I stopped at a red light and closed my eyes for a second. Jesus fucking Christ. She’d just cost me a decade of my life—first from worrying that this was some incurable disease that would put her in an early grave, and now from realizing that I was the one who'd triggered the episode.
“Because I fucking felt like it, all right?” I snapped. I couldn’t tell her it was because taking care of her problems gave me some sick sense of satisfaction. Because I'd derived pleasure from putting someone who'd hurt her in their place. These urges, thesefeelings, were all so fucking new to me, and I was still figuring out how to deal with them all.
At the next intersection, I took a right turn in the direction of her apartment.
“I’m sorry,” I bit out. “For making you pass out.”
Her stare warmed my cheek. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” A beat passed. “You can make it up to me.”
My gaze sliced her way. “I’m not convinced you’re well enough to handle what I want to do to you.”
“I can handle it,” she said coyly.
I scanned her for any sign she wasn’t fine.
Her color had fully returned. She was biting lightly on her bottom lip as she stared ahead, like she had something on her mind.
I’d bet my entire fucking fortune that something was me and her destroying her bed.
My cock thickened. If she was game, who was I to deny her? And based on where we'd left our negotiation, all she was giving me was this one night.
Of course, I planned to use the night to convince her to give me another.
Then another.
Then another.
I’d take whatever scraps she gave me until the inevitable wave of destruction that always followed me got too close to the shore.
And when it did, I’d walk away. For good.
CHAPTER28
MIA
Romolo parked the car in a miraculously open space a block away from my building and cut the engine.
I glanced at my phone. “Well, you wasted a bunch of time driving the wrong way. It’s a quarter to midnight. Probably not enough time?—”
“Get out of the car, Mia,” he said, his voice low and calm as he pulled his mask back on.
My skin buzzed with anticipation as I opened the door. The sports car was so low that I had to wait for Romolo to round the hood and help me to my feet. The goosebumps on my skin had nothing to do with the cold, but when he saw them, his jaw clenched, and he took out a coat from the trunk and tossed it over my shoulders.
Then he wrapped his hand around mine and didn’t let go as we power walked to the entrance of my building.
I was making questionable choices. I knew that. Romolo was Gino Ferraro’s son. A man with a crooked moral compass who'd sent my business rival out of state because he “felt like it.” I had no doubt it was far from the worst thing he’d ever done.
But all those things didn’t change the cold, hard fact that I was drawn to him. And I was tired of resisting it.
We had a spark. An attraction that we’d tried to put out with distance, but that hadn’t worked.
It was time to try something else.
The concierge at the front desk of my building made some comment about our outfits, but all I could muster in response was a breathless giggle. Romolo didn’t even look at him. He just dragged me to the elevators and punched at the button with impatient force.
Ding.
We stepped inside. Romolo pressed the button for my floor—somehow he knew that too—and the doors slid shut.
