Chapter 6

CHIARA

T he wine bar was small, dim-lit, and tucked away on a quiet street.

Rich, dark wood and shelves lined the walls, overflowing with bottles of the finest wines from Italy and the Neapolitan region.

A soft jazz tune floated through the air, the piano notes warm and inviting.

The faint aroma of aged oak and something sweet, like honeyed pears, wafted into my nostrils.

The intimate, almost secretive atmosphere invited one in to sink into sumptuous chairs and disappear, untouched by the outside world.

I slid onto a bar stool, ran my fingers along the cool marble countertop, and leaned in to order a glass of sin.

The bartender, Rossi, a rotund man with twinkling eyes renowned for being a kickass sommelier, lifted my chin, his eyes flicking over me to gauge my mood.

‘ Come stai ? Hard day?’ he muttered.

I nodded. ‘ è stata una giornata di merda ,’ describing my shit day. ‘Hit me with your best.’

He pursed his lips, producing a bottle he canted in my direction.

I jerked my chin in assent, weary, anxious, edgy.

Needing relief.

He poured me a generous measure of deep ruby wine that clung to the glass and promised to warm me from the inside out.

I took the first sip slowly, savoring how it rolled over my tongue, rich and bold.

For a moment, the world dulled as I savored the wine’s complexity—hints of dark cherry, a little smoke, and an earthy soft finish.

The bliss faded too fast, and the noise in my head returned, the thoughts I had been trying to drown creeping back in.

One glass wasn’t enough.

I motioned for another, my fingers tapping restlessly against the wine glass.

The second pour was as smooth and delicious, but with every sip, I discerned a tug of my conscience—to stop now? Or keep going?

The familiar warmth spread through me, loosening my worries and inhibitions. But with it came the worry.

Did I need that third pour?

I was well aware it might tip me off the edge.

It’d take me past the point of control, unravel me, back into the folds of my former darkness, and leave me vulnerable.

Yet I fuckin’ needed relief.

My hand was halfway raised for a top-up when I glimpsed a silhouette from the corner of my eye.

A man, seated at a small table not too far away, eyes on me.

I turned, meeting his gaze, and I jolted— Rio .

So freakin’ sensual with his aqua ice gaze burning over my skin and that ink on his neck, I itched to run my fingers over.

I tagged a flicker, a gleam in his eyes, a challenge.

I raised a brow.

He arched his.

I tilted my head and pursed my lips at him.

Still pissed at him, yet oh so intrigued.

I hooked a finger.

His tongue ran under his top lip. So seductive, so hot.

He stood up with fluid grace, moving toward me with an easy confidence I envied.

I raked my eyes over his impossibly handsome face, his walk.

His slight, almost imperceptible upturn of his lush lips.

This man.

I took a sharp breath to calm my racing heart.

He sat beside me without waiting for an invitation, commanding the space dividing us.

The air shifted around him, energized, crackling, and scented with the musk notes of his evocative cologne.

‘Have you come to save me from my sorry self?’ I asked, my voice hushed, hoarse, mocking.

He leaned in, his subtle simper widening a little. His pale eyes caught the subdued light from the bar, giving me a shiver.

‘Maybe,’ he rasped, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather.

I raised my glass halfway, hesitating, and the uncertainty and wariness created a divide between us. ‘Or perhaps you’re following me,’ I muttered, half to myself.

He chuckled, the timbred sound warm and unsettling at the same time. ‘Possibly both.’

I stared into my wine, my reflection distorted in the deep red liquid.

Then I looked up at him, at how calm and controlled he seemed, while I balanced on the edge of a precipice.

I sighed, unsure whether to thank or curse him for interrupting my descent. But somehow, with him so close, I noticed the pull toward that third glass starting to fade.

Not gone, but softer, like it wasn’t the only option anymore.

‘You always seem to have an uncanny sense of timing,’ I whispered, setting the goblet back down.

‘I do indeed,’ he replied, leaning back a little.

His eyes narrowed on me like they were waiting to see which version of me would surface next. ‘Thing is, will you accept the fact I’m fuckin’ good at what I do and hire me?’

I tossed my hair back and gave a husky laugh. ‘I don’t like men who beg.’

His eyes flashed with defiance.

‘Neither do I like being bullied or compelled into a decision.’

‘I’ll leave then,’ Rio growled, half rising from his chair.

I’d pissed him off.

He didn’t hide his annoyance, either. It was plain on his face. This man was not thwarted most of the time; he liked control, and I refused to hand it over to him.

