Chapter 6

CLEO

I lived alone, and I liked it.

I adored the isolation of the mountains I sheltered in, the quiet, the freakin’ peace.

Secluded, away from the world that wanted to tear me apart.

I wondered how Alessio would survive without the luxuries I assumed he was used to.

For all his pushy as fuck, gruff, and downright crude ways, he still had an air of sophistication and wealth.

He was probably accustomed to gilded bathrooms, king-size beds, and crystal chandeliers.

None of which was on offer here.

It was a simple life.

How would he react to the fact that all clothes were washed in a creek and that the toilet was of the composting variety?

There was no running water nor electricity, just a tiny generator hooked up to my solar farm, a tank reservoir, and a fireplace.

His potential reaction rankled me as I imagined how he’d judge me and my eked-out existence.

For I’d never shared this roof with anyone other than my grandparents.

Alessio Calibrese was intimidating, no doubt.

His furrowed brow was daunting, eyes often narrowed and intense, scanning the room for probable threats.

His leonine hair and eyes afforded him the look of a sultry golden devil. Yet I sensed his soul and spirit were craggy as a granite cliff and rough as the sea carving its jagged edges.

The fact he was holding Nonna Guilia over me as a threat bestowed him with a layer of underlying danger and unpredictability that sent shivers down my spine.

My worry ratcheted for my grandmother and myself as the makings of a panic attack fluttered in my chest.

Taking a deep inhale as I eased out my front door away from him, I vowed not to let yet another man own me, my thoughts and soul.

I jumped on my ATV and rode the length of my farm’s border on a perimeter check.

I headed east of the property, where the Conti farm lay. Also where, a local mafia militia, the Caputos, had commandeered the holding and turned it into hemp fields.

Desperate for real estate where they could conduct illicit operations like theirs, the ruthless gang had made properties in the area an easy target.

Unless one patrolled their land on a regular basis, they’d find the mafia group had taken over with their shitty illegal crop. The few farmers who’d protested had been subject to harassment, mysterious fires, and livestock killings.

For some reason, they’d kept away from my property, perhaps due to a mandate from Franco.

Still, the Conti sons harassed me, attacking my fences and trees, sabotaging my windmills, and making my daily life a constant worry as they tried to wear me down. So, I’d give in to their demands.

I’d repelled them so far with a tight security setup. However, it was difficult for me to monitor the entire acreage.

I could only be in one place at once, after all.

While cameras and alarms worked for urban properties, farms needed more.

My spread had one too many hard-to-reach corners that required a connection to power to work.

Electricity cabling was too damn expensive to install over vast land, and trespassers in the past had taken full advantage of these blind spots.

So, a few months ago, I’d stretched my budget and invested in solar.

Thank the gods that sunshine was abundant in Australia. I’d installed photovoltaic panels linked to an electrified fence and a network of cameras. I’d also rigged rechargeable batteries to a CCTV system to record and store footage.

A WiFi signal alerted me of suspicious activity, and I could view live video on a monitor in my shed.

Still, nothing was comparable to inspecting my fence lines in person, searching for signs of ingress or broken hedge posts.

An hour later, I returned to the cabin, where I inspected the alarms in all my outhouses and buildings in the storage barn, which also served as my office.

Nothing stood out, and I sighed in relief.

I eased into my cottage and checked on my unexpected guest.

He lay in bed, eyes half-mast, chest bare.

I paused at my bedroom door, and we stared at each other for a beat.

‘I regret to inform you I’m still alive,’ he drawled, eyes simmering with an indecipherable gleam.

In irritation, I pushed my tongue into my cheek and moved away, not trusting myself to speak.

I brought him a plate of sandwiches, fruit, and tea.

He jerked his chin in appreciation, picking at the offering, using his free hand to bring the infusion to those sensual lips.

My eyes flicked to his weapon, which sat on the bedside table closest to him, a reminder he was not just any guest but of the lethal variety.

