Page 60 of King of Omen

When Mia broke the connection, she gazed up at me with a tender vulnerability, which took my breath away.

‘Grazie mille,’ I murmured, heart churning, soul needing.

I was convinced that our shared experience, our unexpected bond in this strange and difficult situation, was something we would never forget.

‘You’re welcome,’ she replied, her voice soft.

We sat in silence, each lost in our thoughts as we finished our meal and the rain continued to pound outside.

Seeking relief from the pent-up tension, I pulled out a case of my cigarettes.

She studied me as I tapped one out of the pack and lit it.

‘Herbal?’

I huffed and nodded. ‘They’re a botanical mix and 100% natural.’

‘I gather then you smoked the real deal?’

‘Almost too much. As a young Italian man, they’re a right of passage. Instead of nicotine, I’m inhaling basil, licorice, clove and cinnamon. It’s my way of quitting tobacco.’

She smiled.

‘Che cosa?’ I pushed.

‘Now I know what that delicious essence is on you.’

A thrill went through me at how her eyes softened with sensuousness. ‘Delicious?’

She cocked her head, voice smoky. ‘Wild. Do they work?’

‘They reduce cravings and stress, relaxing me when needed.’

‘Coffee is my drug of choice, and on that note, I need a cup,’ she said. ‘Want one?’

I nodded, and she rose, headed for the coffee machine.

I spent the next few moments in heaven, following her every move as she prepped. Our eyes clashed and often locked in a silent conversation.

I accepted the cup with a slight chin jerk.

Our hands brushed, and desire snaked between us, raising the hairs on my arm and giving me a sharp longing to own all of her, to stroke the skin I craved to touch, and to savour the curve of her lips.

She sensed it, too, her lilac eyes dilating and mouth parting with a depth of hunger that tugged at something buried deep within me.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke from my herbal cigarette.

I came alongside her when she rose to gather the dishes from the table.

We cleared, washed and dried the crockery, the atmosphere hushed with unspoken, raw need.

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows in a relentless orchestra, but the storm raging beyond the mansion was nothing compared to the tumult of emotions inside me.

Chapter 13

MIA

Into the quiet simmering of the emotion-laden kitchen came the harsh ring of the doorbell.

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