Covet (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 2) Page 5

  The man I vow to forget. To leave behind as a memory of my night in London.

  My father takes the cell phone, covering the receiver. “Who is it, Dominic? I asked not to be interrupted.”

  “It’s Lucas, sir.” For a brief second the man’s eyes shift toward me, and I don’t like it. His stare. I don’t know why he rubs me wrong and I shift from foot to foot, something my father doesn’t take notice of.

  Instead, at the mention of his ten-year-old son’s name, Matteo Cancio smiles. It’s the kind a loving father makes. The kind I’ve never seen directed at me. “Thank you.” Then, like I’ve watched him do all my life, he holds a finger up and walks away without another word.

  Because he just expects me to wait. To be here while he leaves me with someone I don’t know—who makes me uncomfortable—while he attends to his real life.

  The one I’m not privy to. The one I want no part in.

  If I wasn’t good enough as a child, then as an adult, I just don’t care. I’m done with him.

  Giving him my back, I take the few steps between myself and the elevator button, pressing the small circle. It lights up and a whirling sound follows as the elevator comes down. “Tell him I said no.”

  “Mr. Cancio didn’t say you could leave.” Dominic is much closer than I anticipate, and as I turn around to tell him exactly what his boss can go do, I bump into his much taller frame. I stumble, almost tripping on his foot, but his tight hold on my arm keeps me upright. “You’ll wait here until he returns.”

  “Let go.”

  “Learn your place,” he spits out, eyeing my clothes with disdain and a hint of something else that I can’t quite identify. His proximity makes me uncomfortable. “You also look like trash. A man in his position can’t be seen with a—”

  “A what?” I snap, trying to yank my arm out of his grip. Thank God the group from before has left and the couple near the sitting area is oblivious to us. “Leave a mark, and it’s your head.”

  “I’m his second-in-command. Well above a whore.”

  “So, you think his daughter is a whore?” How the hell does his right hand not know who I am? How much of a secret have I been kept from everyone?

  “His daughter? Cancio has a daughter?” The shock is evident and all the answer I need. I’ve been kept a dirty secret, a thought that hurts, but I can’t focus on that now. Not when his reaction causes his grip to loosen just as a ding rings clear from behind me.

  “Yes. He does.” Eyes on him, I step back, one foot after the other until I’m inside the car and pressing my floor’s number. And it’s as the doors begin to close that he realizes his mistake, stretching a hand out to keep them open. However, before he can come inside, I’m holding the taser my mother gave me years ago. It’s small—almost untraceable—and does the job, forcing him away from the doors he stops from closing.

  “Motherfuck,” he hisses, shaking his left hand.

  “Touch me again, and I’ll show you just how much his daughter I am.”

  The second I’m back inside my room, the walls cave in. My emotions overflow in rivulets of hurt down my cheek, and no matter how much I wipe them away, another tear follows its path.

  I’m angry and overwhelmed—choking on confusion and physical exhaustion. On my regret and need. On a push and pull that makes no sense, and no matter how badly I want to let go—fall apart at yet another reminder of how little I mean to Matteo—there’s another, more prominent desire: to flee. To get far away from this city and the last twenty-four hours.

  Away from the memory of someone who’s just like my father. A criminal.

  With that thought in mind, I stumble toward the hotel’s closet and pull out my luggage; a midsize piece that I’ll gladly tote through any train station or airport in order to escape and forget. To not seek him out—demand an apology—by going back to the pub where I met him.

  Rushing into the bathroom, I stop at the vanity to collect my things when my eyes glance up. “Christ, I’m a mess.” My dark waves are a tangled disaster from Casper’s fingers, from the way he wrapped the long strands around his fist and tugged. A memory that causes my nipples to harden and rub against the soft fabric of his shirt. The sensation pulls a low moan from me as yet another tear falls, its track creating a charcoal-colored line down my cheek and toward my kiss-swollen lips. Lips that tingle as if he were kissing me. “Out of everyone I could’ve slept with, why him?”

