I picture Alessandro walking through that door with the whole damned family in tow. I picture Donal on the other side of the river, and Tiernan licking his lips. I picture myself ground to paste between the two. My hand curls into a fist over the blossom until it hurts.
I need to move. I need to get past him. But he won’t let me.
A plan starts to form in my mind. It’s ugly but efficient, and it’ll force him to let me.
“Be smart,” Donal would say. “Use what you have.” I hate that the voice in my head is his.
I strip fast, black jeans kicked under the bed and boots tucked inside the duffel. I keep the shirt, buttoning it to my collarbone to hide the ink and the ache underneath it. The hem barely skims the tops of my thighs. I consider the gun then leave it. I can’t miss at this range. Not if I use a different weapon.
I look at myself once in the mirror and don’t recognize the expression. Seduction as a blade.
When I open the door, the living room smells like coffee and fresh paint. Matteo stands with his back to me, shoulder braced against the counter and phone to his ear. His coat is off, sleeves shoved up his forearms, and I hate how I can’t look away for a second. God, there’s something so sexy about a man’s forearms. Burying the completely inappropriate thought, I focus on the gun on the table within easy reach.
“I said an hour,” he mutters. “No, I’ll handle Ale.”
The name hits like a slap.
Matteo turns at the whisper of my bare feet on the floor. It takes a heartbeat for him to register what he’s seeing. Me in nothing but a shirt. He lowers the phone, and surprise wipes his face clean.
“Morning—”
I lean into the doorframe, all loose joints and a mouth that remembers exactly what he tastes like. “You’re loud,” I whisper around a yawn. “And I was trying to sleep.”
He swallows. “Sorry, I was checking in with the guys.” His eyes try to be polite, but they fail. They do a slow, helpless tour from my throat to my hem then my legs and circle back to my mouth like that’s safe.
Good.
Let him look. Let him forget he’s supposed to be careful with me.
I keep my posture lazy, but my mind is already moving, mapping the room the way I always do. The back door. The counter between us. His gun, holstered at his hip. The phone on the counter. The keys, near the bowl of fruit.
“Are we alone?” I ask, letting the words come out soft, almost shy.
“Yes.” A beat, his eyes flicking past me like he’s checking the room out of habit. “Why?”
I give him a slow smile and step closer, just enough to make the air change. “Just making sure.”
His gaze drops again, hunger and caution warring in it. “Cat…” It’s a warning. A plea. A reminder that whatever this is, it’s a bad idea.
I need him to stop thinking. I need him to be Matteo, the wicked devil, not Gemini.
I tilt my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder. “You didn’t sleep,” I murmur, like I’m concerned. Like I’m sweet.
Like I don’t plan to cut and run the second he gives me a window.
“I’m fine.” But he’s too alert to be fine.
I take another step, slow, careful, and let my gaze slide over him like I’m deciding what I want. The bruising shadow underhis eyes. The tension at his jaw. The faint smear of blood at his knuckle.
A male like him doesn’t get tired. He gets dangerous.
My pulse ticks faster anyway. Not because I’m scared. Because my body is an idiot.
I reach for the coffee mug on the counter, pick it up, then set it down again like I forgot why I wanted it.
Small distraction. Small movement. Keep him watching my hands instead of his.
“You saved my life...” I let the gratitude sound real, and that’s the easiest part because it is real. “I haven’t exactly processed everything that’s happened.”
