10. Bella

10

BELLA

I feel hot. Feverish. The way Nic looks at me sends sensations through me I’ve never felt before. It’s unsettling and at the same time, exciting. It’s certainly not what I expected to experience when I woke up this morning.

When I realized the bed next to me was empty, I panicked. Had Nic left? Had he gotten up and then passed out somewhere in the house? That’s when I heard the water running, and irritation replaced the panic. What's he thinking, showering when he's been so ill?

Without thinking, I barged in and scolded him. Then I realized he was naked. That was when I felt the first flash of heat as I took in his muscled back, water cascading down his skin. I’ve never seen a naked man before, at least not in person. While I’m inexperienced in such things, I’m not completely ignorant. I understand how sex works, more from Ava’s descriptions than my mother’s. What I hadn’t understood is the physical response. The surge of electricity coursing through my blood. My nipples tightening, becoming more sensitive. Liquid heat pooling between my thighs.

When he suggested I join him, my first thought was, “okay,” even as the thought of it terrified me. Somehow, I’ve maintained my composure, even my inner snark. But as water drips down his chest and he gazes at me with a hunger in his eyes, I’m precariously close to doing something that will likely embarrass myself like licking the water from his chest. Or yanking the towel off.

“I’ll find some clothes.” I hurry out of the bathroom, a little embarrassed that I’m running off like a silly school girl. I go through the closet, unable to keep the image of Nic’s muscled form out of my head. It’s seared there for all eternity. The way the water cascaded down his shoulders… over his chest… the bulge under the towel… I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts.

Guilt washes over me. I shouldn't have barged in like that. It was a complete invasion of his privacy. But I was so worried when I woke up and he wasn't there. After days of tending to him, fearing he might die from infection, panic took over when I found the bed empty.

But now, he doesn't look sick at all. Maybe a bit thinner, perhaps still a little weak, but a far cry from the delirious man I've been caring for. Relief mingles with my embarrassment.

Still, I can't shake the feeling of how different he looked. Not just healthier, but… more. More real. More human. More man. It's unsettling, realizing I'm lusting after the man who will be my stepson.

First, I dress myself, feeling a little too vulnerable in my pajamas. Then I find a pair of sweatpants, a Henley shirt, and another flannel overshirt. In the dresser, I find boxers and cabin socks. I lay them on the bed.

“I’ve never worn flannel before. It’s not bad.”

I startle at his presence in the room. I turn, seeing him approach, the towel still slung low on his hips. He moves with a confidence I haven't seen since we arrived at the cabin. Gone is the fevered, vulnerable man I've been tending to for days. I’m a little disappointed. I liked the feverish man. Nic had opened up to me in ways I never expected. We talked about his childhood, his fears, his hopes. He spoke of his sister Gia with such tenderness, making me realize that he wasn’t completely devoid of emotion or connection.

He confided in me about his relationship with Max, his best friend. The way he spoke about Max, with such trust and loyalty, showed me a side of Nic I never would have guessed existed. There's a depth to him I hadn't anticipated.

I've grown accustomed to our closeness, to the warmth of his body next to mine as we shared the bed. Each night, I'd fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing, finding comfort in his presence despite our precarious situation.

Over these past days, as I tended to him and listened to his fevered confessions, he became something more. A confidant. Maybe even a friend.

The thought of losing that closeness leaves me feeling strangely bereft. I know it's irrational. Nic’s getting better is a good thing. We need to figure out who's after us and why. But part of me longs for those quiet moments in the dark, when the world narrowed down to just us two.

Now that he’s feeling better, I see the confident Mafia man who dictates his world and that of those around him. The man sent to bring me to New York to marry his father. The man with murder in his eyes at the person or persons responsible for our current situation.

I respond to his comment about flannel. “You’ll have to buy some for your own wardrobe.”

He laughs. “Somehow, I don’t think flannel fits in the New York business world.”

“I suppose it’s hard to intimidate someone looking all warm and fuzzy.”

He’s brow furrows, as if he doesn’t like me bringing up the dark parts of his world.

“Since you seem to be feeling better, I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“You don’t think I need help?” He gives me an amused smile. I heat up again, but this time from embarrassment as I realize he knows his effect on me.

“I suppose most stepmothers would help their stepsons, but I suspect you can manage.”