  Casper represents everything I loathe, and yet a sick part of me wants another night. To feel as alive as I did under his fingertips. How can I want his touch after hearing him sentence a man to death?

  After what happened downstairs? Seeing my father should deter me. I shouldn’t be flip-flopping from one extreme to the next within the same breath.

  One second I want to punch a wall and then cry. Then, the very next, I want to find Casper and smack him for making me feel this unstable.

  “Get in the shower,” I tell myself, forcing my fingers to come up and undo each button of his dress shirt. It’s torturous and slow, but I manage to peel it off while watching through the mirror and cataloguing each small bite he left behind.

  On my breast. On my collarbones.

  Then, when I lower his shorts, the purplish fingerprints stand out on my hips. Yet another reminder of my stupidity.

  Closing my eyes, I count to ten and reopen them. Then I do it again. And again.

  Each time I look at my reflection, I let go of a little guilt and forgive myself for being human.

  “I won’t see him again. I won’t repeat my mother’s mistake.” Pulling his socks off, I step into the shower and turn the faucet to as hot as I can stand it. I’m in a rush to put this all behind me, to wash him from my skin. Lather, rinse, and repeat; I let what’s left of his touch flow down the drain in a rain of vanilla suds before stepping out and drying off.

  And it’s after brushing my teeth and collecting his clothes from the floor that my phone begins to ring. It’s a ringtone I know. A ringtone I have no plans to answer.

  Instead, I bring everything in my hands to the bed and dump it beside my open luggage. I never really unpacked, and it’s a blessing as I pull out a pair of yoga pants and tank top from the very top, then my underwear from a separate small pocket attached to the lid.

  I’m dressed before the ping of a text comes three minutes later.

  I have my toiletries in hand as the next message comes in.

  Five in total, and I don’t reply to any.

  My focus is on packing up, closing the luggage, and slipping my feet into a pair of trainers for the long trip ahead. This change in plans will put me in Ibiza a few days early, but the extra cost will be worth it. Money isn’t an issue thanks to my inheritance, and this is an expense I can justify without thinking twice.

  My mother would approve of this change in plans and so would my best friend, Aliana. She’s holding down the fort back home, and I’d like to think she’d slap me for letting a man get to me this way. For not using my better judgement. Or she’ll cheer me on for getting some.

  That last thought isn’t helping, and I block out everything around me, tunneling my focus on getting the hell out of this place.

  I can’t run the risk of seeing Casper again.

  I don’t want to be anywhere near my father.

  7

  I’VE BEEN WATCHING her since my arrival in Ibiza two days ago.

  Just watching. Cataloguing her mannerisms. Taking in every bloody detail without the outside world interrupting the voyeur-like tendencies that have risen since my meeting Gem.

  She’s become my own personal show. This sad little doll who hides her pain from the world and I want to make smile again.

  Because I see her. What she hides.

  Aurora knows what I am because I’ll never hide that, but I’m also not the one she’s truly running from. Her past is dictating her future, and that won’t bloody work with me.

  After she left London, I took forty-eight hours to do my homewor
k while one of my men tailed her. While he made sure she was safe and not being followed, I confirmed my suspicions on her ties with Matteo Cancio; a father/daughter relationship with no real bond.

  The video feed I procured through the manager was enlightening to say the least. As they spoke in the hotel’s lobby near the elevator bank, there was a coldness—clear unfamiliarity between the two. Her body language showed discomfort and distrust, while his was nothing but frustration. No warmth. No clear connection.

  Then, there’s the lack of his involvement in her life.

  She’s his firstborn. His heir. And yet, Aurora Conte doesn’t carry his last name. She doesn’t so much as have a security detail.

  Her father has the same resources I have—knows where she is—but chooses to leave her unprotected. Not so much as a location tracker was found on her phone by my hacker, Ezra, after breaking into the device.

