Page 122 of Stalking Ginevra

I don’t let the nostalgia settle. Falling into this trap and reverting to her loyal acolyte will only get me discarded again for the type of man who would stomp over her dignity.

After all, Ginevra couldn’t get enough of Bob Brisket.

Or Samson Capello.

She leans in, her lips brushing my ear, and whispers, “I used our winnings to buy that ridiculous fake diamond necklace. You were furious, but you let me keep it.”

Her breath, warm against my skin, sends a shiver down my spine. My jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to keep my focus on the present. She’s trying to rebuild our connection, but I know better. She will never get inside my head again.

“You were happy,” I reply, my voice tight. “That’s all I cared about.”

Her laughter softens into something more intimate, the kind of sound that wraps around a man’s neck like a garotte. She gazes up at me with those siren’s eyes, dredging up the memory of her betrayal.

Despite all that, she’s no less captivating.

We reach the main floor, greeted by the casino’s cacophony. Lights flash from the slot machines, cards slap against tables, mingling with the murmur of voices. The casino has been reborn, becoming sleek, powerful, untouchable. Just like me. And just like this place, Ginevra will be mine again, refashioned to fit my world, whether she wants it or not.

But everything fades into background noise when she slides her hand down my arm, her finger tips caressing my skin.

“You don’t have to keep me at a distance forever. We were good once, weren’t we?” she murmurs, her voice coaxing.

She stops, pulling me to a halt. Her wide, earnest eyes search my face, the vulnerability in them twisting my fraying heartstrings, making me want to believe she’s still the woman who once loved me with all her soul.

But she’s not. She never was.

I tilt my head, my lips tightening. “We were young and stupid. You made sure to remind me of that when you left.”

Her lips part as if to argue, but she can’t drum up a quick enough excuse. Hurt flickers across those beautiful features asshe lowers her lashes. “I tried to explain, but you wouldn’t listen.”

My jaw clenches, and the air thickens. We’re surrounded by the opulence of the casino, but all I can focus on is Ginevra. She’s right. I cut her off earlier when she raised the subject of our breakup. But the more she speaks, the more I want to open up my veins and bleed for her.

Emotions swirl in my chest—longing, nostalgia, love. My fingers twitch, itching to touch that creamy skin, to pull her close and erase that distance.

But I resist. Barely.

“Your engagement to Capello was in the papers within days of our breakup,” I grind out.

Her pretty features flash with guilt before she hardens her eyes and squares her shoulders. “Do you really think I would walk away from you if I had the choice?”

I don’t answer. Nothing should separate twin souls.

Remembering us means remembering everything—how her body felt against mine, how she used to kiss me with the kind of passion that could burn down the world, how she whispered that she loved me before tearing out my heart.

Before I can stop her, Ginevra steps closer, her scent—a mix of honeysuckle and temptation—curling around my senses, suffocating my resolve. She places a hand on my chest, her fingers splayed over my heart as if she’s activating its rapid, uneven beat.

My blood roars, drowning out the chatter, the click of roulette wheels, and the shuffle of cards. I stiffen, every muscle tightening in defense.

“You’re still in there,” she whispers, her breath ghosting over my lips, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin. “The man who loved me.”

I grab her wrist, needing to push her away. Instead, I’m suspended in this infernal tension. My grip tightens just enough to remind her—and myself—that I’m still the one in control.

“Do not mistake me for the same man,” I snarl, even though every cell in my body screams for me to pull her in, to claim her mouth.

Her lips tilt into the smallest, most dangerous smile. “Good. Because I don’t want the man you were. I want the one you are now.”

And that’s when she leans in, closing the last few inches. Her lips brush mine, a feather-light touch that sparks a fire so intense it threatens to consume us both. I want to pull back, to stop this before it goes too far—but the truth is, it’s already too late.

I crush my mouth to hers, all the pent-up frustration, anger, and desire I’ve been holding back crashing into that kiss. Her fingers dig into my chest, and her body molds to mine, every curve igniting a thousand memories I’ve tried to bury. The heat of her skin seeps through the silk of her dress, searing through my suit like a brand.

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