The amusement in his expression drops away, replaced with a scowl. He whips his towel off, and I can’t help it, I look. His penis isn’t as large as the tenting in his towel had earlier suggested. Before I can study it further, he quickly pulls on the boxers and I hurriedly exit the room to avoid mortifying myself anymore.

What am I thinking, ogling him like that? Admiring his body? Nic is my future stepson, for heaven's sake. And yet… the comfort I found sleeping next to him, in our conversations, makes me wish my marriage arrangement were with him, not his father. Sure, it wouldn’t be a marriage of love like Ava and Matteo, but at least we’re friendly, and clearly, he appeals to me.

I head to the kitchen to make coffee. As the coffee brews, I wander to the window, wishing we could open up the curtains and let the outside light in. I peek through the curtain wanting a glimpse of the outside world. My breath fogs the glass as I gaze out at the snow-covered landscape. A blanket of white stretches as far as I can see, trees bowing under the weight of fresh snow. Snow that is swirling and falling by the bucketful.

It hits me. It’s snowing. Not that it doesn’t snow in November, but it's unusual to have a near blizzard. Without a phone, TV, or outside communication, I’ve been oblivious to weather, news, anything happening in the world.

We are snowed in, and a new panic sets in. Do we have enough food? What if the power goes out? How will we stay warm? Is there a generator? Wood for the fireplace? And what about Nic? Being stuck here with Nic, unable to escape, should terrify me. And yet, a small part of me feels relieved. We're safe here, at least for now. No one can reach us.

The coffee maker gurgles behind me, indicating it’s nearly done brewing. I pour two mugs, the warmth seeping into my hands as I sip from one. I’d sure love to have fresh cream in mine, but the only option is a powdered creamer that is nowhere near the same, so I’ve been drinking my coffee black or with a hot chocolate packet.

“Is there enough coffee for me?” Nic enters the kitchen, and my breath catches in my throat. The man who wears an Italian suit like he was born to it looks equally as masculine and handsome in sweatpants and flannel. The soft fabric of the Henley shirt clings to his broad chest. His damp hair is slightly tousled, giving him a boyish charm.

I find myself admiring him, unable to look away.

He arches a brow, then looks down. “I know, it doesn't scream underboss, does it?”

I shake my head, irritated at myself for getting caught up in him again. “Coffee?" I offer, holding out a mug to hide my sudden nervousness.

He takes it with a grateful smile, his fingers brushing mine. The brief contact sends a jolt through me, and I quickly pull my hand away. I don’t know what to think about all these feelings and sensations, and I’m unsettled at my inability to control them.

"Thanks," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "For everything."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I sip my coffee, using the mug to hide my flushed cheeks. What's wrong with me?

"We need to venture out and buy a burner phone to call Max," Nic says, breaking the silence.

“We can’t venture anywhere. Not today. Maybe not for a couple of days.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

I pull back the curtain. “There must be five inches already, and the way it’s coming down, there will be a lot more.”

He looks out the window. I follow his gaze, taking in the thick blanket of white covering everything in sight. The snow continues to fall steadily, erasing any trace of the world beyond our little cabin.

"We're stuck here," I whisper, a mix of fear and strange relief washing over me. I wonder how he’ll respond. The Nic from before struck me as a person who was a take action sort of man. Decisive. Proactive. I don’t think he’ll like being stuck, unable to find out who is after us and why.

To my surprise, Nic's lips curve into a small smile as he watches the falling snow. There's no frustration in his expression. "Looks like we are.”

His acceptance of our circumstances throws me off balance. I'd expected anger or impatience, not this quiet resignation.

"You're not… upset?" I ask hesitantly.

Nic turns to me, his eyes softer than I've ever seen them. “Why would I be upset? You haven’t finished reading The Maltese Falcon to me. Based on the amount of snow coming down, you may end up reading all the books on the bookshelf to me.”

“Once that happens, you’ll be bored.”

He shrugs. “There are a lot of ways to pass the time.” Before I can react, he reaches out and gently tugs on a lock of my hair.

The gesture catches me off guard. It's so unexpectedly playful, so… intimate. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold or the danger lurking outside. My breath catches in my throat as I become acutely aware of how close we're standing.

Nic's hand lingers near my face, and I lean into his touch without thinking. His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light, and I swear I can feel sparks dancing across my skin.

"Bella," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

I look up into his eyes, unsure of what I see there. Does he want to kiss me? Do I want to kiss him?

Yes. Yes, I do.