And for that man to judge me when I haven’t even had a chance to wrap my head around it all … let’s just say, it’s mystifying how someone with so much strength and beauty could be so dense.
Then, on top of it all, I’m so frustrated with myself for letting him get to me. Who cares what he thinks of me? I shouldn’t care one bit, but I clearly do because his rush to condemn me was a white-hot poker in my gut.
Is it because he’s so close to my brother? Maybe I’m worried he’ll tarnish the way my big brother sees me. I’m not sure why else his opinion of me would matter. I don’t know him all that well. He wasn’t around my family much until Renzo took over the Moretti Family after our father died. The two work closely together, but I’m rarely around DiAngelo. When we are together, we rarely interact. That’s why I was so confused to see him at the house for dinner.
Ugh, dinner.
I still have to go downstairs and pretend I don’t want to plant my fork in his chest. That broad, muscled chest that pressed against mine only minutes ago, igniting a yearning in me that I haven’t felt in years.
Howdarehe!
Of all the pigheaded, self-righteous meatheads out there, why does he have to be the one to send tingles down my spine and into my fingertips like I’ve touched a live wire? Sure, I’ve always felt a little unsteady around him, but nothing like this. When he suggested how easily I could be fucked by a man like him while the heat from his body feathered across my skin, and the spiced scent of his masculine cologne filled my lungs, I could feel the phantom penetration of him thrusting inside me, and dearGod,did it feel incredible.
I wanted to kill him and kiss him in the same breath.
See? Conflicted.
I’m a certified hot mess, and I need to get a grip on myself. Fast.
Lucky for me, I have a fully stocked room at Mom’s place. We grew closer after I lost my husband, Craig. And everything I went through gave me the perspective to help her through Dad’s passing. Even though we’ve both moved past the losses we suffered, I don’t always feel like going home to an empty apartment. Staying here is a nice reprieve.
After five long years, I don’t miss Craig so much as I miss companionship. While I miss the excitement of new love, I’ve let go of the man who swept in and out of my world within two years. But there’s one thing I can’t seem to escape.
Guilt has been my constant companion since Craig was murdered.
My shame haunts me.
He wasn’t a bad man and didn’t deserve how drastically his life deteriorated after meeting me. I wanted to believe him when he assured me he didn’t feel pressure to live up to some artificial standard set by my family’s money. None of that was ever important to me. I only ever wanted us to be together. Maybe if I’d told him just a little more often…
I shake away the morose thoughts.
The mental quicksand of self-doubt is a trap I’ve already wrestled with and refuse to get stuck in again. Nothing can be done about the past. I’ve learned my lessons and won’t forget them anytime soon.
For now, the best thing I can do is take a quick shower and try to calm down.
The hot water helps to soothe my turbulent emotions, but it does nothing for the incessant pull still pulsing between my thighs. If anything, the sting of the water makes it worse. And the towel brushing across my sensitized skin while I dry off…
My entire body shivers, though I’m not remotely cold.
It has to be one of those strange reactions people have, like laughing at a funeral, because I am not into DiAngelo Farina.
So you’re not into him. Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the unexpected perk of your argument.
Are you suggesting…?
My eyes drift from the bathroom mirror over my shoulder to the nightstand in my bedroom. The closet isn’t the only thing I keep stocked at Mom’s house. Not that I take advantage of it allthat often, but I do have a shiny bullet vibrator waiting for me in that top drawer.
You were just thinking how you miss that excitement of attraction…
Yeah, but I don’t actually want DiAngelo.
Does that matter? Enjoy the feeling and don’t worry about where it came from.
I could.
It’s not like anyone would have to know. And good Lord knows when I’d feel that itch again.
Oh, hell. Why not? It might be the best way to calm my nerves and help me get through dinner.