Fleeing him, I tidied the kitchen and living area, and he sipped, eyes on me, following me with a flaming gaze that sliced through me with a crawling awareness.

He remained silent, as did I.

I tried ignoring him, but we exchanged fleeting glances, our gazes colliding across my cabin.

Like wild polarities clashing and repelling.

His overwhelming magnetism dominated my tiny home, and I was hit with a stab of panic. My anxiety was compounded by the fear of what he might be capable of with his sizable strength.

Despite my growing angst at his presence, I was also overcome with traitorous need. Wondering how it’d feel to have his sinewed arms around me, his sensual mouth on mine, his hips driving into me .

Fuck, was I that sex-starved? I had to escape him.

I needed bandages, more supplies to redress his wounds, and more food, milk, and meat for my freezer because, given his size, he’d require a good feed.

Just after 1 p.m., I decided I had enough time to run into Moss Vale, where I’d find the closest pharmacy.

I peeked into my room and found he’d slipped into sleep.

Relieved I didn’t have to speak to him, I wrote a note and propped it on the pillow beside his golden mane.

I also left a fresh carafe of water, a thermos of tea, shortbread, fruit, and painkillers on the side table beside him.

Uneasiness gnawed at me, knowing I was leaving a stranger in my home. But I had no choice but to sneak into town for the supplies necessary to take care of him.

I hoped he wouldn’t wake, miss my message, and assume I’d run from him.

Somehow, I sensed he’d move heaven and earth to find me, with a wrath I’d never recover from.

I hated crowds, cities, inquisitive eyes, and needless attention.

But needs must.

Even though I dreaded the drive and, even more, being spotted by curious onlookers, I tracked to my old beat-up Toyota Hilux parked in the shed.

For a moment, I stared at my unwanted guest’s brand-new, sparkling V8 luxury 4X4 with some longing, then shrugged.

It’d bring me too much scrutiny I didn’t need.

My old, reliable truck, Sugar, was a rough and noisy ride, but it was also the least obtrusive option.

After a quick thought, I opened the trunk of Alessio’s 4X4 and pulled out a shotgun and bullets from his extensive ammo collection. Placing them in my front seat, next to me, in case of any trouble.

I reversed out of the barn, locked up, and headed outside my property after checking and rechecking every lock and gate.

The roads were dusty, and the ute bounced along, the drive shitty from its lack of shock absorbers.

Still, the scenery made up for it.

As I navigated the winding route, the winter sun illuminated a lush, foliage-covered landscape that was only distinctive to Australia.

It was June, and the outback grasslands had just cast off their morning frost.

Houses and farms dotted the countryside, livestock grazed in paddocks, and wild kangaroos hopped across fields.

The trees were in the wane of autumn, but their pretty orange and red leaves still created bursts of color through the green panorama.

My rural life gave me the space to rebuild my life from scratch. For the most, I’d remained unobserved, finding the solitude I needed to keep the past at bay.

A privacy I guarded, avoiding cities and towns as much as possible.

Not by choice but necessity, I sighed as Moss Vale came into view within an hour.

I headed to a small village at the edge of the borough, on a quaint street with petite shops and eateries scattered along it.

In recent years, the country town has become fashionable, offering stunning lifestyle stores, fab cafes and restaurants, and a popular tap house. All of which had attracted a robust, creative community of former city dwellers.

I pulled into the pharmacy’s parking lot, threw my hoodie over my hair, ducked as I sidled inside, and grabbed a shopping cart.

While I did, I avoided all contact with my fellow humans.

I’ll always be a freak, a grumpy freak , I told myself as I hankered down and strode through the aisles.

I was way up on the scale. Somewhere between Angela Bassett’s Queen Ramonda in Black Panther and Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley from Aliens with a touch of Florence Pugh’s Alice in ‘Don’t Worry Darling.’

I’d never been ‘fun’.

That’s because nothing in my life had been a laugh.