  Why?

  It’s an arsehole move, but useful as I took over the position and put a man on her I trust. Alexander is ruthless and very much committed to his husband. He has eyes for no one but him and understands what I’m capable of. Knows that I won’t hesitate to end him and his spouse if so much as a hair on her head is touched.

  I’m protective of her.

  The second my private flight touched down on Spanish soil, I sent my man back home with a message for Callum. We still have visitors in London, and I want him to follow their every move—to make sure Matteo doesn’t change his mind and comes after Aurora.

  That, and to pinpoint the location of my guns.

  Because they’re still inside the country. No container has left the port or has been transferred since the theft. No manifesto for export has been reported by my employee at the docks, either.

  They’ve gone ghost, and I want them found.

  My phone buzzes atop the small beachside table then and I look down, reading the quick message from Callum.

  Flight booked for tomorrow back to the States. Ten in the morn. ~Callum

  I pick up the phone to reply but stop when movement from the pool catches my attention.

  “Christ,” I groan low, taking in her delicious curves as she exits the pool, and then as she walks toward the lounger she’s occupying. Aurora is a vision; drops of water skimming down her body as the sun kisses her skin—the light-golden tone making her look like a goddess. She’s temptation and heat and the definition of femininity while crawling onto the beach chair and then lying face down.

  Her arse—the bottom curve with just the hint of my bruise—is on display as those tiny black bottoms ride up a tiny bit, molding onto those plump cheeks that make my mouth water.

  She’s a pleasurable puzzle I crave. A drug I will indulge in soon.

  My mobile buzzes again in my hand and I look down.

  B.O.L. for a container to Massachusetts just went through. Code? ~Callum

  Registered Name? ~Casper

  Three tiny dots appear on my screen while he types.

  It’s to Cancio. ~Callum

  Code to proceed? ~Callum

  Bringing the two fingers’ worth of whiskey to my lips, I take a sip while considering my options. It’d be so easy to take back what’s mine with quick retribution, but something doesn’t quite add up in this equation. It reeks of a bloody rat.

  His actions back at the hotel don’t add up with just how alone she is. How unprotected.

  This bothers me. Nags at me.

  She needs me. A truth I’m coming to accept with each tick of the clock. With the way my eyes always stray to hers.

  I don’t hesitate on my reply, fingers flying over the screen.

  Green. ~Casper

  His reply is immediate.

  Are you sure? ~Callum

  I smell something foul. ~Casper

  Then I’ll find the source. ~Callum

  With that, I pocket the small device and stand, throwing a heated glare at the arsehole serving drinks behind the hotel’s bar. The bandage over his nose should’ve been enough of a deterrent—my visit and then the broken bone—to keep his bodged-up mug from looking in her direction, however, he seems to need a reminder.

  The bloke doesn’t see me approach and neither do the people milling about. They’re all too busy watching a group of women letting loose and dancing, stumbling as their inebriated state becomes evident.

  The moment the blonde trips into the pool, most rush to the edge in order to help or get a closer view of the hot mess, and I move closer. As her mates yell and the lifeguard dives in, I stop right in front of him.

  His eyes widen. He pales. “Sir, I—”

  “Not a sound,” I warn, and before the crowd dissipates, I grab him by the hair and slam his face down against the stone edge of his bar top. At once, a gash appears on his forehead and blood spills from the cut, while his scream is muffled by the cries of panicking women. He’s pathetic, afraid, and I laugh—a sinister little chuckle that makes him tremble. “Don’t so much as breathe in her direction, lad. I’m watching.”

  With those parting words, I pat his cheek and walk away. I have plans. A surprise.

  Before the end of the night, Gem will know the lengths I’ll always go to find her.

  To have her.

  How I want more of us.

  For her, I’ve become a stalker. The lion in our private game of chase.

