Ache For You

44

He staggers back, shocked, holding his face, his eyes as round as his open mouth.

“I took it easy on you this time because it looks like that nose of yours is still healing,” I say, struggling for air. “But so help me God, one more word out of you and I’ll knock all your teeth out. And by the way, I’m not a prostitute!”

“I never said you were!”

“You already left me at the altar! You think I’m crazy enough to sign up for that twice?”

“I panicked! I swear it wouldn’t happen again! Now that you know, everything could be different!”

My laugh is bitter, just this side of hysterical. “You know, you almost had me. I felt sorry for you there for a minute. But now I just feel like ripping your intestines out through your nose.”

He stops talking. Smart of him, because my fingers are itching to do some irreparable damage to his GI tract.

I turn around and run all the way back to the house.

EIGHTEEN

MATTEO

She bursts into the kitchen like an explosion of dynamite.

“Get me a drink,” she orders, her voice rough. She sits down at the kitchen table and pounds her fist on it, once. Hard.

Her color is high. Her lips are thinned to a white line. She’s so furious she’s trembling.

Alarmed, Lorenzo looks at me. He leaves without a word.

He has no experience dealing with a woman’s anger. My mother is far too skilled at keeping everything bottled up.

I force myself not to grill Kimber about what happened in the driveway. Not to ask all the questions crowding my throat. Instead I obey her wish and pour a stiff measure of whiskey into a glass. I set it in front of her silently, sit across from her, and wait.

It’s one of the more difficult things I’ve ever done.

From the moment I set eyes on that preppy blond bastard, I wanted to commit murder.

I know what that means, unfortunately. It means I’m f****d.

But I knew that already. From the moment I saw her sitting on the sofa in the living room and realized who she was, I’ve been f****d.

No. That’s not it, either. I was f****d from the first time I saw her at the airport.

She shoots the whiskey in one gulp. When she sets the glass down on the table, her hand shakes. She stares at that shaking hand as if she’d like to cut if off. “Another.”

When I hesitate, she looks at me. Entire planets are burning in her eyes.

I pour her another drink.

She shoots that one, too. Then we sit in silence as the clock ticks on the wall and I fight myself from knocking the table aside and taking her in my arms.

Finally she says, “He wants me to go back to San Francisco and marry him. He still wants me to be his wife.”

She laughs, a small anguished laugh that flames the rage crawling up my throat.

“What did you tell him?”

She moistens her lips, shakes her head, and closes her eyes. She’s in so much pain it leaks out of her pores. She’s breathing it out like flames.

“I’ll hurt him if you want me to.”

“Yes, I want you to.”

I’m up on my feet before the next beat of my heart, but she grabs my wrist and tugs. I stop, breathing hard, waiting.

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” she says softly, gazing up at me with those lucid cat eyes.

Slowly, my voice hard and full of violence, I say, “With pleasure.”

We stare at each other for a beat. I’m aware of her hand wrapped around my wrist, that small shaking hand. I want to kiss her so badly I almost groan.

“Sit.” She tugs on my wrist again but doesn’t release it.

I blow out a hard breath and take my seat across from her.

She’s still holding my wrist. I think she’s measuring my heartbeat in the pulse beating wildly under her thumb. After a moment, she sighs and releases me. She tucks her hands under her armpits and looks at the tabletop.

She whispers, “I have to get out of here.”

When she looks up at me, her eyes beseeching, my heart skips a beat.

When she adds, “Please,” it takes off in a gallop. Blood surges through my body. My nerves start to sing.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask gruffly.

“Anywhere. Just . . . anywhere else.”

Her voice is small. She sounds so lost. Lost and in pain. It’s like a punch in my stomach.

I stand, pulling her gently along with me. When she wobbles, I steady her with my hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be all right,” I say. “Look at me.”

She looks up at me, those cat eyes so green and wide. It becomes impossible to breathe. I whisper, “I promise.”

It’s a vow. An oath. There’s nothing on this earth or outside of it that could make me break it. I’ll do anything in my power to protect her from harm.

She blinks slowly, as if clearing her eyes. Then she says with cold, quiet vehemence, “You men and your promises. By the way, how’s that new collection of yours coming along?”

She sears me with her gaze, then shrugs off my hand and walks out.

Like I said.

Fucked.