I still wanted to dally, though.

At what, though? I wasn’t even sure myself.

‘Don’t go,’ I murmured, reaching for his arm. ‘How this night plays may sway my verdict.’

He shifted his sinewed, power-driven torso and canted his brow. ‘I don’t like games, Miss Tirone.’

His growl was like that of a beast, roused, irritable, and about to pounce. I found that I liked him that way. Beastly.

Fuck, I wanted to tame him.

‘Nor do I,’ I murmured, ‘but I appreciate certainty; I need to know I can trust you.’

‘So,’ he said, his voice lowering as he tilted his head, ‘what’s it going to be?’

I paused, fingers tracing the glass stem. The tension between us was as complex as the wine, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish it. ‘I guess I’ll find out.’

He angled his head. ‘Join me. Let’s get more comfortable. I find bar stools shit for intimacy.’

His grunt was deep, graveled, warm, fucking enticing as he gestured to the booth he’d vacated in the corner, inviting me.

‘Sit. I’ll order something to help soak up that wine.’

I hesitated but followed, sliding into the plush seat across from him.

The dim light above us cast soft shadows on his face, and he appeared relaxed, unaffected by the storm of emotion swirling in me.

He caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a simple sharing platter: bread, cheese, and olives. I welcomed the idea, keen for food to soak up the two glasses of wine I’d consumed.

‘How was your day?’ Rio asked after a moment, leaning back against the sumptuous leather of the booth.

His question seemed innocent enough, but it hit me with a more profound essence than expected.

I laughed, but there was no humor in it.

‘Wild as fuck,’ I admitted, the words pouring out before I had the chance to stop them. ‘It seems like everything’s slipping through my fingers. Like I’m in free fall, with my world falling apart, and I don’t know how to halt it. I need a lifeline I can hold on to.’

I paused, taking a moment, my voice dipping lower as my loneliness and sadness crept through. ‘I keep having life happen to me like I’m out of control.’

He didn’t respond right away - he listened, attentive, with those quiet, observant eyes.

It made me want to say more, even though I was barely acquainted with him.

Despite the menace, he’d an air to him, a solid grounding, like I could rest all my troubles on him. Somehow, he made the reality around me feel less overwhelming, like he’d kick ass and win no matter the situation.

The kind of energy I needed at this moment now.

Yet, at the same time, he unnerved me.

The push, pull, and dichotomy were doing a number on me.

I stopped talking, biting my lip, unsure what else to say.

The food arrived, and he motioned for me to eat, but I picked at it, too wrapped up in angst and the butterflies in my tummy.

The quiet hum of the bar faded into the background, the world narrowing to only the two of us. He sat calm and collected, watching me with those pale blue eyes—eyes that seemed to see right through me.

They were like icy pools, cold but burning with an intensity I tried but was unable to look away from.

My gaze drifted lower, tracing the sculpted contours of his jaw down to his mouth.

Those lips, sensual, full, made for kissing, for tasting, for sucking.

Heat pooled in my belly as my eyes wandered down to his neck. Dark pigment curled over his skin, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Like him, his tattoos showcased intricate, swirling lines hinting at something wild and untamed. I wanted to trace it with my fingers, follow it down his body, and see where it led.

My breath hitched as I imagined the designs continuing over his chest, his shoulders, maybe even lower.

‘How far does your ink go?’ I blurted.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that your excuse to see me nude, Chiara? To undress me, explore more?’

I glowered at him, yet the thought of peeling his shirt off, revealing the artwork beneath, sent a shiver down my spine.

My fingers itched to touch him, feel the heat of his skin under my hands, and examine the sinewed strength of his biceps—how they flexed with power, even in the simplest movement. I imagined those arms holding me, protecting me, possessing me.

Dio, what was I doing?

I was losing control, fantasizing about him right here in front of him, helpless, unable to stop.

My mind wandered further, imagining the bulk of his body over mine. His mouth on my neck, his hands roaming across my body, coaxing every veiled desire to the surface.

The thought of being so close to him, of surrendering to that deep, magnetic pull between us, made my heart race faster.

He shifted in his seat, and I snapped back to reality, swallowing hard.

His eyes still studied me as if sensing the storm of emotions I was trying to keep hidden.

A slow, knowing smirk spread over his lips, reading my mind and perceiving my thoughts.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I glanced away, attempting to focus on anything other than the tension crackling in the air separating us.

