Chapter 11

CLEO

A t some point, Alessio wandered back inside and disappeared into my bedroom.

I stood in the kitchen, back to him, as he stalked past me without saying a word.

The old floorboards creaked as he settled onto my bed.

For a moment, I imagined his beautiful, tight ass easing between my sheets.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the heated thoughts.

Yearning for him was out of the question.

That said, the man was infiltrating every corner of my cabin.

The signs of him being here were scattered, subtle but unmistakable.

His leather boots sat by the door, carelessly kicking off as he entered.

His large gym bag sat in the bedroom, his gear folded inside .

More of his clothes draped over the back of a chair, and a crumpled shirt lay abandoned on the floor beside his jeans.

On the nightstand, a watch—his, not mine—rested beside a half-drunk glass of water, and one of the paperbacks from my shelf he’d been reading sat with the pages bent at the corner.

In the outhouse, his stark blue toothbrush against my white one leaned casually in the cup by the sink.

His razor had found its place beside my makeup bag, and his sharp, woodsy cologne lingered in the air as if marking his territory without effort.

In the living room, a hoodie he had left behind was tossed across the arm of the couch, and his heavy and unfamiliar keys rested on the entrance table as though they had always been there.

These little pieces of him, unspoken signs of his presence, quietly claimed corners of my space.

Still, I couldn’t permit myself to get attached or used to his freakin’ disarming presence and sensual, scowling essence.

I had a goal I was working toward. No matter how tempting, I couldn’t allow Alessio’s existence to jeopardize everything I’d labored for.

He also needed rest to heal, and then he would be on his way out of my life as fast as he had burst into it.

So I let him be.

The remainder of the day yawned before me, empty and quiet.

Restless energy thrummed through my limbs. I had to keep busy and occupy my mind and hands.

Nabbing my wide-brimmed hat, I headed out the back door into the brilliant afternoon sunlight. The garden beckoned - overgrown vines to untangle, weeds sprouting among the vegetable rows, leaves to pluck from the towering tomato plants.

I lost myself in the work, relishing the feel of rich soil between my fingers, the sweet scent of herbs crushed beneath my knees.

Out here, I could breathe. The simplicity and solitude restored a measure of peace to my rattled nerves.

But even as I labored, my awareness remained attuned to the man sleeping in my bed, just beyond the weathered walls of the cabin.

His essence lingered like wood smoke on a breeze.

I couldn’t escape it, no matter how I tried to lose myself in the earth and toil of the plot.

Alessio had tilted my world on its axis, and I feared it would never right itself again.

The sun was starting to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, lengthening the shadows across the garden.

I sat back on my heels and surveyed my handiwork. It looked tidier, the plants standing tall and green, free from the choking embrace of weeds.

Satisfaction thrummed through me, the profound pleasure of hard work yielding tangible results.

I paused, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

I was aware I should return to the cabin, check on Alessio, and prepare dinner.

But a part of me hesitated, reluctant to face him again so soon after our earlier encounter. His words echoed in my mind.

The sincerity in his eyes and how he appeared to see straight through my soul’s high walls terrified me.

He had a way of stirring up emotions I’d thought long buried, the way he made me want things I couldn’t have.

With a sigh, I gathered my tools and headed back towards the cabin, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead.

I had to remember who I was and what I’d been through. I had to stay strong, no matter how much my heart might yearn for something more.

He was awake when I got inside.

This time, his shoulder was free of its brace, wrapped in a bandage.

He was seated on my couch, devastating and handsome, as he strummed the guitar once more.

Wordlessly, his eyes raked over me and my dirt-streaked face and overalls.

I tilted my head. ‘Hey.’

He jerked his chin, eyes dark, distant.

I set down my basket of fresh-picked vegetables on the kitchen counter.

Keep it together , I reminded myself, taking a steadying breath. Don’t let him get under your fuckin’ skin.

I headed to the sink and washed my hands, gathering my ingredients for dinner.

Yet I kept stealing glances at him.

He sensed my sneaky peeks and glanced up, lips curled.

‘You know, if you took a picture, it would last longer,’ he growled.

Under the flaming golden gaze was an unnerving heat. He appeared to see right through me.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the twitch of my mouth. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, rockstar. Just checking you weren’t about to keel over from all the hard work.’

He scoffed and set the guitar aside, standing up with a wince. ‘Your concern is touching, cara. But I assure you, I’m made of tougher stuff than that.’

I huffed and sliced my eyes from him as he sauntered to the kitchen, peering over my shoulder at the ingredients I was assembling.

He jerked his chin in question.

I was beginning to understand his language, his silent, gruff style of communicating.

I shrugged. ‘It’s a Moroccan chicken pie.’

‘From scratch dough?’

I hmmed in confirmation.

He curved his mouth and jerked his chin as if approving my choice.

I hunched my shoulders, self-conscious. ‘It’s something I picked up along the way. Helps me relax.’

Alessio assented, his eyes canting to the view. ‘I get that. My brothers and I love cooking too to release the strain of life.’

My lips quirked at his words, and for an instant, we stood there, looking at each other. It was strange, but at that moment, I felt a connection with him that went beyond mere physical attraction.

