“You fired them. The new men will know better to look out for her.” He pours himself a whiskey and refreshes mine.
“Seeing her in that well…” I give a shake of my head. “It fucked with me. I don’t care about this girl. I hate her, in fact. I should, at least.” I finish my drink, rub the back of my neck as Rafa refills my glass once more.
“But you don’t. You like her.”
I turn to him. “I don’t fucking like her. I’m not fucking sixteen.”
He makes a face like yeah right.
“What happened to your car?” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.
“Nothing,” he says, casually turning his gaze away. “Sideswiped someone. Probably shouldn’t have been driving.”
“Sideswiped two cars at once?”
“Wall on one side.”
“When?”
“Couple nights ago. Doesn’t matter.”
I study him. Remember there was paint on both sides of the car. But I decide to drop it. “I’m grateful to your father,” I say, swallowing the bitter taste the words leave.
“He’ll be glad to hear it. But you should tell him yourself.”
I nod my head, finish my drink and stand. “Let’s go out.”
It’s late when I get back to the house. I pass Gabriela’s room when I get upstairs, only pausing for a second. Once inside my own room, I hit my shin against the baseboard of the bed as I stumble to take off my shoes and socks.
The balcony doors are open and it’s a stormy night. I walk outside.
I love rain in Sicily. It’s so rare and when it comes at night, fuck, it’s something to see. I stand there in it, stand there getting soaked.
I look at her doors. The curtains billow in the wind and rain blows inside. She should close them. I walk to her room wondering how she can sleep with all this noise, momentarily panicked that she snuck away again.
But she’s here. She’s in her bed and asleep under the covers. Out cold. I wonder if she slept at all during her captivity.
I brush hair back from her face, take in the bruises. She looks peaceful. And even with the bruises, she’s still beautiful.
It could have been worse. They could have really hurt her, but they didn’t.
This wasn’t about hurting her, though. Someone’s sending a message.
They can take what’s mine.
My hands fist, fingernails digging into my palms. I will kill whoever did this. I will demolish them.
I pull the blanket back, stumbling a little when I do. I’m drunk. I should go back to my room. But I don’t want to.
Gabriela stirs, but doesn’t wake.
She’s just wearing a pair of powder blue cotton panties. No top. I can see why. She’s got bandages all over her, a large one wrapped around her lower ribs. Did they break her ribs?
A gust of wind blows so hard that it knocks a vase over, sending it crashing to the floor.
Gabriela bolts upright, startled awake. I don’t know if she processes where she is. When she sees me, she opens her mouth to scream. I don’t think she realizes it’s me. It’s dark enough she wouldn’t see my face.
Without a thought, I’m on the bed, my hand over her mouth pushing her into the pillow.
“Don’t,” I tell her.
She struggles, her broken nails sharp against my skin.
“Stop. It’s me. Gabriela, it’s me. It’s Stefan.”
She blinks as a cloud clears the moon and, in the light, she sees my face. She stops fighting and I move my hand from her mouth. She pulls up to a half-seated position.
“Stefan?”
I look at her, at her naked breasts, small and pretty, her nipples hard. My mouth is watering to lick that tight little tip, take it into my mouth and suck, just a little, just enough to make her moan.
“What are you doing in here?”
I don’t answer. What am I doing in here? Didn’t I come in to close the balcony doors?
She looks over at the clock and so do I. It’s a little after two in the morning.
I shift my gaze to her breasts again. I reach out and touch one nipple with the back of my hand, just brushing my knuckles over it. It hardens and when I shift my gaze to hers, I see how her cheeks flush, how her throat works when she swallows.
I want her.
Even now, like this, I want to have her.
I lower my gaze to the bandage.
“Your ribs,” I say, touching the gauze.
“Bruised. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Stefan,” she starts, pulling the covers up to cover her breasts. “Are you drunk?”
I grin, take hold of the blanket and tug it out of her hands.
“Not drunk enough,” I say, moving to straddle her, my knees on either side of her hips as she lays back and I cage her in with my hands to the sides of her face. “I didn’t know,” I start, leaning close to her, inhaling her clean scent. “I didn’t know if they pulled you out of the water.” Her hands come to my shoulders. “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.”
“I—”
“I didn’t fucking know, Gabriela.”
I lay some of my weight on her, careful of her ribs when I see her wince. Sliding one hand behind her head, I weave my fingers into her hair and tug her head back to tilt her face upward.
I look at her like this. At her parted lips, her pretty eyes. That bruise on her forehead that was there before everything. “Why did you look at Rafa when I asked you about that man?” I ask. I don’t know why I ask it.
“What?”
“When the assholes were lined up and I asked you who hurt you. You looked at one man in particular then at Rafa.”
She lowers her lashes, looking fucking guilty as sin.
I squeeze my hand in her hair and she winces.
“Stop, you’re hurting me,” she says.
“Why?”
“Stefan, stop it.”
I smile down at her and something akin to jealousy burns in my gut.
“Were you with him? When his car got sideswiped?”
She tries to shake her head and when she answers no, she shifts her gaze away and I know she’s lying. I know she’s fucking lying.
I loosen my grip on her hair, grit my teeth.
“Why are you wet?” she asks, brushing my wet hair back from my forehead.
That touch distracts me. It’s soft. Tender.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re soaked,” she says.
I look down at myself then back at her. “Rain.” I lean in close to her, brush my jaw against her cheek so my mouth is at her ear. “You’re not off the hook with me, Gabriela.”
When I draw back, I see that same caution I’ve seen before. Not fear like what I saw when I took that filthy hood off her head, but she is wary of me.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I mean you ran away. You snuck out of the house and in doing so, you almost got yourself killed and you did get yourself hurt. You’ll answer for that.”
She doesn’t reply. I’m not sure I expect her to.
“You’re in no shape to do so now, though,” I say finally, standing. I need to go. To get out of here. Because if I get into bed with her, I will want things.