by Sam Mariano
“Let’s all take a second here,” I say. “Let’s leave the guns out of this. I’m not hurt. No one needs to get hurt.”
“He kidnapped you,” Mateo states.
“He was protecting me,” I point out.
“He hasn’t touched you?”
“Of course not,” I say, frowning.
He doesn’t put his gun away, but he comes at me in a way that lets me know if I don’t move, he’ll run right over me.
So I move.
Mark grabs my arm, pulling me in front of him—his human shield.
Mateo’s eyes narrow, like Mark’s an especially annoying bug that he can’t wait to smash against the wall. “Vince never liked you. I should’ve paid more attention to that.”
“I’m a friend, not a foe,” Mark assures him.
“Then let go of Mia,” Mateo responds, reasonably.
“I know it’s not much, but I’m sort of attached to my face the way it is, without a gaping bullet hole anywhere in this general vicinity,” Mark says, indicating his own head.
“The longer your hands are on Mia, the less chance it stays that way,” Mateo states.
Mark drops his hand from my arm, but I don’t move right away. I watch Mateo’s hand, the one on his gun, to make sure it doesn’t look like he’s about to use it.
“Get over here,” Mateo says, meeting my gaze.
My good intentions fly right out the window and I hustle my ass over to his side. “Is Adrian here?” I murmur, staying near him.
He shakes his head. “He’s busy with something else. Something I’d very much like to pursue the details of, but I’m doing this shit instead.”
I flush. “Sorry.”
He finally pulls his gaze from Mark long enough to flash me a dry look. “Yes, because this was clearly your fault.” Swinging his gaze back to Mark, he demands, “What’s this information you have for me?”
“Salvatore doesn’t want a war with you. He had no idea his father was going to try to kill you—he never would’ve supported that.”
“Like he never would’ve framed Meg?”
For a split second, Mark frowns, looking from Mateo to me, then back. “He knew war was coming, he didn’t want to get in the middle of it. He needed you distracted.”
“I don’t take well to that kind of manipulation from friends,” Mateo says. “And there wouldn’t have been a war if his father wouldn’t have nearly killed my fiancée.”
My heart sinks, hearing him call Meg his fiancée. I immediately feel so guilty and horrible about it that I want to die, but I can’t deny it happening.
Mark hesitates. “I don’t know what you know, and it doesn’t seem like you’re in the mood for any surprises right now.”
“I’m not in the habit of shooting the messenger,” Mateo tells him.
“You know Antonio sent Meg?”
My eyes widen in surprise, but Mateo merely nods. “I do.”
“Okay. Well… you’ve taken that better than Sal thought you would,” Mark says, looking a bit confused.
“His distraction worked a little too well. I was more focused on the affair,” Mateo states. “By the time that came out… bigger fish.”
“Okay. Well, considering your usual response to treachery, Sal was prepared for a bigger reaction than that. Anyway, his dad...” Mark pauses, watching Mateo, then says, “He understands that his dad’s gonna have to go.”
I can’t tell if this surprises Mateo. He keeps his expression guarded, but he does drawl, “Really?”
“Salvatore’s next in line. He wants to keep the peace, the way you have been until Antonio started screwing it all up. He wants… a marriage, of sorts, between the families. Not even of sorts, actually… he wants to marry your sister.”
My jaw falls open, hand flying to my chest. Since Mateo’s reaction is far less dramatic, Mark’s eyes drift to me. “Francesca?” I ask, floored. “Salvatore and Francesca? Oh my god!” Tugging on Mateo’s arm, I say, “You have to let them. Francesca would be so ha—Er, wait, does she want to marry him, or is this a Castellanos version of a Morelli trap?”
Nobody answers me.
“I’ll consider it,” Mateo says, not even bothering to ask whether or not Francesca’s into the idea. “No middle men though. If Salvatore wants to work something out, he needs to come out of hiding and meet with me himself.”
“As long as you’re open to peace, I’m sure he will.”
Mateo nods once.
Mark nods a few times, clearly uneasy. “So… I’m gonna go?”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Mark nods, heading for the door, still a little cautious though, keeping an eye on Mateo. “Um, I kinda had to kill a guy in the parking lot of your bakery.”
