Page 42 of Take Me Under

I knew I was bordering on stalking. It was possessive. Controlling. Wrong. My behavior caused a sour taste in the back of my throat. When I’d programmed my number into her phone, I’d turned on location sharing. I’d told myself it was practical, a precaution after she’d disappeared on me once, but now that little blue dot felt like something else entirely.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, phone still in hand, staring at the map as my thoughts spiraled. I hated myself in that moment—hated how broken I still was after all these years. Hated that even in this sleek penthouse, a symbol of the empire I’d built, I couldn’t escape the shadows of my past.

The dream, like it always did, had ripped me open and left me raw. My chest ached, the need to reach out to Serena still gnawing at me, but she couldn’t know about this—about where I came from. That part of me was dead and buried.

Leaning back against the pillows, I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. The blue dot burned into my mind, giving me just enough comfort to surrender to the darkness of sleep once again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Serena

I’d spent the night wrestling with my own desires, my body restless and my mind captive to the memory of Anton’s touch. Falling asleep had been a losing battle. The phantom sensation of his hands on my skin had haunted me and kept the Sandman at bay. It wasn’t just the heat of his kiss or the forbidden thrill of the moment. It was the way he commanded me, body and soul, as if surrendering to him was an inevitability. With Anton, it wasn’t just lust. It was hunger—a fire that burned through every layer of restraint I’d carefully built.

By dawn, I gave up the pretense of sleep and slid out of bed. The glow of my laptop illuminated the small hotel room as I sorted emails, dove into grant applications, and scoured the Archaeological Institute of America’s website looking for philanthropy and government organizations that might be interested in supporting my dig. I wasn’t surprised to see there was little interest in funding a site that had already beenthoroughly mapped and excavated. Most considered my father’s project—now my project—a fool’s mission. Private funding would be my only option.

I continued to search for opportunities, but every line of text felt like static as my thoughts continued to drift back to Anton’s proposition.

One month.

Thirty days with him, on his terms, in exchange for the funding I so desperately needed for my dig.

The terms were maddeningly simple, yet they weighed heavily on me. I couldn’t deny that the idea of being with him didn’t exactly feel like a punishment. A month in the orbit of a man as magnetic and dangerously alluring as Anton Romano might destroy me, but it would be a sweet demise.

Still, the idea of being bought—of selling pieces of myself, even for my father’s dream—left a bitter taste in my mouth. I just wished I could shake off the notion that I’d be some sort of commodity to him.

Frustrated, I picked up my phone and dialed Caterina. My best friend had always been my compass, grounding me when the storm of my emotions threatened to sweep me away. I’d called her yesterday after checking into my new hotel, but she hadn’t picked up. Things between us had felt off as of late—distant almost. I made a mental note to make time to catch up with her more regularly.

As the phone rang, I drummed my fingers anxiously against the desk, praying she’d answer this time.

“Hello, lovely.” Caterina’s voice spilled through the line like warm honey, thick with sunshine and familiarity.

“Hey!” A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped me. “God, it’s so good to hear your voice. It’s been weeks!”

“You, too! How was New York?”

I hesitated, staring at the city outside my window. “Kind of crazy, actually. I’m still here.”

“Still there? Why?” she asked, the concern sharp in her voice. “I saw that you called a few times, but I figured I’d just catch up with you this weekend. I thought you were supposed to be home on Tuesday.”

“Yeah, I was,” I murmured, moving to the bed and flopping down. I propped myself on one elbow and sighed. “It’s a long story.”

And so, I told her. Over the next fifteen minutes, I spilled everything—the electric first encounter with Anton at the Met Gala, the fever that had left me sick in his penthouse, and what it felt like to be in the presence of a man who was both too much and not enough. I ended the tale with what had happened last night—the moment that had consumed me since he’d silently walked away. It had been so surreal, and a part of me wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing.

Caterina’s reactions came in sharp bursts of laughter, gasps, and drawn-out silences that spoke volumes. I told her everything—except for one thing. His name. I wanted her raw, unfiltered responses, free from the reality of who he was.

When I finally fell quiet, my heart was hammering from the memories. Caterina let out a long, low whistle.

“Rena, you Jezebel,” she said in awe, but her tone was laced with amusement. “Making out with a gorgeous stranger right there on the street? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

A flush crept up my neck.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, pressing my fingers to my temples. “That’s the problem. It’s not me. I don’t do things like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She let out a rich, knowing laugh. “I know exactly what came over you—an insanely sexy man made you feel something again. And it’s about damn time, too.”

A small, helpless sound escaped me as my head fell back against the pillows. “I don’t know why I let it happen.”

“That’s a lie,”my mind whispered.

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