Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MATTEO

I stare at her message: It's almost like you want me to be disgusted . I can't help but smirk as I lean against the railing of the club's roof. From below me, music pumps, almost like it's beckoning me to go down there and find some starstruck woman and spend the night with her. Yet it simply doesn't appeal to me.

Dammit, Bella's right. It would make it easier if she was disgusted. Even Elio admitted that me and Bella are impossible. If I thought I could just fuck her and toss her aside, maybe then I'd give in, but I can't. I know that somehow. She's too interesting. Too gifted. Too beautiful.

Why aren't you asleep, anyway? I text, changing the subject big time.

I can't, not after what happened.

Are you going to sleep tonight?

Not sure. Maybe not … Why?

I grit my teeth, almost hearing her say the word why in her soft, tempting voice. There are so many other things I can imagine her saying, too. I can hear the breathiness of her voice whispering through my mind, through my … Jesus Christ, my what? My soul?

Trying not to overthink, I type, If we're both night owls, maybe the phrase "birds of a feather flock together" applies to us …

It's way too late for riddles, Matt.

I smirk again. Even with the Gallos crap, smiling with Bella feels easy. I could be at your apartment in thirty minutes. We could go for a drive.

That's the most I can offer. I can't offer an actual date—our enemies might see us together—or a future that would endanger her. I can give this much, at least, for whatever it's worth.

I'm fully prepared for her to tell me no. She could easily say all this just because she wants to keep me as a client, despite what she said about earning her own money. Or maybe even if she says yes, she'll only do it because she thinks she has to.

Well, what are you waiting for?

Despite my doubts, another smile spreads across my face. There's something sassy and appealing as hell, as if I can hear her tone of voice in the text. I can see her in bed, maybe with her knees tucked to her chin, emphasizing the thickness of her thighs, tempting me to kiss her horny-as-fuck sex.

Relax. Dammit, I need to. I've got no idea if she'd get steamy for me or if her pussy would get wet and warm and ready.

I'm on my way, I text.

The city is quiet and dark, making me feel right at home. I drive to her apartment building, the first time I've been here without Sofia. When I'm outside, I text Bella, letting her know I'm here.

It's a warm evening, but I didn't expect her outfit. As she emerges from the apartment, the inner light shines on her, revealing a summer dress that outlines her shape in the best way possible. It hugs her wide hips and makes her look feminine in an almost primal way. My rod stiffens as she walks across the street. Her cleavage is roaring at me to bury my face in it, breathe in her scent, taste her, own her.

When I step from the car, she stops, letting out a breath.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"No, you just look … It's nothing."

I approach her, reminding myself to be careful. Yet, if caution was really the name of this game, what am I playing by even being here? "Don't lie, Bella."

She bites her lip. Fuck . The way she does it drags my mind to hot places, to Bella biting down as I stroke my hand up her leg and get closer and closer to her …

"You just looked angry, that's all," she mutters.

"I guess I just have one of those faces."

"As long as it's not me …"

"You don't make me angry, Bella."

Lots of other things, sure, but pissed ain't one of them. Opening the passenger-side door, I gesture to her inside. As she moves past me, her thick ass brushes against me. My dick grows even stiffer. I'm almost sure she moans softly, but then the moment passes. Did she do that on purpose?

Climbing into the passenger seat, I sense the tension immediately. She fiddles with the hem of her dress like she's trying to draw attention to her legs as if I need her to do that.

"So, where are we going?" she asks.

I shrug. "Maybe we should go someplace we can see the stars."

My voice gets husky without me even meaning to. There's that moaning noise from her again unless I'm going nuts and hearing things I want to. My Mafia brain should be ticking over, determining if she's putting on a show for the cash. Somehow, I'm sure she's genuine.

"That sounds romantic."

I glance at her. She's looking at me with a blush across her face, but she doesn't look away.

"I've never been accused of that before," I tell her.

"There's a first time for everything, right?"

I start the engine, nodding.

As I drive, I notice Bella tapping on her leg.

"Are you playing music on your own body?" I ask.

She grips her hands together. "Sorry—nervous habit."

"You don't have to apologize," I say fiercely. "There's no reason to be nervous."

"Hmm," she murmurs.

My body throbs as my thoughts instantly go to other contexts where she might make a hmm noise. I imagine kissing up her thighs, getting closer to the scent of her sex, the moment I first feel the wetness of her pussy seeping down her legs. Then, when I kiss her clit and her eager hole, the noise will get even more passionate. She'll shift against me, grinding, begging for more.

"How's your friend?" I ask, knowing I have to derail my thoughts before I pull over the car, grab Bella, and own her for at least one night.

"She's okay. She's just annoyed with herself because she always picks douchebags."

"What about you? Who do you pick?"

I stare at the empty, dark road as I drive toward the outskirts of the city.

"For dating, you mean?"

"Yeah …"

She laughs adorably. "Uh, nobody," she says. "I've never been much of a dater. Or a relationship-er. Or an anything-er, really. When I was a kid, I used to say the only boyfriend I ever needed was my music."

"And now?"

"I have no time for relationships between teaching and my waitress job. Maybe when Mom's out of college …"

"You're supporting her," I say.

"Just like she supported me throughout high school," Bella says with a touch of defensiveness.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't mean to do this, but when I hear the tightness in her voice, I reach over and place my hand on her leg—my bare hand on her bare leg. She feels so damn thick, so juicy, so grabbable, so touchable.

"I'm not judging you," I tell her.

After a pause, she places her hand on mine. "I never said you were."

Neither of us comments on how strange this is. Two strangers touching as if it's normal. She tightens her grip on mine as I shift ever so slightly up her leg.

"She's going to be a veterinarian nurse," Bella murmurs. "I'm so proud of her already."

"I bet she's proud of you, too," I reply. "Most women your age aren't working two jobs to support their family. It speaks to your character."

"I don't know about that. I'm just trying to keep my head above water."

" I know," I tell her, and my hand slips even higher again. Fuck. I'm near the hem of her dress now. I can feel the heat of her body.

She squeezes my hand with both of hers, gently but obviously pushing me in the other direction. Message: I'm not going to let you touch me like that.

Using every shred of self-control I have, I remove my hand.

"How's work?" she asks after a pause.

I stare at the road even more stubbornly, wondering if she's trying to make a point. She's an intelligent woman. Perhaps she's already put the pieces together to figure out I'm not just a CEO.

"It's fine," I grunt.

"Whoa, okay, message received. Don't ask about work." Her sassy tone makes me glance at her, seeing her playful smile and the daring glint in her eyes. "I didn't mean to overstep or anything."

"No, it's not that. It's just better if we don't talk about work."

"Okay," she murmurs, but I can hear the confusion in her voice. After a moment, she says, "Is it okay if I ask why?"

"It could be dangerous," I grunt, which is already sharing too much.

"Dangerous?" she repeats. "Right. What's dangerous about financial investment? Do you work with some tricky clients or something?"

This is just another reminder of how impossible this is— tricky clients . That's where her head is at. Maybe she thinks there's a risk of a story leaking about insider trading or something else that, while morally wrong, isn't killing, extreme violence, amputation, or evil.

"Something like that."

"You don't want to talk about it at all , do you?"

I chuckle. "How can you tell?"

She sighs, "Fair enough."

"It's better if you don't know," I growl, my voice going fierce.