Blood Always

16

“Aren’t we going to say grace?” His fork paused mid-transfer, a pile of noodles dangling precariously over the wood table as his eyes rounded. “I’m f*****g with you, De Luca. Eat your noodles before you devour my furniture.” He huffed out what sounded like a chuckle and resumed scarfing his food. I put a small serving of each dish onto my plate, and we ate in silence until his feeding frenzy slowed. Leaning back in his chair, his eyes studied my apartment, probably taking note of the lack of typical girl clutter. I saw no reason to crowd every surface with throw pillows and picture frames. I enjoyed the simplicity of clean lines and minimal distractions. The city was busy enough—I didn’t need to come home to chaos and overstimulation. “Do you have plans to celebrate your birthday?” he asked, sidestepping the subject of my apartment. “I’m not a fan of birthdays, so no.” “No birthdays and no weddings.” I shrugged, not anywhere close to being ready to explain myself. “Is it the aging process or the attention you don’t like?” “Age is just another name for experience, and it’s experience that helps us make better decisions in life.” “I take it that means the ten years of life experience I have more than you isn’t a problem?” I debated about sharing and decided a little tidbit wouldn’t hurt. “The first man I ever had s*x with was one of my high school teachers, so no, age doesn’t bother me.” I wasn’t sure why I told him. Maybe he’d judge me, call me a slut and end the whole charade. Whatever my reason, his reaction was not what I expected. His stormy eyes sharpened until I was sure they could slice me open. “How old were you?” “Sixteen. He was just twenty-six, so it wasn’t gross or anything. I mean, it was good. That’s the same age difference between us.” I was rambling, trying to brush away the tension I could sense was mounting. “That’s a f*****g pedophile, Maria. You were a child, and he was in a position of power. That’s not a relationship, it’s rape.” “You don’t understand. I was the one who seduced him, not the other way around.” He shot out of his chair and began to pace the room, hands fixed on his hips. After several quick strides, he whipped around to glare at me. “What was his name?” It was my turn to rise up indignantly. “Not a chance. If I’d wanted him punished, I would have done it myself. I’m fully capable.” “What. Was. His. Name.” I glared. He fumed. Neither of us budged. “f**k!” he yelled, running a hand through his wavy hair. “You drive me bug-f**k crazy.” I coaxed my muscles to relax after my fight instinct had kicked in. “So, the unflappable Prince of Tranquility can be riled. Good to know.” “It appears to be one of your talents,” he grumbled. “If you don’t like it, walk away.” My voice took on a harsh edge. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it.” Silence. When he glanced my direction, he must have seen that I’d gone rigid. I was a shattered piece of pottery, put back together by my own hands. Proud of my imperfections, but flawed nonetheless. Despite how much I didn’t want to lose my identity, his rejection burned deeply. Deeper than I would ever admit. Like a sharp knife across the jugular, he sliced through the space between us, grasping my face in his hands and assaulting my lips with his. His tongue licked and savored, saying what his words hadn’t—he may not have been happy about it, but he wanted me. I could relate to the sentiment. I felt the same way. My prior warning about not touching me without my consent was a distant memory. His name and my family were dandelion seeds scattered to the wind. In the alternate reality of our kiss, everything else ceased to exist. Reveling in the absolute freedom of worry or consequence, I surrendered to his kiss and melted into his touch. His hands slid down to my backside, lifting me against him and coaxing me into his arms. I wrapped my hands behind his neck as he walked us to the kitchen and set me down on the counter, pushing aside my guns. “Do you have any f*****g idea how sexy it was when you opened the door with a Glock in your hand? And this tiny tank top without a bra—I thought I was going to come in my pants.” He spoke with his lips against my neck, raking his teeth across the sensitive skin, while his fingers ran up and down beneath the thin strap of my camisole. His words were just as much of a turn-on as his touch. I wanted to return the favor—tell him how I wanted to lick each of his tattoos until my tongue had memorized his entire body—but that wasn’t what came out when I opened my mouth. I blamed my s*x-addled mind. His intoxicating pheromones took a whisk to my brain and scrambled all of my thoughts. “I like the flowers, De Luca.” My voice was impossibly small. As if throwing myself at him wasn’t enough, I’d done the unthinkable. I’d offered up proof that he was already chipping away at my walls. A man like Matteo would never give up once he smelled blood in the water. I may as well have signed my own death certificate, because Maria Genovese, as I knew her, was a dead woman walking. The moment the words were out, we both stilled, but for very different reasons. I knew I’d screwed up. Wished I could gobble the words back inside my mouth. He was a hunter looking to verify his strike had been true. I wiggled from his grasp, sliding down off the counter. “I actually have somewhere I need to be tonight, so I need to finish what I was doing.” Somewhere, as in, not here with you. I picked up my gun, assessing my progress. Matteo’s stare was an incessant wasp buzzing in my face, refusing to allow me escape. “What?” I bit out, glaring up at him. “Do you need me to show you the door?” His gaze sparked—icy flames scorching every inch of me. “What plans?” He’d teased and prodded, coerced and demanded, but now his words were the deadly strike of a viper. I could respond in one of two ways: play my flute and soothe the beast or hiss back with my own venomous attack. I knew which one was wiser. I also knew I felt exposed and vulnerable. There was nothing more vicious than a cornered animal, wounded and afraid—not that I would ever admit my fears to him. It didn’t take any debate or consideration to know which option I would choose. I went with my instinct, and that instinct screamed to protect. I’d been a flight type of girl before and spent years reprogramming my brain. Now, my brand of defense was to fight. “Until I walk down that aisle, my affairs are none of your concern.” The innuendo had been strategic. My voice, a whip snapped in warning.