But the mood passed, and I shifted. ‘Well, don’t get too used to it. You’ll be on your way as soon as you’re healed, and I can return to my bliss-filled solitary existence.’

Alessio was quiet for a beat, and his voice was soft when he spoke. ‘Is that what you want, cara? To be alone forever?’

I stiffened, my hands clenching the dough under my fingers. ‘It’s what I need,’ I whispered. ‘It’s the only way I know how to survive.’

I turned back, ignoring him, as his presence left me.

As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, Alessio settled back onto the couch, picking up the guitar once more. His lean digits moved with deftness over the strings, coaxing a gentle tune that floated about me like a melodic caress.

He was improving, and the melody of his play was soothing as evening fell.

For a moment, I marveled at the strangeness of the situation. Here I was, a loner by nature and necessity, sharing my space with a near stranger—an irritatingly charming one, at that.

Despite my best efforts, I glanced at Alessio as he played. The way he danced over the cords and the concentration on his face as he lost himself in the tune were mesmerizing.

And infuriating.

Because as much as I wanted to hate him, to resent his intrusion into my solitude, I couldn’t. Not in entirety.

Underneath his gruffness was a warmth that scared me more than anything.

I’d spent so long building partitions, protecting my heart from betrayal lurking around every corner. The thought of letting someone in, of making me vulnerable again, was terrifying.

But as the sweet strains of Alessio’s guitar filled the cabin, the music washed over me, soothing the jagged edges of my soul.

My walls cracked a little. And for the first time in a sustained time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to be alone forever.

I willed myself to forget about my past, about the pain and the anger that had been my constant companions for so long .

Setting the dough aside to rise, I began chopping vegetables for my one-all-in-one savory pastry.

The rhythmic thunk of the knife against the cutting board helped to settle my nerves. The repetitive motions were soothing, and soon, the dish was ready.

After placing the pie in the oven, I cleared up and glanced over my shoulder at Alessio. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed as he lost himself in the music.

Sensing my gaze, he opened those leonine stunners, his lips curving. ‘Sit with me,’ he rasped, patting the space beside him on the couch.

I can’t let him in, I thought to myself.

He was dangerous. He’d destroy me and what was left of my living soul.

Besides, he appeared like a man who used and discarded women, and I was done with men who paid no heed to my heart.

No matter how sexy they were.

I hesitated, torn between the desire to keep my distance and the longing for human connection.

The latter won out, and I moved towards him, sinking onto the couch cushions.

Alessio continued to play, the melody shifting into something slower, more intimate. I relaxed, the tension draining away as I surrendered to the evocative sound.

This is dangerous, a voice in the back of my mind warned. You can’t let yourself get attached. You know how this ends.

But as Alessio’s shoulder brushed against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t care less.

I sighed, giving in to the present without the weight of my shitty past dragging me down .

And as the night deepened around us, the music weaving a spell of its own, my fantasies roamed wild.

Perhaps one day, I’d find happiness after all.

The savory aroma of the chicken and vegetable pie filled the cabin as I removed it from the oven.

Steam billowed from the golden-brown crust, and the fragrant blend of spices made my mouth water. I carried the dish to the table, where Alessio was already seated.

I cut into the pastry, serving a generous slice onto Alessio’s plate.

A groan of appreciation escaped his lips as he took his first mouthful.

‘Delizioso, cara,’ he growled.

I shrugged, ignoring how my heart fluttered at his praise.

‘It’s a pie,’ I said, taking a bite of my slice.

The flavors burst on my tongue, and the tender chicken and the complex blend of spices created a symphony of flavor.

He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. ‘It’s not any pie,’ he said, his voice timbered and intimate. ‘It’s a work of art like you.’

My cheeks heated, and I glanced away, focusing on my plate. ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I said, my tone harsher than intended.

‘What if I want to?’ Alessio rasped.

Silence fell as I stared at him and he at me.

‘What if I want to know about your hopes, dreams, fears, and joy? Whatever it takes to chase away the shadows in your eyes?’

You can’t, I wanted to say. You can’t fix me, can’t erase the scars that mar my soul.

I found myself wanting to believe him.

‘Then you’re a fool, for I’ve nothing to offer you.’

An emotion I couldn’t decipher flared in his eyes, and he pursed his lips. ‘Bene, do you, Cleo.’

I forced a smile, but it was brittle and false on my face. ‘I will,’ I lied.

Alessio fixed his eyes on the horizon, and for that, I was grateful. I wasn’t prepared to share my past with him and not primed to let him see the broken, damaged parts of my soul that I’d hidden away.

I wasn’t ready to be teased and rejected, used and misused.

I loved me, and that was sufficient, recalling how Nonna had often told me, ‘Baby, love yourself like you’re not waiting for someone else to do it.’

So why did I ache with need?

Why the fuck had Alessio Calibrese torn through me and given me a deep yearning for that which was not mine?

I was not ready, not for him, not for love.

Maybe someday, I thought, as I began to clear the dishes from the table. Perhaps one day, I’d be strong enough to permit a man to adore me, to let them into my hidden corners.

Not today.

Not him, especially.

Because I sensed he was the one man who’d detonate my world from within and eviscerate my heart and soul if I submitted to him.