‘Are you OK?’

His utterance, a raw burr, held a hint of nuance in it now—a dangerous tone that matched the intensity sparking inside me.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice, afraid that if I spoke, I’d give too much away.

But the truth was, I wasn’t alright.

Not in the slightest.

He mesmerized me, drawn in like I’d never been before.

My body screamed at me to act on the fantasies swirling in my head, but my mind pulled me back, reminding me of the consequences.

He set his glass down as if reading my mind, leaning forward, his voice rough and raw, reacting to this feral, savage attraction like I was. ‘You’re dangerous, you know that?’

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips. ‘Dangerous enough to keep you away?’

‘No,’ Rio rasped, almost to himself. ‘Not dangerous enough.’

Still, as his hand brushed mine on the table, I had a wild tear—maybe losing control wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Before I thought better of it, I tilted in to meet him.

I moved closer, my lips grazing over his.

The kiss was initially soft and hesitant, but it soon heated up as our mouths melded, and a jolt, like lightning, ran through my veins.

I’d surprised him—I tagged it in the slight pause, how his body stiffened for just a second.

But then he responded, his lips moving on mine in a slow, deliberate, passionate, intimate rhythm.

It felt right in a way that scared me.

I moaned, and then he growled into my mouth.

He began to give me the kiss of my life.

The passion kicked in.

Lips hard, tongue wet, suckling deep, driving me delirious.

His hands, too, explored; one slid to my front, hand delving, diving, finding my left tit and plumping it.

The thumb worked my freaking tingling nipples through the lace of my bra and silk of my blouse.

His other hand stroked and glided up and down my spine.

The booth hid us and our wild petting with perfection in a darkened corner.

We melted into each other as his tipped wetness worked and thrust inside my mouth, and his fingers pinched my tits.

Never had I experienced such a wild sensation.

Hell, he tasted so divine.

The tingling began in my clit, heating scorching a line up to my nipples and my mouth, and then, with a gasp, I exploded.

Panicking while my body rocked through the wildest furor, I pushed my limbs together. Keeping my lips on his, my hands sunk in his hair, trying to cover up my bliss.

But it was impossible, and when he tore his mouth from me, he stared down at me as my chest heaved.

I panted, eyes tightly shut, thighs trembling as the waves of my orgasm engulfed me before finally ebbing away.

When I opened my eyes, he tilted his head in a question, the air thick with unspoken words.

Those pale eyes searched mine as heat crept into my cheeks.

I groaned, leaning back, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly embarrassed.

‘ Fotto !’ I muttered, running a hand through my hair. ‘You now think of me as some sfacciata .’

To his credit, he didn’t lean into my self-deprecation.

Instead, his gaze narrowed, brow arched. ‘Wouldn’t quite go as far as calling you a floozy,’ he drawled, eyes flicking on the movement of my fists through my untamed tresses. ‘You are wild though, Chiara Tirone.’

My face was heated and scorched, tears misting my eyes.

I stood up, grabbing my bag with clumsy shaking hands, the humiliation crashing like a wave over me. ‘I’ve got to go.’

My voice sounded rushed, panicked.

I fumbled in my purse, pulling a few notes and slamming them on the table. ‘For the drinks.’

Before he spoke, I was already moving.

I ran out of the bar, heels clicking, my heart pounding, cursing for letting things get out of hand.

Blaming the wine for my loss of inhibitions and myself for not having more control. Faulting him for being so fuckin’ sensual.

The cool night air hit my face as I stumbled onto the street, pulled out my phone, and summoned an Uber.

I kept glancing back at the entrance, half-expecting him to follow me, half-hoping he wouldn’t. The car arrived faster than I expected, and I slid into the backseat, my fingers shaking as I shut the door behind me.

As the Uber started pulling away, I glanced out the window and found him at the curb, eyes on me.

The streetlight framed his tall, muscled, lean silhouette. His hands were stuffed in his pants pockets. His expression was unreadable, his presence unmistakable.

I shivered, fighting the uncanny tug in my chest like something had connected us in a way I was unable to explain. I tore my gaze away, sinking back into the seat, my mind racing, my heart fluttering.

My mouth tingled with the ghost of his on me, soft yet firm, like he knew what it took to make me melt but had been holding back.

I wondered what would happen if he’d not held back—if I hadn’t fled.

Without his arms around me, the night seemed colder.

All I thought about was how his lips had glided against mine—my soul awash with regret that I might never feel them again.