Page 55 of Chasing Caine

“I saw you checking out all the women in the line and sucking face with that woman in the silver dress. I agreed to stop doing whatIwanted to do and play your stupid little dress-up game all week—” I flicked the gold medallion on my dress’s strap at him, digging my hole deeper by the second. “—and I’m still not enough for you, am I? What you want is a good little girl who does what she’s told. Well, guess what? I’m not that girl.”

His face dropped, and he took a step back, mouth gaping open. He looked as though I’d slapped him. Good.

My stomach churned, and bile rose in my throat, burning with acid. Antonio was exactly the same as Vincenzo. Fucking Italian men! A woman was nothing but a conquest. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here! I should have just left Brenton and never looked back!”

I marched around him toward the door, but he caught my arm, spinning me to face him. The adrenaline must have counter-acted some of the alcohol because I didn’t stumble that time.

“Samantha,” he whispered, so quietly I could barely hear him above the muffled music. “Is this what your ex-husband did to you?”

I rubbed at my face. “Matt has nothing to do with this.”

“Neither does that woman in the silver dress. She wanted me to buy her a drink and I told her—very politely—I was here with my girlfriend.” He pulled my hand away from my face.

“What? I saw you kissing—”

“She was insistent, rubbed up against me, but I pushed her away gently and told her no.”

He wasn’t making out with her? My breathing slowed as a little more sobriety eked its way into my brain. Everything he said made sense. I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on what I’d seen. His hand on her arm. Dammit! Pushing her away, not pulling her closer. And he’d moved his head away from hers when she leaned in.

“And the skulking was with my cousin Cristian. A man I cannot stand, whom I hope you never meet.” He squeezed my hand. “You’re very quiet. Tell me you believe me?”

“You make me soft and weak, and I hate that.” I stared down at his chest. At the undone buttons and the taut skin they exposed. I didn’t need people. Most of all, not some man who treated me… so… I sighed. Who treated me like I was the center of his universe. “I’m strong, dammit.”

He held my hand against his heart. “Bella, you’re as soft as sandpaper.”

I choked down the laugh that threatened to betray me. I jerked my hand, without the effort it needed. He was right. I’d had too much to drink and had to get control of myself. And stop imagining the worst of him.

We were both carrying secrets. That didn’t mean we were bad people, just that we weren’t ready to talk about some things.

“For the record,” he said. “Outside, I was thinking how none of the other women in the line were a fraction as beautiful as you. Inside, my eyes were on the men staring at you.”

“Why does that even matter?” I clenched his shirt and stepped closer, into the sphere of heat radiating off him. Into his air.

His brows gathered together, and his hand lifted to my cheek. “I don’t want another man to think he can—”

“I can take care of myself.” Someday, I’d show him just how well I could. But this wasn’t the right moment.

“Me standing up for you does not mean you can’t do it yourself. It’s a way for me to show how much I love you.” Why did he keep using that word? Was it even real? His hand slid into my hair, to the back of my head. “That’s what I was trying to say earlier. I am a man and I feel a need to protect my woman. You have to understand it’s a reflection of my feelings for you, not of my impression of you or any doubts about your abilities.”

I was stupid. Blind to all the signs, probably drunk, and stupid. I’d missed the whole point. We were about to start a long-distance relationship, him in Naples and me in the States. Just like when his fiancée cheated on him. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Out of my mind.” He let go of my hand and pulled me against him, stretching his broad fingers to span the small of my back.

“Do you think we can make this work?” My breath picked up, the desire from the dance floor igniting inside me. I had an all-consuming need to dance with him again. Or to tear his clothes off.

He touched his lips to my forehead, feather soft. “Can we live with ourselves if we don’t?”

I stretched up on my tiptoes and his mouth caught mine, our lips pressing together until they parted and our tongues slid along each other. My whole body sighed in relief. His question didn’t need an answer. The answer was obviouslyno, and that’s what terrified me. I couldn’t go back to a life without him. Withoutus.

My hand gripped his neck, brushing against the short hair at his nape, damp from sweat. I pulled away, breathless.

“And to be completely honest—” My voice fell to a husky whisper. “Your hand around that guy’s throat was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes shot open and he shifted his grip. One arm circled my waist and the other went to my ass. He lifted me, taking the few steps to the counter, and dropped me on it. He was on his knees in front of me in a flash, lifting my dress. His tongue licked the length of my seam, sealing over my clit with strong suction.

I sucked in air, flailing for balance. I knocked the flower vase over with a thud, spilling the water. “Oh, my—what the—”

His eyes snapped up to meet mine for an instant, narrowed and hungry, the mischief sparkling in them. “You win.” As he teased and flicked, two fingers thrust into me, working me into a feverish pitch. He found the soft spot just inside and stroked it in a rhythm matching the music.

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