Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Fabien
Twenty-one-years-old
“Put me down,” Sienna protests, but I refuse to let her out of my arms until we’re inside the bathroom of my apartment. Turning on the shower, I place her on her feet and remove my jacket from her shoulders.
She silently watches as I help her out of what’s left of her dress. Her hourglass frame is spattered in blood, but no matter: She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. My eyes coast from the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen to lower, and fuuuuuuck, the curtains do match the drapes.
It takes all my self-control to keep my promise. And I don’t have much self-control to begin with. Sienna will be mine, but I want it to be her decision.
Her body trembles, but not from my gaze. As suspected, she’s feeling the delayed response to what happened tonight. I squat down, unlacing her left boot, and then her right. Peeling her socks off, I rise and lead her into the shower.
Her shakes become more violent, and I step out of my shoes and climb in with her, still otherwise dressed. Taking a seat on the bench, I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her as she cries.
“It’s alright,” I murmur against her hair. “You’re safe with me.”
Sienna
Eighteen-years-old
Somehow, I’ve found myself naked, sitting on the lap of a fully dressed mobster in his shower. Tears morph into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Why am I laughing?” I sputter between sobs.
“Delayed trauma response. Either that, or you’re trying to give a man a complex,” Fabien jokes.
Considering I’m seated on what feels like a huge erection, I doubt that’s possible. But it does remind me of why I’m here. “Do you want your money back? I wouldn’t blame you,” I tell him quietly, trying to get my emotions in check.
“Of course not,” he assures me with a gentle squeeze. “Besides, I wasn’t planning on fucking you during our time.”
My head tilts up to meet his gaze. “Why not?”
Fabien’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t answer as he reaches for the shampoo bottle. How am I just noticing that he has the most masculine-looking hands I’ve ever seen? Big and veiny, and here I go again, my body tingling in places I didn’t know could tingle.
He squeezes a dollop of shampoo in his palm and rubs his hands together, moving them to my scalp.
Make that whole body tingles.
His touch is soft, the gesture intimate. And beyond confusing; he just said we weren’t going to have sex. But all thoughts flitter out of my head when Fabien brings the spray to my hair, rinsing out the suds.
My body feels like a live wire as the man silently washes me from head to toe, and I’m a little sad that it’s over when he turns off the spray.
Ushering me out of the shower, he wraps me in a fluffy towel as water drips everywhere from his soaked suit. “Feeling better?” Fabien asks gently.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know how to feel about any of this.
Other than I should be scared of you.” Daring a peek beneath my wet lashes, I meet Fabien’s unwavering gaze.
“Why am I not scared of you?” The man shot three women point-blank without a second thought.
Shouldn’t I be having at least a second thought?
A lazy grin stretches across his face—like he knows something that I don’t—as he gently squeezes out my hair with another towel. “Why don’t you grab some clothes from my closet, and I’ll join you in the living room after I wash up.”
“What if I freak out and leave?” I grip the towel tightly; silly, considering he’s already seen everything. But my body decides now is the perfect time to become self-conscious of that fact; every square inch of my skin flushes.
His big hand cups my heated right cheek, and I find myself leaning into his touch. “You’ve already freaked out, and you’re not leaving. You want to see how this plays out as much as I do. Now go get dressed.”
“Bossy,” I inform him.
“Guilty.” With a grin, he drops his hand and begins working the knot in his drenched tie. The silk splats to the floor as his fingers begin moving the buttons through the holes of his dress shirt. “Unless you’d rather stay and watch. Not that I blame you,” he says with laughter in his voice.
“Conceited.” My cheeks flame as I spin on my heel and march out.
“Guilty again,” he calls after me.
The bathroom door is now closed with me on the other side of it, and I lean against it for support. This night—no, this man—has completely thrown me off kilter.
My eyes land on the huge bed in the middle of his bedroom, which does nothing to help ease my jagged nerves. I move across the room to the closet, flipping on the light as I step inside the expansive walk-in.
Ahh, heaven.
Tailored suits. Crisp dress shirts. Fine Italian silk and leather. Everything is neatly organized and color-coded.
Before I get accused of snooping—guilty—I focus on finding something to wear. A search of the built-in dresser nets me a hoodie and a pair of boxers, and I slip those on. The boxers are falling off me, and so I roll up the waist three times. Doesn’t really help, but it’s the best I can do.