  Up until a few days ago, I had not slept with a woman in months, and she’d been a true one-off catered by the private club in Chicago’s Lake Forest. They know of my appetite. Of my rules. Of what I demand.

  Anonymity.

  No names. No conversation. And my cock wrapped tight above all else.

  Those encounters were few and far between; once or twice during my four-month stay in Illinois each year because I don’t do relationships. I don’t trust easily. I don’t want a woman who hangs off my arm or spreads her thighs at night so she can spend millions on some bullshit that only impresses the snobby arseholes that frequent elite establishments.

  The easy type that see a man in my position as nothing more than a bank account.

  Moreover, with my job—lifestyle—I couldn’t afford that kind of a distraction.

  However, the day I met this woman, something within my rationality changed. Made me want more.

  A thought cemented by the hardening of my cock as I watch her in that tiny towel fresh out of the shower. Walking toward me. Toward the darkened corner of the room I sit in, unbeknownst to her.

  Aurora pushes her hair over her left shoulder with a delicate hand, stretching her neck as drops of water disappear beneath the fabric of her towel. Tantalizing. Mouthwatering.

  I want to follow the path of those rivulets with my tongue.

  “Fuck, Gem.” It’s a low groan. A hungry warning.

  “Casper,” she says, and it’s a bit breathy. No screaming or even a hint of shock in her expression. Instead, those beautiful eyes meet mine and they’re full of curiosity and want. With the same cheeky fire of that night a few days back.

  “I’m here, love.”

  At the term of endearment, she swallows hard while goose bumps rise across her flushing skin. “I knew I wasn’t going crazy. There’s this insane pull and I…Christ…by the pool…I kept looking, trying to find you but couldn’t. Yet I knew. I knew you were here.”

  “Good.” I push the small button on the lamp atop a table beside me. It illuminates the room, a soft glow that makes her look almost ethereal.

  Like my perfect wet dream.

  “It’s insane and makes absolutely no sense.” Aurora shakes her head then, those wet tendrils moving across her collarbone. “Why did I sense you near? How is that even possible?”

  Standing, I take the few steps between us slowly, almost predatory, stopping when there’s only an inch of space between her almost naked body and mine. “I’ll never be too far.” Slowly, I bring a hand up and cup her face, reveling in how she nuzzles my palm without conscious thought. How she rubs her thighs together, a slow movement I don’t ca
ll attention to. “But you know that already. Don’t you, Gem?”

  “Do I?” She pulls back a bit but lets the tip of my thumb rest against her bottom lip. An action that is followed by the quick swipe of her pink, soft tongue across my skin—by the warmth of her breath as a pant escapes.

  “Careful.” My voice is rough, exposing my undeniable yearning. How close I am to taking those lips and then her body.

  “Sorry?” The way she phrases it like a question shows she’s anything but.

  “Not your fault I find you dangerous.”

  Her eyes widen and a rosy tint dances across her cheeks. “Me? Dangerous?”

  “Completely.” With that, I let my hand drop and take a few steps back. I have plans and won’t ruin them by giving in to the temptation so soon. “Now, how about you get dressed and join me for dinner. We have reservations for eight.”

  “We do? When did that happen?” Gem is trying hard to fight back a smile, but I notice the twitch in her upper lip immediately. This girl is crazy, beautiful, and not denying my request.

  “While you were having lunch.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “You won’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because, Gem—”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” Fuck, that mouth. That sass. How she questions everything makes me hard. Has me throbbing. More so when she arches her defined brow and places a hand on her hip, waiting, demanding an answer.

  Reminds me of an angry kitten. Cute and with claws.

  Three steps forward and I have her heat caressing my skin, her scent—soft and feminine—infiltrating my senses. She consumes me, and yet, I’m also aware of every little thing. Notice how the flush on her cheeks travels down her neck and over the top of her breasts. How her lips part, a sweet little pant escaping her mouth as I bring my face closer.

  I want to kiss those lips. To taste her again, but not yet.