What irked me was that nearly all souls in the locale were apprised of my past and tribulations.

Which made every trip to Moss Vale a pain in the fuckin’ ass; most all times, I spent them gritting my teeth, jaw clenched to stop myself from thwacking the curious locals over the head with their umbrellas.

Whenever they saw me and recognized me, they stared.

Then came the avalanche of questions and the pitying half-smiles.

So, to avoid them all, I power-walked like a booted missile, bobbing and weaving through crowds with heated intent.

I refused to meet other shoppers’ eyes, guarding my privacy with a fierceness born out of necessity over the years.

However, my inconspicuous ingress soon ended in the medical supplies aisle.

‘Cleo, is that you?’ a woman’s voice called out.

I groaned on the inside.

I turned around, my heart pounding.

‘Hey, Angie,’ I answered, facing the bubbly, short blonde woman with sparkling blue eyes who stood at the makeup station with an eyeliner wand.

‘I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?’ she asked, her curiosity evident.

I forced a smile. ‘I’ve been good. Just busy with work and taking care of the property.’

She nodded, understanding the overwhelming nature of our lives. ‘Oh my, I haven’t visited the old place in months. We need to plan a catch-up so I can see how you’re going.’

There was a light in her eyes, a strand of sympathy in her voice that I hated.

She meant well, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d be trapped by her concern, pity, and the gossip in this town. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

‘I haven’t seen you since you got back from where was it again -‘?’

‘Sydney,’ I proffered, trying to mask my annoyance.

‘Why’d you go?’

Her utterance carried, and I sensed several eyes turn my way.

Angie wasn’t a bad person.

She was one of a handful of women closest to my age who lived my way, which meant a homestead a few hundred klicks from me - in this part of the world.

Her father and other townspeople had convinced me to invest in a solar farm and wind turbine initiative .

I’d also qualified for a very generous grant to install the windmills.

Now, the spinning shadows of the 50-meter-long blades sweep across the north of my property at sunset.

The eco-farm had made good money, feeding power into the grid and bringing me a tidy income for which I was grateful.

However, the meetings of its shareholders always left me in tatters. People needled me about my life and my dating status and gave me those narrowed eyes, asking if I was doing OK after ‘all of that.’

The reference was to a traumatic start to my life, fifteen years of my life I’d rather not have experienced.

My inadvertent background, which I’d preferred to have forgotten, added to my shame.

Everyone in this town appeared keen on my business, making me feel under a microscope. I’d avoided meetings for over a year now, unable to face the world.

I shrugged and chose silence.

‘Like tell me, where were you?’ she insisted.

I’d been in the city, nosing around the libraries and courts, trying to find out when Franco would be released from maximum jail.

He was my cause and also my utmost fear.

I knew he was returning anytime, but I’d hoped to get a date from my last excursion to his jailhouse.

I’d had to quit my waitress gig in Moss Vale and eat into my savings to fund the travel to Sydney’s Silverwater Correctional Prison.

Where I’d been fobbed off at the office.

Worse still, I’d come back with no answers.

Bereft, I’d hunkered down on the farm.

‘I took a much-needed trip,’ I admitted, my tone clipped.

It had to be freakin’ enough to shut her down.

It wasn’t.

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she replied, her smile widening. ‘Any sightseeing?’

Damn, would this agony ever end?

‘No.’

When I lapsed into silence, Angie gave an awkward, tremulous beam.

I widened my eyes and tilted my head, shutting down, not wishing to discuss it further.

She didn’t get the memo.

Instead, she leaned in, eyes narrowed, lips pouting in conspiratorial curiosity. ‘Go on, Cleo, what were you up to? Please, I won’t share it with a soul.’

There was a rationale for why I’d ghosted Angie over the last few months.

She gossiped too much, and I’d become fodder for her stories.

At that moment, the store’s aisles closed in, and the weariness from a restless night and my nagging worry about Alessio all hit at once. ‘Let it fuckin’ go, Ang.’