As I’m walking out, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Cheeks flush. Eyes wide. I’ve never felt more…what, exactly? Shocked? Nervous? Excited? Traumatized? Thrilled?
You want to see how this plays out as much as I do.
He must be right, because I find myself plopping down on the couch. With my arms wrapped around myself, I inhale deeply. Fabien’s clothes smell deliciously masculine and spicy and…
Safe.
You’re safe with me.
Maybe I’m crazy, but after the exhausting events of tonight, I believe him.
Fabien enters the room, having his private turn in the shower, and my throat goes bone dry. Grey sweatpants outline a sizable penis that I felt while seated on his lap. A white T-shirt hugs his muscular upper body.
His lips curl into that little smirk as his baby blues lock with mine.
An out-of-control fluttering sensation happens between my legs, and I clamp down on my internal muscles.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes. Sorry about that,” I tell him, my cheeks flaming as I avert my gaze.
“Don’t apologize. It was a normal response,” he assures me, taking a seat beside me.
“You weren’t upset,” I point out, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.
“I grew up in this world; you didn’t.”
“The mob world.” The words hang heavily in the air.
Beneath the man’s easy-going demeanor, there’s an undercurrent of something else.
Something dark.
Killing those women was nothing compared to what this man has seen and done, I’d bet big money on it.
Again, why that doesn’t give me at least a second thought, I still don’t know.
“We don’t talk about that, or what happened tonight, with anyone else, alright?” His gorgeous eyes pierce into mine.
“Alright.” I swallow a lump in my throat.
“Good girl,” he praises, and there goes that fluttering between my legs.
A knock on the door sounds, and he hops up and crosses the room. Opening it, a guy around my age enters with take-out bags and a drink tray.
“Il pasticcio è stato ripulito?” Fabien asks something, taking the food and drinks from him and placing everything on the coffee table.
“Sì. Michele non era felice,” the newcomer replies. Michele, as in Mr. D’Amico, but that’s all I can understand.
“Michele riesce a superarlo,” Fabien says dismissively.
“Whatsup.” The guy addresses me with a smile. “I’m Nic. Fabien’s cousin.”
“Hello,” I say politely. I’m Si—” I almost give my real name, catching myself. “I’m Cherry.”
“It’s Sienna from now on,” Fabien corrects me.
I give him a look. “My name’s Cherry.”
“Sienna,” Fabien says.
“Cherry,” I correct him.
“Sienna,” he corrects me.
“Um, I’ll let you two work out this little disagreement. See you later, cugino. And Cherry-Sienna, so nice to meet you.”
I rise, hands on my hips, but Fabien sits, jerking me down beside him. “We’ll have plenty of time for our first fight. For now, let’s eat.”
My stomach betrays me, releasing the loudest growl in human history. “So maybe I am hungry,” I grumble, accepting the sandwich. There is no refined way to eat a shrimp po’ boy, and so I dig right in. “This is really good.”
“Isn’t it? My family’s seafood company is the supplier,” he boasts, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Not a humble guy, I take it.” I lift an eyebrow.
“Never had a reason to be,” he says without apology. “What’s the food like in Utah?”
My mouth hangs open mid-bite. “How do you know—”
“Sienna, I wouldn’t have brought you here without doing my research,” he tells me in a serious tone.
“Do you bring women here often?” I ask, even though a part of me knows I won’t like the answer.
“No,” he says, and I hate how my face lights up. “Don’t misunderstand me. I have slept with women in the past.”
“How many?” I want to know, and yet I don’t want to know.
“Two,” he tells me, and my chest burns with an unusual feeling. Heartburn, I lie to myself. “Three, counting you.”
My lips purse. “But I thought you didn’t plan on fucking me during our time?”
“That’s right. Because when you do give me this beautiful body, Sienna, it won’t be because I bought it. You’ll give yourself to me because you choose to. Because you choose me,” he says smugly, as if the choice has already been made.
“You seem awfully confident,” I tell him with pursed lips, all the while my heart’s beating out of my chest.
“I do.” He grins, handing me a drink.
With an eye roll, I wrap my lips around the straw and take a sip. “This is the best cherry soda I’ve ever had,” I decide.
Fabien smiles smugly. “It’s the ice.”
“Lemmie guess: your family owns the ice company,” I drawl before taking another sip of the crisp, fizzy soda.
“Not my family; my own personal venture.”
“Sounds like a smart complementary business,” I comment, taking another sip.
“You know business-speak. Makes sense, being your dad’s a businessman himself,” he comments, watching me intently.
