisting and struggling to get away. I already know what he plans to do and I can't—
Too late.
His mouth covers mine, and tears sting my eyes because his kiss...it's exactly how it feels, how it tastes, it does the same thing it did to me back then.
Eighteen years.
Eighteen years, and his mouth still knows mine like nothing's been lost.
I'm still struggling even as he lifts me up in his arms, trying desperately to break the kiss and push him away. But it's impossible. He now has me trapped between his body and the wood at my back, and I'm scared, so so scared because the longer this lasts, the weaker I'll be—
No no no no no no no no.
The moment his tongue slips past my lips is the moment everything's lost. A sob escapes me as he deepens the kiss. I don't want this. I don't want to want this. I don't I don't I don't but aaaah...
His mouth gentles.
Not all the way. Not enough that I could mistake him for a man who isn't going to take what he came here for. But enough that the kiss changes in my mouth from a punishment into something else. Something I don’t have a word for, even now.
He lifts his head to let me breathe, even just for a moment, and what I see in his eyes...
The tenderness in it breaks my heart because I can’t...I can’t make myself believe it.
And even though I haven’t said a word, it’s as if he hears it all the same.
My heart breaking into pieces.
And it makes the tenderness disappear. And something feral and possessive taking its place.
He kisses me again, and it’s back to what it was before. Punishing without being cruel. Masterful without being selfish. But at the same time, it’s just like any kiss from his. It hurts so much to admit this, especially after all those eighteen years...
But as long as he’s the one kissing me, I just can’t seem to think. His palm is settling at my waist now. His fingers are rediscovering the curve of my side through the fabric of my shirt. His thumb is running along the seam where my blouse meets my skirt.
I just can’t think.
All I can do is feel.
And oh, the things he makes me feel with his palm covering me, the shape of me against his hand, and even though he’s just holding me—
It’s because this is him...
That makes all the difference to my body, his touch ripping out a sob from my throat, and I just...
I just start losing it.
Witness states...Witness doesn’t state...Strike this...strike that...
My brain is going haywire with his mouth moving down to the hollow under my ear, the line of my throat, and the place where my pulse lives, and I just...
I can’t stop myself from reacting, my legs tightening around his waist like they used to, and my fingers are now gripping his hair, and the worst part is how this feels...
It’s not just familiar.
But it feels so, so familiar in the best kind of way, and when I hear him say my name—
“Juniper.”
It’s different from how it was eighteen years ago.
The accent that I realize now he’s done his best to hide...
It’s there in every syllable.
New. Raw. Real.
And the sound of it just brings me closer...
So, so much closer—
“Juniper mia...”
I never thought I’d be the kind of woman to surrender everything just because of an accent. Or maybe, just like with everything else, it’s because the accent is his, and that’s the only reason I feel so, so close?
The solid heat of him is everywhere now.
His chest against mine. His body holding me up because mine has stopped being able to.
His mouth against my throat, my collarbone, the place where my shirt won't let him go any lower without permission he knows I won't give him in words.
So he stops there. He doesn't cross. He doesn't have to.
Because his hand is enough.
Because his mouth is enough.
Because the tightening in my body is happening on its own, my legs around his waist, my hands fisted in his hair, my face pressed against the side of his neck so I don't have to look at him when I fall apart, and I don't know how long I can take this.
I just know it's too much, this scorching ache, this need that's almost like an obsession, a craving that's unlike any other—
And when his teeth graze the spot where my pulse lives—
I cry out as something explodes inside of me, my body shuddering as my world turns upside-down.
I'm not sure how long it lasts.
All I know is that when I open my eyes in a daze, I'm still pressed against his neck. My legs are still around his waist. My hands are still in his hair. And worst of all, I'm still trembling against him in a way I haven't trembled in eighteen years.
No no no no no no no no.
Reality starts setting in, and I can’t...I can’t believe that just happened.
That I let it happen even after...
No no no no no no.
I wish I could strike this out like all the other things that don’t have to go on record.
I wish I could make this unhappen.
But I can’t.
Fingers are cupping my chin...
Because he won’t let me.
Forcing my gaze to collide with his...
"You. Are. Mine."
And at that moment, I can no longer pretend Nate Simons ever existed.
"Don't make me punish others to prove my point."
I have to accept that this is the real him.
Nicolo Sestini.
A stranger.
A mistake.
A threat.