A gasp sounded to our right, and I glanced up, only to lock eyes with a woman who stood by clutching her pearls.

‘How dare you, Cleo? Cursing? Is this how low you’ve sunk?’

I was beset with immediate regret as Angie’s mother caught me red-handed in my tantrum. ‘Mrs Davis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just -.’

Her face softened at my obvious discomfort. ‘How are you?’

Yet another person extending their pity toward me .

I pushed back my shoulders, met her gaze, and jerked my chin. ‘I’m well.’

‘I see I need to drop by with some cooking and maybe a cake or two -‘ she rambled on, her eyes flicking over my form. ‘You’re too thin.’

I’d had enough. ‘Nice to see you both,’ I mumbled. ‘I’ve got to go.’

The pair waved at me, their faces incredulous, as I turned away, palms sweaty as I procured the supplies I needed from the shelf.

The daughter-mum duo sidled away as I let out a huff of relief.

Working fast, I filled my shopping basket.

Antibiotic ointment, sterile bandages, disinfectant, and pain relievers.

Next, I strode to the local butcher to purchase more meat.

Followed by the grocer for additional staples and sundries—enough to stock my pantry for two weeks—with extra provisions for my unexpected guest.

When I’d ticked all the items on my list, I pulled my jacket close and hopped into the truck’s cabin.

It was getting to mid-winter, and the chill that fell from about 3 p.m. was setting in.

I drove fast, unwilling to have darkness fall while I was still on my way home.

I got to the cabin just as the last light sank behind the hills and slowed at the sight of the reflection off the turbines during sunset.

It was stunning.

Serenaded by the distant whoosh of the windmill blades, which sometimes sounded like the ocean, I eased the ute back into the shed, locked it up, and went inside.

A glance into the bedroom told me that Alessio was still asleep.

I sighed in relief, not quite ready to deal with all of him.

Making as little racket as possible, I set the supplies on my kitchen table.

All I wanted to do was finish my chores for the day, stoke the fire, and prep a light dinner.

If my guest slept through the night, I planned to enjoy my meal with a glass of wine, feet toasty under a blanket on my cherished chaise lounge, reading the next installment in my favorite thriller series.

I’d just placed the crusty loaf of bread I’d baked before on the cutting board when I caught a slight noise.

Without warning, I was lifted and thrown against a wall of hard, solid muscle to my rear.

A hand went over my airways, and another twisted one hand behind my back,

I struggled, kicked, and writhed; I tried to pry his hand away from my mouth and nose, to no avail.

The grip on me was too firm.

I recalled the size of this man and the sheer menace I’d tagged on him when I first spotted him.

He’d overpowered me, and I realized it’d be pointless to fight him.

So I sagged against him in submission.

‘Alessio, it’s Cleo,’ I croaked, my voice muted under the pressure of his hand.

He hesitated, withdrew his hand from my face, and released me.

I spun around, putting my hands up in mock surrender.

‘Calibrese, why do we keep meeting this way?’ I said with a biting edge.

That’s when I noted his eyes were reddened, hot, and dilated.

He pulsed with heat.

Damn, he had a fever which was most likely scrambling his senses.

‘Fotto,’ he breathed, reaching to clutch the back of my sofa.

‘Park yourself on the couch,’ I urged. ‘I’ve got your meds. Let’s start with something to bring down that temperature.’

He nodded his head, and I tagged the tension in his body. ‘I feel like shit.’

I assented, feeling a momentary compassion for him. ‘All good. I’ll get you some water to drink. Sit.’

He eyed me with wariness but jerked his head, settling into the lounge.

I handed him a glass and two pills, which he chugged down with greedy thirst.

‘Scusa, cara, for manhandling you,’ he growled after a beat. ‘I was hallucinating for a moment. I thought you were some intruder.’