“Is there anything you don’t know about my life?” I say with a disgruntled huff.
“I’m more than willing to put in the time to find out.” He playfully wags his eyebrows.
“Ah, but I’ll remind you that you only have,” I pause, glancing at the timer, “Twenty minutes.” I try to keep the disappointment from my tone. If I’m being honest, I don’t want this—whatever this is—to end.
“And I plan on making every one of those minutes count,” he promises in a tone that makes me fight not to squirm.
“How so? Let’s hear the game plan,” I challenge him.
“No fucking clue,” he admits, and that gets a genuine smile out of me. “But if I only get to sit beside you, staring at your beautiful face for the next twenty minutes, it’s a win.”
“That wasn’t all you were staring at when we were in the bathroom,” I say, my cheeks flaming.
His eyes darken with a naughty glint. “Baby, I’m no saint. But I will be a gentleman until you tell me otherwise.”
Otherwise! A part of me wants to shout from the rooftops, but I’m saved by a knock on the door.
Fabien hustles across the room, opening it and stepping outside, where I can’t see who it is. A moment passes before he returns with two frozen snowballs.
He hands me one with a spoon. “A snowball’s chance is better than none.”
I scoop my spoon into the red ice, bringing a bite to my mouth.
Cherry.
With a little shake of my head, I giggle. “You’re too smooth for your own good.”
He flashes a grin that sets off a cascade of dancing butterflies in my stomach. “Nah, I’m the right amount of smoothness. Tell me about this art and design college. That’s why you were up on stage tonight, I’m guessing.”
“It’s not fair, you knowing everything about me, and me knowing nothing about you,” I point out.
“Ask away,” he says with the flourish of his hand.
Tucking my bare feet underneath me, I consider where to begin. “I’m guessing you weren’t drunk when we first met at the hotel?”
He shakes his head. “Running on no sleep and too much caffeine.”
“Does that happen often?” I wonder.
He takes a bite of his snowball, crunching the ice. “I have to work nights sometimes, yeah.”
Sensing he doesn’t want to elaborate, I change the subject. “Tell me about your family. Not like, family-family, but your—”
“Family?” he unhelpfully supplies.
I stick my cherry-coated tongue out at him.
He chuckles. “My Italian family has been in NOLA for four generations. My papà is a businessman, and my mama stayed home with my siblings and me. My little sister Alessandra—we call her Al—is seven. My younger brother, we don’t really talk about him.
” All traces of playfulness vanish. “He’s estranged from the family. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he says matter-of-factly. “My turn. Tell me about school.”
“I’ve been accepted to NOCAD—New Orleans College of Art and Design.
It’s one of the top design schools in the country,” I say proudly.
“Some kids from my church would hide things from their parents, like liquor; cigarettes; weed. I’d hide fashion magazines.
” I shake my head with a wry smile, continuing, “I’ve only ever wanted to be a designer.
And now I have the money for school, assuming you pay up. ”
My body stills as Fabien reaches over and runs his finger along my bottom lip. Bringing it to his mouth, he licks the cherry juice. I can’t move, let alone breathe. “I always make good on my promises.”
A buzzing startles me.
“That’s your timer,” Fabien reminds me, his eyes never leaving mine.
Placing the snowball cup on the table, I fumble for my phone, the tremor in my hands working against me. It takes three attempts, but I get the alarm turned off.
“Third time’s the charm.” Fabien notices, and I flush from head to toe. “Sienna, I’m not taking you back to that shithole motel,” he informs me, all traces of playfulness having vanished.
“Who said I’m going anywhere?” I toss my phone down, squaring my jaw.
“You choosing me, piccola volpe?” he challenges.
“If I said no, would that be a reason?” I challenge right back.
“A reason?” His forehead creases.
“To humble you,” I tell him.
Fabien’s chest vibrates with laughter. “If anyone could, I’m guessing it’s you.”
I sigh, knowing damn well that me and this man are a foregone conclusion. “Otherwise.”
“Otherwise?” His eyes search mine with such intensity, I want to look away.
I don’t.
“You’ll be a gentleman until I tell you otherwise. I’m telling you otherwise,” I whisper.
“Then tell me what else I want to hear.” His thumb traces the fluttering pulse point of my neck before he wraps his sexy hand around it.
Not even a hint of a second thought.
“I’m choosing you, Fabien Calvani. So let’s see what you’ve got.”