"Oh no, you don't get to walk away from me like that."
I freeze. Her voice isn't loud, but it doesn't need to be. It carries. Controlled fury. The kind that doesn't burn out fast, it waits.
"You said you sent Bello to tell me you were hurt," she fires at me. "To tell me you were alive."
Max and the guards are not even pretending not to listen. I glare at them, and they finally turn away. Thankfully, the elevator arrives. The doors open, and I grab Jenna's wrist and pull her inside before anyone else can think to follow. I press Lobby, give it a second, then hit the emergency stop before the box can even move. But the doors are closed. Silence slams down.
I turn on her, every instinct screams at me to regain control of a situation that's suddenly tilting sideways.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demand.
Her eyes are blazing. Not scared. Not wavering. Furious in a way that has nothing to do with weakness.
"Well, let me tell you something," she continues. "The first time I met Bello was when I came to your mansion. I stood at your gates like an idiot who still believed in answers."
My chest tightens.
"He had me removed," she snaps. "Told me you didn't want to see me. Told me to go home and to never come back."
The words don't land all at once. They stack. Slow. Relentlessly so. I'm suddenly aware of how loud my own breathing is in the enclosed space.
"That's impossible," the words flow out automatically.
She laughs once. Sharp. Ugly. "Is it?"
My mind is spinning now, gears grinding, timelines snapping into place and not aligning. "You're telling me that Bello told you I didn't want to see you."
"Yes."
"After the attack."
"What attack?"
It's the frank confusion on her face that makes me stop and run a hand through my hair. I turn away from her because,honestly, I'm about to hit something. She grabs the arm of my suit jacket. "What attack, Massimo?"
She's not strong enough to turn me around, but I'm not a coward, so I face her. "I was attacked, run over by a car. I was out for several months." I explain, running my hand through my hair again before I plant my face against the elevator wall, hard enough to send spider cracks through the mirror.
I move forward; she takes a step back until she hits the other side of the elevator. Both of my palms now plant on either side of her face, locking her in. "When I was somewhat able to move, I found out that you married Carter fucking Whitford."
My fury washes over her face, but she doesn't shrink back. She leans forward, meeting me nearly nose to nose.
"Because I was pregnant and left with the choice to either marry the man who sold me out or have an abortion," she spits into my face.
Both our breathing is hard and uneven. Chests heaving, she stares up, and I stare down. Down into the most mesmerizing green eyes I've ever seen. Eyes I had gotten lost in ten years ago and now know I will again.
Her words penetrate my brain. Barely. There will be time for it later. Right now, all that exists are those eyes burning into me with a passion I know all too well. My cock responds in kind.
"Jenna," I rasp.
"Massimo," she breathes, right before her hands knot into my jacket and tie, pulling me down. My arms move from the sides of her face. One to her waist, the other to the back of her head. I pull her against me like a man who is clinging to a lifeboat in the middle of rapids. Our mouths clash. It's not gentle. It's an explosion of emotions that have been pent up and held hostage for ten years.
We're consuming each other. That's the only way to name it. Ten years, a million lies, every mile and minute of separation,none of it matters. Not in this moment, not with her hands desperate on my chest, not with my mouth claiming hers like I'll die if I stop. She bites me. Her nails dig into my shoulder through silk and bone, and it's so familiar, so right, I have to choke down a laugh, or I'll lose myself too fast.
I don't wait. I don't ask. I slide my hand into her hair, fist the strands at the nape of her neck, and pull her up into another kiss, hard, hungry, all the rage and need of ten years channels straight through my mouth. Her lips split against mine, the faint copper tang of blood, but she doesn't flinch. We devour each other, trying to win, to erase, to survive. I want to bite her, to mark her for every night I spent burning for this and every day I hated myself for it.
She meets me head-on, grinding up into my space as if she's desperate to climb inside my skin. My hand works down, rucking her skirt up so fast the seams scream in protest, the sound nearly drowned out by the wet, gasping breaths between our mouths. Her thighs bracket my hips, her muscles flex. God, she's soft, but there's strength I didn't remember, or maybe never saw. She's trembling. I don't know if it's fear, fury, or the simple act of finally being wanted. I don't care. I want all of it. I want to drink her until she shakes apart.
Her fingers are already on my belt. Her hands fumble with my buckle, almost inexperienced, but that can't be, she's been married for ten years. She drags me free, and her hand tightens around my cock, solid and possessive, stroking with just enough pressure that my vision whites out for a second. Her mouth parts, and a hiss escapes.
