Jesus.
Elena’s papà stood three feet away, though he was too deep in conversation to have heard.
“Gianna,” I warned.
“What? It’s what you were thinking.”
“And what am I thinking right now?” Gianna thought she was clairvoyant when she was high, which was a lot of the time.
She pursed her lips. “That you want to strangle me.”
My brows rose in accord as I took a drink of whiskey.
“I don’t understand how I had sex with you,” she said, observing the party with a sigh.
I didn’t either, though I could only feel relieved that she’d been the one to start it. Truthfully, we’d been so drunk, there was hardly a memory to go with the deed.
My gaze landed on Tony, who appeared to be getting talked down to by his mamma. It was only a diverting amusement that he’d brought Jenny, who was currently trying to sell my aunt Mary Kay.
Gianna began to drift away, but before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed her arm and asked, “And why would it be such a bad idea?”
I didn’t look at her, but I felt her sad smile.
“Because you’ll fall in love with her,” she said. “And she won’t love you back.”
The chatter was low, Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling In Love a little quieter. The soft lighting sparkled off the glass view of the city, and Nicolas’s black-suited form only highlighted it as he stood near the bar.
I didn’t know how it had happened, but I was drunk. Lolled into a sense of warmth and complacency, and I couldn’t stop myself from heading toward what had to be a gentleman. The problem was, if I stopped to ask this one for help, he’d most likely take advantage of me. Or maybe that was only wishful thinking . . . He’d probably only give me a rude stare.
“I didn’t expect you to like Elvis Presley.”
I was assuming just because I could.
Nicolas glanced at me with a half-lidded amber gaze that always sent my pulse racing. “Every time you’ve assumed, you’ve been wrong.”
I took the remaining steps toward him, eating up the electricity that spanned between us with each click of my heels. “That’s not true.”
I stood by his side, perusing the liquor decanters. Close enough my shoulder brushed his chest. Close enough my skin danced with awareness.
“Yeah? Then what have you gotten right?”
I reached across him for the gin, pretending that my arm grazing his didn’t affect me at all, when in reality it sent a rush of warmth low in my stomach. “I assumed from day one that you were an asshole, and I was right.” I paused with my hand on the decanter, not believing that had come out of my mouth.
A hint of a sly smile pulled at his lips, almost as if he was thinking about something inappropriate. “Is that the first time you’ve said asshole?”
“Yeah. Did I use it right?” I tugged off the lid and poured some liquor into my glass.
“Could’ve been better.”
I frowned, a little affronted. The first time I used a curse word to insult someone and it was lame? Maybe I didn’t have it in me. I glanced at him, and a sudden wave of shyness overcame me when I noticed he’d been watching me.
“How so?” I added some tonic water and lime to my glass.
“It was pretty unmoving.” He had one hand in his pocket, while the other brought his glass to his lips as he looked around the room.
“How would Nicolas Russo do it, then?”
His gaze settled on mine. “If I was going to insult you, I’d make sure to leave you thinking about it for a while.”
I stirred my drink, feeling like stirring up something else. “So show me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want me to insult you?”
I nodded, took a sip, and then licked the gin off my lips. My breath turned shallow when his gaze fell to my mouth and darkened.
“Thought I did that yesterday.”
“Really? I’ve already forgotten.”
The tiniest bit of amusement crossed his expression, and he ran his tongue across his teeth, a calculating stare coasting around the room. We were sort of secluded, the guests closest to us having their backs turned. Although, when I was in his presence it always felt like we were alone.
He shook his head. “I’m not going to insult you.”
“Why? Are you acting like a gentleman tonight?”
“Nah. Just don’t care to.”
I scoffed. “That’s because you don’t have a good one—”
A breath of shock escaped me when his rough palm gripped the side of my throat and he pulled me to him. His lips pressed against my ear.
“You look like a slut in that dress, Elena.”
A violent shudder rolled through me.
My eyes closed as his warm, masculine scent sank through my skin and sent a hum through my veins.
His words softened. “Only good for one thing, and it’s not running your pretty little mouth.”
I couldn’t breathe with his body pressed against my side, his dirty, insulting words in my ear. He ran a thumb down the goose bumps on the back of my neck, and then his grip was gone. I stared blankly as he grabbed his drink and walked away, leaving me with a parting word.
“That’s how I would do it.”
“You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars.”
—Gary Allan
“MAMMA, DOES THIS DRESS MAKE me look . . . easy?”
My mother sipped her cocktail with a straw, a crease forming between her brows. “Well, cara mia . . . you did sleep with a man you couldn’t have known very well.”
“Mamma!” Adriana scolded.
There were few moments in my life when my mother and sister’s roles switched, but it had happened.
“I didn’t ask if I was easy. I asked if I looked easy,” I sighed.
The truth was, this dress was tight. And by “tight” I mean that I didn’t try it on at the store and when I finally got around to putting it on it fit two sizes too small. But it was just too pretty to stay in my closet.
“You don’t look easy, Elena,” Adriana assured.