Mateo sighs, tucking his gun away and pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Awesome.” Glancing at me, Mark offers an apologetic look, then he opens the door and slips outside.
“There’s no one waiting to kill him outside, right?” I ask, looking toward the window, but I can’t see out the dark curtains.
Mateo smirks, tucking his phone back into his pocket and gazing down at me. All the hardness I’ve sensed from the moment he answered the phone has fallen away, and he grips my hips, turning me to face him. He seems relieved. I stare up at him, certain organs pounding so loudly they can probably be heard in the next room over, other locations on my body inappropriately tingling. It’s a jumbled, scarlet-letter-wearing mess over here.
“No, I was going to handle that one myself,” he tells me.
“I have a lot of questions about a lot of things,” I tell him.
“I can imagine.” There’s amusement dancing in his eyes again, and this is how I like him best. There’s something about his scary side that turns me on, but it’s the playful side that stirs my heart.
God, I am a mess.
“I can’t believe you came for me,” I tell him.
“As many times as you’ve come through for me, I think I owed you one,” he informs me.
I roll my eyes lightly. “I don’t do you favors so you’ll owe me,” I say. “There’s no one keeping track.”
“I always keep track,” he responds lightly.
I want so badly to wrap my arms around his neck. I can literally feel my insides trying to close the small distance between us, like there’s a magnet inside of his body pulling at mine.
And it tears me apart. Because I have every reason to stay away. We both do. There are no reasons to close the distance, not one. There are no reasons to keep standing here with his hands on my hips like they belong there, our bodies separated by measly inches, heated memories of our bodies being much closer suddenly flooding my mind.
Then, as if similar thoughts are going through his head, he glances at the bed.
We’re in a hotel room. Alone. With a bed.
I’m so terrified—not of him this time, but myself. A little of him. Because if he so much as makes a joke about that bed, I’m going to crumble into a million pieces.
But he doesn’t joke. The amusement in his eyes dies, and he looks back at me more solemnly.
I wish I could read his mind, but I don’t even think I’d be able to handle it. This is hard enough knowing I’m alone in this torment, but when he looks at me like maybe he feels it, too….
“We should leave,” I state, before either of us can act on anything we shouldn’t.
“We should,” he agrees, but doesn’t move.
I can feel my heart beating in my throat. As if they have their own plans, my arms move slowly to his broad shoulders, creeping around his neck. He studies me, and I think I’m going to pass out from the stress. Before he can take it the wrong way—and accept or rebuff me, because I have no idea which one of those would hurt more—I lean in for a hug.
I’m allowed to have a hug, right?
Hugs are harmless. You can hug a family member.
He hugs me back, one of his hands moving up
to caress my back.
Everything’s thumping. I’m so aroused and guilty and just the worst person in the whole world, but as Mateo holds me, for just a moment, I don’t care. I let go of the guilt, of the anguish over my horribly inappropriate feelings, and just enjoy the feeling of his embrace.
I want to stay here with him forever. I never want to leave this crummy hotel room.
God, I am in so much trouble.
It lasts far too long for a hug, but before it can morph into anything more, I pull back.
I swallow, but there’s a lump in my throat. It’s all too much, and I feel like I’m going to dissolve any minute—like the pressure is just too much, and my mind and body can’t handle it anymore, so they’re just going to give up.
He doesn’t let go of my hips. I go to back out of his embrace, to move away from him so I can try to gather the remains of my sanity, but his grip on me tightens, and he tugs me against him.
A noise escapes me that I can’t even identify. A whimper? Some helpless sound as the hardness of his cock presses against me, leaving an imprint that I’ll still feel long after he withdraws. Fuck.
I look up at him, certain he can see the lust in my eyes—it should be oozing out of my pores at this point. My stomach is twisted up in knots, and it’s not even Vince this time—I feel bad about Vince, but I haven’t recovered from how pissed I am at him.
It’s Meg.
I can’t do that to Meg.
And neither can he.
But oh, how I want him to.
It feels like he’s waiting for me, for some signal he knows I can’t give. I can hardly coax the air out of my lungs, and my head is at war with my heart, with my body.
I want him to take away my choice.
The realization kills me, literally slays me, but I want him to pick me up, throw me down on that bed, and fuck me until I forget every reason he shouldn’t. I want him to pin me down, I want his kisses on my neck, his cock pushing inside me, relieving this ache I have for him, if only for a stolen moment. I want his brutality. I want the excuse. I can lie to cover his sins, but I can’t lie to cover my own.
