“When you grow up, Aurora, I need you to find a man that will love you completely. Solely.” It’s a whisper full of so much emotion that I’m hit with another wave of hurt. I don’t know if she wants a reply, but I still nod my head so she knows I’m listening. That I understand her. “Your happiness to him must come first, and you’ll live to do the same for him. Never settle, baby girl. Never. No man that causes you a moment of pain due to selfishness is worth the heartache. You deserve the world. Never to be an afterthought.”
I awake with a start, my body breaking out in a cold sweat as it’s done every single time this memory re-emerges in the shape of a dream for the last few weeks. Ever since coming back home to Chicago a month ago—since my time with him—I’ve been off-kilter and can’t shake these mental pictures.
I’m unfocused and questioning things.
My beliefs and life choices.
What led me to where I am now.
Because I remember that day to the very last second when I finally fell asleep:
The news that broke my heart. The tears that followed from both of us. The acceptance that I would never have a family—a real one—where my father lived with us and we were happy together.
Because just a few weeks after my eleventh birthday, Matteo Cancio and his wife announced the birth of their first child, a son, through a magazine article. The Bostonian businessman, as they were more than likely paid to portray him, was ecstatic about the arrival and looked so in love while holding the days-old infant.
It was an exclusive he gave this publication in exchange for good press. To help sway the way people saw him before his insider trading case of all things.
He’s an asshole, but smart. He has never been caught or convicted of a single crime.
That day as I read the article, I lost a bit of my innocence, too. Every single word was a stab to the heart, and more so because he didn’t tell me himself. No. I had to find out as a stranger would.
All of my hopes for a better relationship died, and so did the way I viewed my father.
Grabbing my cell from the nightstand, I look at the time while ignoring the four missed calls and sigh. “Great, it’s almost six,” I grumble, knowing that it’ll be nearly impossible for me to fall back to sleep and with my alarm set for seven, I push the covers off. I’m tired and don’t want to but throw my legs over the edge anyways. Grudgingly, I stumble a bit and manage to keep myself upright, walking into the en suite bath while hissing as the bright lights come on when the sensor picks up my movement.
My reflection in the mirror shows my displeasure. The bags under my eyes from lack of sleep show how unhealthy this all is.
And even though that dream makes me relive a hard memory, I know that its resurfacing has everything to do with a certain British man whose presence I can’t evade while awake or asleep.
This same man has yet to contact me.
To so much as send a text message to assuage my thoughts.
Because I still hear his promises when I close my eyes. I remember how those hypnotic green eyes watched me from between my thighs while bringing me to orgasm.
I want him but despise the very thought on the same breath, more so as each day passes without a single call.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask my reflection while taking my tank top off and then panties, hating how my eyes lower to the places on my torso where his marks are fading. The imprint of his fingertips on my skin is almost nonexistent and I miss them. I miss how alive he made me feel. “I can’t be with someone like my father. A liar.”
And it’s with that thought that I walk over to the shower and turn the faucet, letting the water heat up before stepping in. It feels good on my body and for a second or ten, I just stand there while the warm water soothes my tired limbs before lathering. Something that I quickly realize is a mistake.
Not now. This needs to be an in-and-out situation.
My hands over my body, slippery from the suds—a woodsy scent that reminds me of him—makes my nipples harden into stiff, throbbing peaks. It’s been a month since I felt the delicious ache Casper leaves behind and I’m needy. Aching as the image of his handsome face haunts me.
I hate how much I want him again. How easily I would give myself to him.
How if I slip a hand between the juncture of my thighs, I’ll find my pussy slick and not from the water.
“Christ, I need help.” And I’m also now in a rush because the temptation to touch myself—to come—is near maddening. Each inhale dares me to do it. To let my mind wander back to those hours where he took me over and over again, exhausting my body while leaving me afloat on a blissful cloud. “Wash, rinse, and out,” I chant while doing so, fighting with myself when all I want is to give in—and I almost do, but the phone pinging on my countertop stops me.
Turning the handle, I shut the water off and step out, grabbing my towel off the rack before walking over. My hand touches the screen without picking it up, a quick swipe that nearly sends me stumbling back.
I miss the sweetness of your pussy on my tongue. ~Casper
How your walls choke my cock when you come. ~Casper
I’ll be seeing you soon, Gem. ~Casper
Three quick texts that scare and excite me more than they should. They have me on edge and breathing hard. Thinking. Craving. Swallowing hard.
No. No. No, damnit. I need to get my mind off him and forget. I need to move on and thank my lucky stars that I didn’t get in any deeper. I return the favor, ignore him like he has me for these last thirty days.
If only my heart would listen to my head.
“So you’ve been a bit distant lately?” Aliana asks as we walk out of the women’s shelter I inherited and run. It’s late, easily almost eight at night, and I’m dead on my feet. “What gives?”
I can’t help but be irritated by her question each time she asks, even though it’s not her fault. To be honest, it’s no one’s, but I just haven’t been myself since coming home.