Benito sat next to her on the couch, his arm resting across the back. He gave my dress a cautious expression and scratched his jaw. “Well . . .”
“Ugh, just forget it.”
I headed through the throng of people toward the patio area and pool. The chatter dissipated as I walked out the double doors and into a hot, still night. The terrace was empty; the only company tall buildings and their yellow lights filling the horizon.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced at the nighttime sky. “No stars,” I said quietly. I had a feeling they would be visible at Nicolas’s red brick house.
“Scorpius.” The voice was cool.
Christian’s presence brushed my side as he came to stand beside me. “Scorpius is there.” He nodded to where my gaze was focused, with a flat gray sky staring back.
“And there?” I pointed a little to the left.
A small smile pulled on his lips. “Aquila.”
I had a feeling he could name every constellation and each star they were made up of. It suddenly felt like he was completely out of my league. Cop or not.
A sigh escaped my lips. My head was light, my inhibitions unhindered by the alcohol I’d consumed.
“Don’t enjoy parties?” he asked.
“No, I do. Honestly, I’m shallow in that regard.”
He laughed. The sound was deep and rough, and a shiver coasted down my spine. He even laughed like an Adonis.
“How do you know so much about the stars?” I asked.
“Grew up in an old farmhouse in Iowa. Sometimes there was nothing to do but stare at the sky. Got tired of not knowing what I was looking at.”
“Well, that was a decent explanation, but it was a lie. Try again.”
I blinked. That would have never come out of my mouth a year ago. I would have accepted the lie and moved on. Maybe I only needed to become an alcoholic for the cou
rage to free myself from my childhood chains.
I saw the tiniest smile out of the corner of my eye. “Studied astronomy abroad. Wanted to impress French girls right into my bed.”
“Even more unbelievable. Have you seen yourself?” With that face, this man wouldn’t have to impress anyone.
Another smile. “How did you know the first one was wrong?”
“You’re colder than the Arctic. You don’t become that way in a friendly small town. That’s city living, most likely on your own. No wonder you found yourself on the wrong side of the law.”
Small shake of his head. “Heard a lot about you, Elena Abelli. Can’t say you’re what I was expecting.”
I didn’t even want to know what this man had heard about me. I seemed to be a popular subject, and I didn’t believe it was for any good reason.
“Haven’t you heard? Assuming will only get you killed.”
“Sounds right out of Ace’s handbook,” he said wryly.
A sliver of uncertainty curled in my chest. He knew there was something going on between Nicolas and me, though I didn’t know what myself. What a twisted web I was tangled in.
“Christian, do you drink?”
“I do.”
“I’m going to use the ladies’ room and then make one. What would you like?” I finally looked from the sky to him. Wide shoulders in a navy blue suit outlined the brightly lit horizon.
His presence was comfortable but distant, like he stood on a different terrace another world away. His gaze met mine, and I waited for that zing of chemistry to settle in, but all I felt was scrutinized by icy blue eyes in a handsome face full of secrets.
He ran a thumb over his watch, in a thoughtful tic I’d noticed he had. “I’ll get the drinks and meet you back out here.”
His gaze flicked to the left and so did mine. My papà watched us through the glass in the living room, not with caution but interest. All of a sudden, I knew. This had been set up.
Disappointment sank like lead in my stomach. I wanted control of some things in my life—this conversation one of them—but as my papà gave me a “behave” expression, I knew it had all been contrived.
Although, if Papà was considering Christian, that meant he hadn’t settled on Oscar Perez. The possibility released some of the pressure closing in on me. I would take Christian over that creep any day.
“That sounds great.” I smiled the Sweet Abelli smile.
Feeling tipsy, with too many thoughts on my mind, I headed inside. My feet froze when I saw Nicolas leaning against the hallway wall. One hand was in his pocket while the other held a cigarette he played between his fingers. He wore an expression most people would run from.
I had no choice but to walk past him, so I swallowed, and then forced one foot in front of the other when I wanted to head in the opposite direction.
His gaze burned as it followed my every step. My heart raced, and I prayed for anyone to step around the low wall and save me from this man.
My skin danced with unease as I walked by him, but apparently, he was only trying to kill me with his expression because he didn’t say a word. His silence seemed to be worse than his demands; at least I knew his intentions then. Once I’d made my way past him, I stopped, turned, and snapped, “What?”
“What did I tell you about Christian, Elena?” His voice was low and calm, but it carried a deadly edge.
I hadn’t considered his current mood could be due to the fact I was talking to Christian on the terrace. We’d only been speaking, and in view of everyone. Was he serious?
“I don’t know. I must have missed it.” My response was sarcastic, and he didn’t like it at all if his narrowed gaze was anything to go by.
“Then let me remind you. Stay the fuck away from him.”
“I told you before, and I’ll say it again: I’m an Abelli, not a Russo. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I’m growing tired of you not showing me the respect a don is due,” he bit out.
“And I’m fucking tired of men!”