‘You’ve had a hit to the back of your head,’ I said with some reluctance, ‘perhaps you need to see a doctor. It could be a concussion. ’

‘Fuck no,’ he snarled. ‘It’ll bring us heat we don’t need. It’s you and me, woman.’

I conceded with a shrug. ‘Your funeral. At least let me check on your injuries?’

‘Bene,’ he rasped.

I rose and approached him, bending over his seated form.

I plumped and set some soft pillows behind him so he’d be comfortable.

Then I got to work.

Silence fell between us, thick and unyielding, as I busied myself with unraveling my initial bandages and cleaning up any mess in his wound.

I observed that he was healing well, and I attributed the fast recovery to his freakish fitness, evidenced in his bunched muscles and sinewed bulk.

His eyes never left me as I wrapped him up.

They raked over my face, my shoulders, even my tits, unabashed.

The color shifted from gold to amber and yellow, and even a flaming coppery russet was unusual, but apart from tiny sneak peeks, I refused to meet his eyes.

With the last of the bandages secured, I patted his healthy shoulder. ‘You’re all done.’

Eyes still dilated, and out of focus, he lifted a hand to stroke my cheek.

I flinched and stepped back, creating a physical distance to match the emotional chasm that had formed.

His hand dropped, even as his lips curled at my reaction to him.

‘So where are we sleeping tonight?’

‘We? ’

‘Si,’ he rasped. ‘You and I,’ he continued, unabashed, as if we were discussing the weather rather than an invasion of my private space.

Still, I tagged a gleam in his eyes.

Was the fucker flirting with me? Or was the fever scrambling his mind?

‘What the actual hell?’ I whispered.

My vocalization only served to heat him further.

His gruff mask fell away, and in place was a sensual, brooding vibe, complete with roaming, scorching eyes, all over me, undressing me.

Damn, he was brazen.

‘Are the painkillers doing a number on you?’ I snapped, letting my annoyance at him leak through.

‘Temperare, woman,’ he drawled, enunciating the ‘r’s’ with a rolled inflection.

I bristled. ‘I don’t have a temper, but I do have a quick reaction when it comes to bullshit, Calibrese. So turn down whatever the fuck you’re trying to dial up.’

He tilted his head with an arch of his brow.

‘Calma,’ he murmured, easing into his native Italian with a rasped tone. ‘I’m just aiming to get acquainted with my bedmate for the evening.’

His voice was laced with an undertone that made my blood simmer.

‘Just endeavoring to understand who I’ll share dreams with tonight.’

His words hung in the air, a cloud of presumption that filled the tiny room.

My hands balled into fists at my sides.

With every guttural growl and sardonic lift of his eyebrow, he trampled over social niceties as though they were nothing but dust beneath his feet.

My glare bore into the table’s wood grain, wishing it were his smug face.

His audacity was astounding.

Here I was, offering sanctuary - albeit under duress - to a man with more secrets than sense, with the nerve to presume there was more on offer.

I gnashed my teeth so tight it hurt. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

He twisted his lips, his eyes glittering with an indiscernible gleam. ‘It has been said more than one time.’

I huffed in annoyance. ‘You’ll take my bed. I’ll couch it,’ I muttered.

He knifed up, groaning at the fast movement. ‘Fotto! Blood rush.’

Shaking his leonine head to clear the sensation, he clenched his jaw and leaned into me, propping himself up with a wince. ‘No, I won’t take your bed. In my world, women are goddesses. They never sleep on the floor or sofa.’

Despite the sultry deliverance of his words, his expression was loaded with cold menace.

This was a man not used to being defied.

I served him with equal fire. ‘I’m not in your realm, so whatever you say is irrelevant. Besides, you have to rest and take care of your wounds. So you can be on your way sooner. Savvy?’

His eyes narrowed, and then that gold-tipped brow rose, and his lips curved, stabbing my chest again with need. ‘Have it your way, cara, for now. But know this: I’m never wrong; you’ll soon want your bed with me in it. You’ll be fuckin’ begging for it.’