Gian (Trassato Crime Family Book 1)(23)
His brows crinkled together. “That doesn’t make sense. Of course she doesn’t hate you.”
I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes, attempting to erase the tears leaking out of the corner of my eyes. Stupid tears. Stupid me. Could I be any more pathetic?
“She really does. I called her a couple of times this week, and I might as well have been talking to a wall. She’s pissed about us. She thinks I’ve been lying to her for months. She thinks I was cheating on Kevin with you.”
His lips thinned. “Did she say that?”
“No, but I know her. She thinks it.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
My hand curled into the lapel of his jacket. “What are you going to say?”
The corners of mouth lips twitched, and he braced his forehead against mine. “I’ll think of something.”
“Maybe we should—”
He cut me off by kissing me, except it wasn’t any old, forgettable kiss. His mouth consumed mine, stealing the words I needed to say. Stealing the thoughts I wanted to hide. He lingered, taking his time as if nothing mattered except his lips against mine.
I lit up one nerve ending at a time like a choreographed firework display.
Boom. Pop. Crash.
With every explosion, another chink in my armor dissolved. Armor I desperately needed to get out of this mess with my heart, soul, and career intact.
Unbidden, a moan slipped out of my mouth.
“You like that?” he said, his voice scratchy. His eyes were hypnotic, his lips curled up in invitation. He was intoxicating. Addictive.
He was going to be my downfall.
Motionless, I stared at him, acutely aware that we sat on a bed in a hotel room alone. Picturing him running those calloused hands all over me should have made me nauseous. For some reason, it didn’t. Images of twisted sheets, the hot slide of skin against skin, and his naked frame above me flashed through my mind.
My eyes popped wide with panic, and I scrambled to my feet, needing to sever the hold he had on me. He shot me a cocky grin that managed to simultaneously irritate me and make me want the wrong things. Things that would only muddle our situation. Things that would only send more mixed signals. Both of us knew the end game, and it wasn’t a happily-ever-after. I didn’t need to invest time in another tragic love story. Been there, done that. Got the visual of my ex screwing someone else tattooed on my brain.
I cleared my throat and waved my hand between us. “Why did you do that?”
He stood and buttoned the top button of his suit jacket, and I saw the gun tucked in a holster near his hip. A shiver ghosted down my spine.
“Because I wanted to,” he replied. “Are you ready to go?”
I frowned. “Where?”
“Home.” His gaze roamed down my bare legs and back up again, taking so much time to complete the action that goose bumps actually showered my skin. “I already settled your bill. We need to go. I can’t have my guys thinking I’m a pussy who doesn’t know how to handle his fiancée.”
I yanked on the hem of my shirt, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to waste your money. I’ll leave in the morning.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He snagged my purse from the top of the dresser and slung the heavy leather hobo bag over his shoulder. “That’s not happening. You can either come willingly, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.” He shrugged. “I pride myself on how reasonable I’ve been to date, but there’s only so much I can take. Consider this decision a red line you don’t want to cross.”
I jutted my hip to the side, our gazes locked in a silent battle. The only sounds were the faint ding of the elevator and the revving of cars on the busy Brooklyn street outside the window.
He flexed his hands, the lone tell in his otherwise calm demeanor. “Don’t test me, Evie. I’m not in the mood. I will ground your ass, and you can kiss your physical therapy and training goodbye. You won’t be able to leave my house for any reason until this is over.”
I plucked my jeans off the arm of an electric blue club chair and shoved my legs into them. “Fine. You don’t have to threaten me. I get it.” My voice was a vacant, unattractive rasp that mirrored how I felt inside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gian
“Fuck my life.” I disconnected the phone and tossed it on the desk in my home office.
In the last twenty-four hours, Evie and I had managed to establish a fragile truce of sorts. We stopped avoiding each other. We weren’t fighting. I convinced myself the kiss in the hotel room was an error in judgment, and I successfully ignored every last urge to push the relationship into something we’d both regret.