Between the dreams, my father’s insistence, and thoughts of Casper, I’m fried. Beyond exhausted, and she sees this. My best friend since middle school knows me, is worried, and I just don’t have a way to explain the craziness my life has become since my trip to London.
So, like the hot mess I’ve become, I evade. Take a moment of silence to just look around the front grounds of the Conte House while ignoring the tap tap tapping of her foot.
This place was my mother’s. Her dream that I continue to carry on and make thrive while doing so.
Sure, I could’ve gone to school to become a doctor or lawyer, but that was never my passion. This is. And after graduating high school at seventeen, I immersed myself—worked with her every single day until she couldn’t—in order to take over.
Hell, this has been my second home since the age of fourteen when it opened; I’ve worked in every department. From helping in the kitchens to CEO and everything in between, I’ve done them all and with pride. It’s my way of honoring her memory.
To keep her dream of helping women get out of toxic environments—to leave the men that broke them down—alive.
This place keeps me close to her memory. Every successful case helps to fill the void that her death left behind.
Aliana clears her throat. “Quit Ignoring me.”
I let out a tired sigh. “I’m fine. Just really tired—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll kick you,” she deadpans, pulling on my arm so we stop at the end of the sidewalk that leads to the parking lot. “Look at me.”
“What?” Turing my head, I find her brown eyes narrowed, searching my face for the answer as to why I’m so distracted. A little lost. Although I’m sure it’s pretty clear to see that I have a problem named Casper Jameson that follows me around. Like a ghost. Like a life-altering realization, nagging at me from the back of my mind.
“Talk to me.”
Out of all the words she could say, why those? The same ones he used back in Ibiza between round
s of mind-blowing sex. When he caught me with my walls down and I was most vulnerable. Open to him.
“Maybe I’m just hungry and in need of a strong margarita?”
Releasing my arm, she pulls out her phone. “Uber? I’ll treat while you spill?”
“There’s nothing to...” I trail off as my own phone goes off, and it’s a text from him. His special ringtone. Then, because I have no control when it comes to this man, there’s an automatic pull at my lips. They curl at the right, a cheesy grin, while her eyes get an evil glint to them. “Don’t.”
“Aren’t you going to look?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” She reaches for the device in my hand, but I pull back before she can snatch it. “I knew it!”
“Stop. It’s nothing.” My attempt at nonchalance is met with a laugh. “I’m serious. It was a one-time thing that—”
“You had a one-night stand?”
“It was more than one night.”
“You hoochie!” Christ, the decibel of her voice is loud. “Who and where? Are you dating him? Do I know the dude?” My eyes shift around us, hoping no one heard, but I’m not so lucky when two volunteers a row down in the parking lot look our way. They wave, but the one to the left adds his version of a flirty grin to it. “Poor guy. He’s going to be so sad when he realizes you’re taken.”
I shrug with a grimace. “Lawrence just isn’t my type.”
“No one has been since that douche bag, who shall not be named, that you dumped months ago.” Ali raises both hands in a “praise the lord” gesture and I laugh.
“You’re so extra, babes.”
“And you’re so not getting out of this.” My shoulders drop, causing her to giggle and clap. She won and she knows this.
“Fine. Just hurry up and call for a car.” I’m going to need alcohol courage for this. A lot of it.
“Yay! I can’t wait to...” I don’t hear the rest of her excited speech as my eyes stray toward the cell I’m unconsciously holding up. My right index finger swipes across the screen without my permission and I read his words. A gasp gets caught in my throat and my skin prickles with excitement.
With a need so palpable, a harsh shiver runs down my spine.
I need you. ~Casper
15
“OH MY GOD,” Ali says for the sixth time since I began my story, vibrating in her seat inside our favorite Mexican restaurant. Just those three words. Nothing else. It’s almost like she’s a scratched CD, which would be funny if it wasn’t due to my stupidity. “I’m shook.”
Yup, she is definitely cheering me on. Why did I hope for anything different?
“Can we drop it?”
“We most certainly will not,” she counters while wagging her brows. “Now, tell me...”
“For the love of all things holy, Aliana. What now?”
“Was he huge? Cause I’m living vicariously through you at the moment.” Her lips purse in an exaggerated pout as I choke on the remaining drink in my glass. “I haven’t had a single date in months.”
“I’m not discussing that,” I hissed through clenched teeth before faking a smile for the older couple a few tables away. “And can you tone it down a bit, chick? You’re drawing attention.”
“Why are you being so overprotective if it meant nothing?” Aliana grabs our shared pitcher of margarita and pours us another drink before bringing the glass to her lips and taking a healthy sip. “This is some pure hot epicness and I’m happy for you.”
“And you’re a dork.”
“We came to that conclusion back in junior high, babes. Remember when I did the Macarena—danced my heart out for the talent show and won the creative award?” She waves me off, but her eyes are analyzing my expression. The woman is like a dog sniffing out a juicy piece of meat. “Now, tell me the truth. How did he make you feel?”