I can’t say yes to the question he isn’t asking.
Because Meg said yes to the question he did ask.
My brain is a bitch for that reminder, but the bitch I needed. It’s not exactly a bucket of ice water dropped on my head, but a slow, chilly trickle dripping through my veins.
I wonder if this is what people mean by lovesick.
Only I don’t know if this is love. I don’t know what this is. Addiction, maybe.
Like I’m not a junkie, I pull away from him.
He could stop me, of course, but he doesn’t. He lets me go. He knows it’s what’s best for both of us. For all of us.
I feel literally sick, like the end of a night of hard partying when you know you’re going to have one hell of a hangover the next day. I’ve consumed too much Mateo and now I’m going to crash.
Instead of speaking, I turn toward the door. I still can’t breathe properly, and I feel claustrophobic, like if I can just get out of this room and suck in a breath of fresh air, I’ll feel a part of the world again, and not stuck in this isolated Mateo bubble where up is down and wrong is right.
I can’t let myself be alone with him again.
He’s still a threat. Not the same one he was before, but a threat all the same.
“Well, thank you,” I say, dragging some semblance of lightness out of myself. “For coming to my rescue,” I add, feeling the need to clarify.
Recovering more convincingly, he flashes me a light smile, as if none of that just happened. “Even villains save the day sometimes.”
“I wish you were still a villain,” I murmur, almost under my breath.
Raising his eyebrows in mild surprise, he asks, “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I say innocently, reaching for the doorknob.
He comes up behind me, grabbing my hand, steadying it. Just the sensation of his hand on mine causes my skittering heart to sink. He uses his body to flatten me against the door. Heat from his chest scorches my back. The hardness of his arousal presses against my ass. Every bit of sense I just reclaimed falls out of me and I brace a hand on the door as his other hand skims my side. My body throbs, my mind races, and oh, my god, this man.
“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his warm breath on my ear.
He’s so close. So close. I’m a little light-headed as his lips float just above my skin. He releases my hand on the knob and pushes my hair back over my shoulder, dropping the lightest kiss on my neck.
The breath rushing in and out of my body right now isn’t terribly subtle. He has to know he could hike up my leg and fuck me right here against the door and the only cries he would get out of me would be cries of pleasure.
But this time he pulls back.
I sag, not with relief, but disappointment.
I stumble back as he reaches for the knob this time. He eases the door open and sunshine spills in—a harsh reminder of the world outside. The world we’re both a part of.
With one last longing look at the bed, I pull myself together, scoop up what’s left of my dignity, and follow Mateo out to his car.
If you’re a joiner and you want some more Morelli goodness, there is an exclusive deleted chapter (Mia’s POV) available in the files section of my Facebook reader group, Mateo’s Sweethearts
The next book in the Morelli Family Series will be Family Ties (Morelli Family, #4), the story of Francesca and Salvatore! I have the release date on Amazon set for July 10th, but I consider it very likely it will actually release sooner. I’m just not sure of the precise release date yet, and Amazon is fine with letting you move a pre-order release date up, but pushing it back is a big no-no.
PRE-ORDER LINKS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2pV6YIg
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072BXQQKK
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B072BXQQKK
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B072BXQQKK
Book four will conclude this four-book story arc!
But wait, there’s more! For those of you who still want more of the Vince/Mia/Mateo/Meg relationships—book five, Resisting Mateo, will be releasing very shortly after book four! :)
About the Author
Sam Mariano has been writing stories since before she could actually write. In college, she studied psychology and English, because apparently she never wanted to make any money!
Sam lives in Ohio with a fantastic little girl who loves to keep her from writing. She appreciates the opportunity to share her characters with you; they were tired of living and dying in her hard drive. (The Morellis actually did die in her old hard drive, but she resurrected them so you guys could meet them! You’re welcome, or she’s sorry, depending on how you feel about all this.)
Feel free to find Sam on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, or her blog—she loves hearing from readers! She’s also available on Instagram now @sammarianobooks, and you can sign up for her newsletter HERE
If you have the time and inclination to leave a review, however short or long, she would greatly appreciate it! :)