His gaze grew lethal. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
I couldn’t believe what I had said, but I was drunk, frustrated, and just damn tired of trying to force myself not to feel a certain way. I could still taste the curse word on my tongue and it felt strange, sinful, liberating.
“No Christian.”
Two words. He expected me to listen to those two commanding words.
I shook my head. In my mind, it was Christian or Oscar. The easiest decision I’d ever had to make.
“No.”
He slipped the cigarette in his pocket, and my pulse leapt when he took a step toward me.
I backed up and was only aided when a soft yet consuming grip came to my throat and he lightly pushed me. I fell back a step until I hit the wall. It was an aggressive move, but the way he did it so gently, so absolutely, made something flutter in my chest and spread throughout my body. Want. Need.
He stepped closer until his vest brushed my dress, and my breasts tightened in anticipation. I couldn’t breathe with him so close, his hand around my throat, and the idea that anyone could come down this hall. People were drinking; they’d have to use the restroom.
He braced a palm on the wall beside me, and I’d never felt so consumed in my life. His head lowered, lightly resting on top of mine.
What is happening?
My heart burned.
“Nicolas,” I breathed. “This is inappropriate.”
His thumb caressed my neck, causing my pulse to hitch.
“Platonic,” he rasped.
My insides melted, my lips parted, and my vision grew hazy. I wanted to taste that word straight from his mouth. A laugh from around the wall filtered through the buzz in my ears. I shook my head to clear it, but his face was so close to mine I couldn’t think.
“No,” I panted. “It’s not. Please let me go.”
“No. Christian.” His tone wasn’t nice, even though his touch remained so. It was a strange play on my senses.
And then I realized what this was.
Blackmail.
He was going to hold me here until I complied. He knew being caught like this would unnerve me more than it ever would him because of my past.
Frustration tightened in my lungs. The longer we stood here—him holding me in an intimate way—the further the panic spread through my blood, itching and chafing. I pushed against his chest in a last-ditch effort, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.
“Okay,” I whispered. “No Christian.”
He must have been satisfied with my answer, because he stepped back.
A second later, someone came around the corner. Ice crawled up my throat. Benito stopped when he saw us, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Nicolas and I stood a couple feet apart now, though we were both alone, and my wide doe eyes had to give everything away. I forced a smile, and Nicolas gave my cousin a look of dark indifference before I sprinted into the bathroom.
Leaning against the door, I exhaled a breath of relief.
I was not going to marry Oscar Perez.
Now that I knew there was an out, I let myself hope for the best. And I wasn’t going to lose the chance because of Nicolas Russo.
I used the restroom, went straight to the terrace beside the pool, took my gin and tonic from Christian, who must have noticed I liked them—a good quality in a man—and swallowed a large drink for courage.
Then I talked to him. Animatedly. Like it was 100 percent my choice and not done by my father’s interference. Like I hadn’t gotten blackmailed not to.
Christian was amused by it all, appearing to know everything I did, and I wouldn’t doubt it. He was perceptive, and hot. He only got hotter the more I drank, but, for some illogical reason, I couldn’t push Nicolas out of my mind for a second. I was continually aware of his presence, even with this insanely attractive man’s avid attention.
My gaze caught on Nicolas’s through the glass. He watched me, his hands in
his pockets, while talking to Luca. His expression was unexpected: indifferent and calm. Like the exchange in the hall hadn’t happened.
What a confusing man.
He’d told me he didn’t bluff, and unfortunately, I would soon learn he really didn’t.
Five minutes later, my cheeks felt hot from my fifth drink of the night, and I was beginning to think I’d imagined Nicolas’s temper as well. Christian was easy to talk to, though I wondered how much of what he said was the truth. I listened as he told me about a cabin he owned in the Rockies, where the stars were incredibly bright.
“Sounds beautiful,” I commented. “I would love to see it.”
“See what?”
My shoulders tensed at Nicolas’s deep voice behind my back.
“My cabin in Colorado,” Christian responded, while I said, “None of your business,” at the same time.
“You sound angry, Elena.” Nicolas’s voice was tainted with something dangerous. “Maybe you should cool off.”
My brows knitted. “What? No—”
I never got to finish what I had to say.
Because, with one hand on my side, Nicolas pushed me into the pool.
“What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out.”
—Alfred Hitchcock
WHILE I CLIMBED OUT OF the pool, soaking wet, they stood a foot apart staring at one another.
Christian’s lips tipped up as he brought his drink to his mouth, but his gaze never left Nico’s.
“Elena!” Mamma gasped, running onto the patio. “What happened?”
Everyone’s eyes touched my skin through the glass, and it felt like I was on display at the zoo.
My teeth clenched. “I fell.”
“Madonna! How much have you drunk?”
“Apparently more than I thought,” I muttered.
Her hesitant gaze ran to Nicolas and Christian, who were the two most ungentlemanly men I’d ever met—the former for pushing me into the pool, and the latter for not helping me out.
Gianna came rushing outside with a towel, and Christian flicked a slow gaze to her over his glass, like the glance was equal parts involuntary and unwanted.
The Sweetest Oblivion Page 16
