“Has it ever occurred to you how alone you really are?” she demanded, feeling the tears return in earnest, though she furiously blinked them back. “You cannot imagine what it is like to have someone…stand up for you, and realize they are the only one who has.” Her voice broke on the last few words.
“You do not meansomeone,” he said, his voice quiet and serious. “You mean someone likeme.”
“Someone who hates me,” she returned, lifting her chin. Daring him to argue. She should have known better than to lay down a dare.
“I have neverhatedyou, Serena.” He said it with such deep conviction that it felt as though her heart shivered inside of her chest.
“You needn’t lie,” she managed to rasp out. She cleared her throat, worked on getting back her armor. “I believe you once likened me to Satan. To my face.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Perhaps I did. But that wasn’t aboutyou. It was what you represented. I didn’t know you were a strange little cat lady when I likened you to Satan. And while I think one of those creatures of yoursmightbe an evil minion sent from hell, I do not think you are.”
She choked on some strange mix of a laugh and outrage. He made no sense. This actually making her feel somewhat better was baffling.
“Does it matter what I think?” he asked.
“Of course not.” She didn’t want it to. She didn’t think it should. But his hands were still on her neck. His body was still far too close. And while she usually felt hollowed out and beat down for a few hours after dealing with her mother and refusing to cry—the crying, being comforted, was cathartic.
She should hate him for that. Or thank him. She relished neither and didn’t know what to do with herself. What to say. Especially with the understanding that they were too close and didn’t need to be.
She could feel his breath, mingled with hers. So close. So unnecessarily close. His hands were still on her face, holding her just there. While his gaze, dark and intent, searched hers for something. She didn’t know what. She couldn’t fathom what.
She shouldn’t want him to find it. She shouldn’twantthis, but her heart was beating overtime as a heat seeped into her bloodstream, spreading through her like alcohol. A drug-like softening. Until she found herself nearly melted against him, and a new, alarming pulse beat deep within. Wanting something…something only he could give.
And she knew it was wrong, this yearning. Letting him be this close. All the lines they were crossing instead of carefully adhering to. And she had always,alwaysdone the right thing.
But never in her life had the wrong thing been quite so tempting.
* * *
Luciano did not know what he was doing. He did not recognize himself. The violent ricochets of need rattling around inside of him. A gentleness that was either foreign or something so long lost he’d fully forgotten what it felt like inside of his body.
But there was a need wriggling through, one that was all too familiar. He tried to remember that this was all part of his plan. Seduction. Want. Need. To lull her into a false sense of security.
But it was supposed to beherwants and needs more than his. And he did not know how whatever was roaring through him could be matched. It was all-encompassing, consuming to the point he wasn’t sure he cared about what he’d meant to do, what was important, who had the upper hand. Not if he could once again get his mouth on hers.
Which is what he did. Closed that small distance and tasted her once more. It wound like relief through him. It had only been days since that fake kiss on the beach…that hadn’t been as fake as he’d like. But there was no hiding that this wasn’t for potential photographers.
It was for him. Him.
And her, he supposed, as she sighed into him. An echo of the relief he felt inside of himself. Because thank God they both wanted this thing they shouldn’t. What a disaster it would be if it were one-sided, this sizzling, warping,thrillingwant.
She made a sound, some odd mix between a moan and distress, so he eased back.
She gripped his forearms as if to steady herself, and maybe he should have released her face. But he couldn’t seem to get his brain to send out any signals to the muscles that held her still. Her mouth was swollen, her eyes wide and leaning more brown than green, her cheeks flushed.
She breathed heavily, her eyes darting from his mouth to his eyes to his mouth again. But she seemed to come to her senses before he did.
Except there was no sense in what she said.
“There’s no one to pretend for, Luciano.”
Damn the way she said his name. “Who said I was pretending?” he demanded on a growl, resisting—narrowly—the desire to give her a shake until she got it through her thickest of thick skulls. He should have stopped this. Should have used that sentence against her.
But something about the vulnerability he’d seen today made him incapable of being as ruthless as he should be. Something about her tears had stripped him down, and he could only offer her the truth in return.
“I wantyou, Serena.”
She looked at him, those eyes wide and wet. There was such confusion in them. Mixed with lust. “Why?” she asked on a pained whisper.
