“And you’re not so hot when you reek of desperation,” I warn him and roll my eyes. I’m beginning to think I need to go home and tell my father exactly how impossible this job will be. “I don’t have time for this.”
Zane has other ideas as I look to the entrance of the alley. He steps forward, fully pinning me between his aching body and the hard wall. The look he bestows upon me is heavy with repentance. “Make time.”
With the deliverance of his words, I’m frozen. I want to make time. I want to give him all the damn time in the world, but I must resist. My demons aren't dormant. They're very much alive. Each clawing away bit by fucking fragile bit and each of them howl one thing - Zane.
“We said friends,” I pant as the intensity becomes all too overpowering.
“I know you feel it still,” he remarks. He has a small smirk on his lips as he reads me. “Just give in.” His comment renders me defenseless. “Amelia, just give in. If you feel the same way, then really, we will start again.”
“I can’t,” I tell him. I feel like such a fraud to my family. I’m supposed to be a strong Abbiati, but I’m not. I never was; it’s all a facade that I dance behind. To everyone else, it’s impenetrable. Everyone except to Zane. He’s my kryptonite.
Taking a calculated step forward, Zane pins me against the wall once more, but this time I don’t resist. All the voices in my mind scream in horror at what I’m allowing, but I cannot walk away from something I’ve spent countless sleepless nights wishing for. I’m not fully addicted to him - far from it. I can walk away from him whenever I like. I can force my mask back on and leave him behind. I can fight with myself to resist his power over me, but right now, I want to stop denying myself.
Pushing his head into the confines of my neck, I feel his lips against my skin, dotting delicate kisses that tattoo themselves into my memory. I moan and my head falls back enjoying every caress of his lips, lavishing the touch of his hands as they skim down my body. I hear him muttering against my skin, but I’m so overcome with blissful euphoria that I pay no attention. I don’t even stop as he hitches my skirt up and begins to course over my body, nearing my hot core. He’ll feel how wet I am for him almost immediately, and he’ll know how weak I am for him.
“No panties,” Zane remarks with a chuckle, pulling away to look up at me. There’s a feral power to him as he pauses, leaving my skin tingling from his touch. “You always did have a thing about panty lines on your ass showing through these tight dresses.” His joke falls flat as he gets closer to his desired destination, and I realize I can’t do this. As he goes to resumes with his intent to get me off in public, I find myself unable to breathe properly.
I push away, pull the skirt of my dress back down, and force myself from feeling guilty or dirty over what just happened. I quickly lean down, grab my jacket and purse, and flee from the alley. My breathing is still a heavy pant, heaving on each inhale and exhale. As my car comes into sight, I open my clutch and search for my keys beneath the crap I’ve brought with me.
I’m not given any time, as I’m spun again. Zane pins me against the side of my Ferrari and my jacket falls against the paintwork, trapped by my body being forced against the side of the car. I fight him off and look down, seeing the zipper has taken the paint off. My emotional rollercoaster is about to derail, and I just want to go home and analyze my next strategic step in this game plan – if there are any to take!
"You scratched my car, you bastardo," I hiss. I'm pissed that I even let him back so easily. I'm a fool. It's now been proven again in my life.
"I've done worse," he reminds me. “That is just a reminder that I’m scratching the surface. Soon, I’m going to be under your skin and you’ll have to give me another chance.”
I gulp. There’s only one problem with his plan – he’s always been under my skin, sheltered in the confines of my heart and ebbing life into my soul.
CHAPTER FOUR
"The Femme Fatale strikes again," Enzo announces as I walk into the grand living room. The paintwork here much like the dining room, but he does nothing to calm me.
I glower toward him, who in return just laughs at me. "Don't test my patience with that name."
"Oh, someone is mighty touchy today," he continues to ruthlessly, teasing me. "What corpse got under your skin?"
"The one that's still a heartbeat away from being called a corpse," I growl and slump into one of the chairs. I'm furious that I allowed Zane to get so far into my veins that I am now recklessly listening to my heart.
Zane and I love like we're a drug. We become insatiably addicted at a rapid speed. I feel myself crave him, and even after all this time, I'm still excited to see him. I don't even mind just standing in the same room as him. I just need him. It's how we love - with considerable hunger. He might be my victim, but I am well and truly his.