I laugh, remembering her trying to guilt-trip me into performing with her. “Still not answering—”
“Is this seat taken?” a voice says from behind me and I stiffen, my entire body tensing. The anger I experience is instant and so are my biting words. “What are you doing here?”
“You and I both know the answer to that, Aurora.” He pulls the chair out from beside me and sits, waving over some random waiter to take his drink order. The server doesn’t hesitate, most in the country knowing who he is, and making him wait like a normal person is a no go. “Scotch on the rocks,” he says before the man can ask.
“Right away, sir.” Then he hurries off to do his bidding while I sit in my chair quietly seething.
“Leave.”
“You left me no choice.” His eyes shift to my companion and smiles. “Hello, Ali. How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, Mr. Cancio.” She looks at me with a what do we do expression. “Working hard and taking some business classes at night.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.” My father nods to himself as the waiter drops off his drink. “And you, dear? Still running the women’s shelter?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“I do,” he muses and brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip and then savoring the amber liquid. “Which is why I am here with an offer.”
“Maybe I should go?” Aliana says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Or do you need—”
“There’s a car waiting to take you home, Miss Rubens. I appreciate your understanding.”
Her eyes meet mine and I nod. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Goodnight, sir.” Her smile is a bit forced, but he doesn’t seem to notice. That, or he doesn’t care.
“Goodnight.”
Pushing her chair back, she stands and grabs her purse. “Want me to pick up breakfast tomorrow on my way in?” In other words, our conversation isn’t over.
“At nine in my office.”
“Love you, boo.”
“Love you, too,” I say and then she’s gone, leaving me alone with him. A him I turn to stare at with impassiveness. “Talk.”
“Why are you avoiding me, Roe?” The tinge of annoyance makes me bristle, but before I can respond, Matteo holds a hand up. “And don’t give me the crap about my absence or the business; you’ve never ignored my calls before. We’ve never gone so long without so much as a hello.”
“May I speak?” At his nod, I snort. “That was rhetorical.”
“Can we please cut the attitude?”
“Can you stop stalking me?”
“I’m not stalking you. Not in the way you think.”
“Then how?” I demand, pushing my mostly empty chimichanga plate forward. “Because popping up at random places I’m visiting constitutes as that. You are having me followed.”
“I’m not.”
“Lie to me again and I’ll—”
“You might not believe this, but I do know you.” Sitting forward, he places both elbows on the table. While his stance is relaxed, I know he’s uncomfortable. That talking about his feelings isn’t something he enjoys. “I know the kind of books you like to read, that you hate to exercise but love to swim and that Mexican food is a weakness of yours. Just like your mother, Roe...this place was a favorite of hers.”
Those words pierce me. They soften the stiffness in my posture, and I slump in my seat. “So you randomly picked this place because we like tacos?”
“No.” The smile he gives me is sad. As if he’s remembering something. “I chose this place because every Wednesday you two would have dinner here without fail.”
“How would you even know that?” Because Christ, since when does he care?
“Believe it or not, Bianca and I spoke every Friday night to share our week. This meal was always the highlight of it…you were always at the top of her priorities.”
“She was an amazing mother and I never doubted her love for me.”
He nods, a sad smile on his face. “I’m sorry for making you believe that I didn’t care, Roe. I also know that the failure of our relationship does fall at my fe
et, kid, but I’m trying. At least give me that. Trust that I do care.”
“So you keep saying, but actions…or better yet, years of your inaction have proven the opposite.” Matteo opens his mouth to argue, but I hold a hand up. “Which begs the question: why are you here now? You’re not retiring at the moment, and by the time you do, you’ll have Lucas to take over. If he’s your pride and joy, why not mold him for the position?”
“You’re right, I’m not retiring just yet, but…and here’s the but you’re missing; I’d like to within a year. I want you in my life, Roe. Want to give you the place I should’ve years ago as my firstborn and heir.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “And while the rejection hurts, I know it’s my fault. I did this to our relationship.”
Those words bring tears to my eyes that I refuse to let fall, and I choke them back. “I don’t know what you want me to say or do, Dad.”
“I know.” Releasing my hand, he sits back and picks up his drink, taking a hearty sip. “Which is why I have a proposition for you.”
Mimicking his pose, I take a sip of my margarita. “A proposition?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.” I’m curious if nothing else.
“How would you feel about coming to Boston for a few days next month.” The word no is on the tip of my tongue and he notices this, shaking his head. “Before you shoot me down, hear me out.”
“Okay.”
“I’d like for you to come down and meet some people…see the business, and not just go by what you have in your head. There’s more to our name than the illicit side of things, Roe. Just give me a chance to show you that.”
“It’s a complete package. One doesn’t go without the other.”
“It does, but all I’m asking for is a few days of your time.”
“And if I say no?” I raise a brow in challenge.
He gives me a grimace. “I’m really hoping you don’t.”
“Why that face?”
“I have one more proposition if all else fails, and I know you won’t like it.”
“Then don’t ask me.”
“Just come to Boston with an open mind.”
Covet (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 2) Page 11
