Page 88 of Out of Control

“Insane? Preposterous? Fucking awesome? Yeah, it is. Those are all the ways you make me feel, and I thought it was about time you knew how it felt yourself.”

There go those jelly knees again. “I’m . . . I should be mad at you,” I say with way less accusation than I feel.

“But you aren’t.” His smile lights up his face.

“But I am.”

“Should I be afraid of that whole even footing thing?” he teases.

Even footing? Hell, the man has shaken the ground beneath me. Even footing left the conversation weeks ago. “I just . . . Ollie.”

He steps into me, cups my face in his hands, and then dips down so we’re eye level. “What are you going to do about it, Bellissima? If you tell everyone I did it, then you’ll have to explain why I would do such a thing for a woman I barely know. Then people will start digging. Start noticing coincidences that we were at the same place at the same time and maybe they weren’t coincidences anymore. And if you say you did it, then God forbid you might actually be taking a stand for yourself, for once.”

“You . . . bastard.” But the words come out in a laugh and the strangest feeling floats through me.

One that reinforces the many things he’s said but that I’ve never really felt. Words are cheap. Actions are everything. And he just showed his hand by telling the world that someone believes in me. Which is completely different to el patriarca’s actions—to hold a dinner to celebrate one grandchild’s dream to ensure another doesn’t achieve theirs.

“Maybe I am a bastard, Sofia. Maybe I’m not. All I know is that you’re fucking everything. It’s no fault of his own, but no one sees past Cruz into who’s standing in his shadow because his light is too bright. I wanted to tell you that I see you. That I want you. That he needs to share the damn spotlight.”

Be still my fucking heart.

I stare at Rossi—at the man everyone thinks has a cold heart—and realize how much he has softened for me. How much he has worked for me to see my worth when I should have seen it myself.

I brush my lips against his in the most tender of kisses.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says between kisses. “I just wanted you to see your own worth.”

“Ollie,” I murmur.

“I have to go but fuck if you’re not making it hard.” He chuckles at the pun and then our lips meet once again. “My meeting.” Another kiss as he cups my breast. “In five minutes.”

We both jump at the knock on the door but keep our lips and hands moving.

“Go the fuck away. We’re busy,” Rossi groans in reflex.

But the minute the words are out, we both freeze, understanding the gravity of the mistake.

“Sofia?” My brother’s voice barrels through the door. His fist pounds harshly seconds thereafter.

“Shit.” I hiss the word out. My heart pounds and head swims.

“Fuck it,” Rossi mutters and yanks open the door. He and my brother stand face to face, shoulders squared and challenge written in every ounce of their posture.

There is no mistaking Rossi’s mussed hair or the flush of arousal on my cheeks.

I wait for a fist to be thrown. For words to be shouted. But it’s the expression on my brother’s face that I’ll never forget. It’s the one that has me scrambling after him. Betrayal.

“Cruz,” I shout.

Rossi looks at me with regret etched in every line of his face. “I’m sorry,” he says but I’m already down the hall, chasing after my brother.

“Cruz. Wait.”

But before I can get to him, he steps in the elevator, meets my eyes, and utters one, unmistakable command. “Don’t.”

The doors shut.

The elevator descends.