Page 48 of Untamed

Then, footsteps.

Distant. Sloshing.

Matteo stiffens. “You hear that?”

I snap out of my haze, ears straining.

Footsteps. Then voices and laughing.

“Someone’s coming.” I whisper.

He lets go of me fast, pushing back, adjusting his shorts under the water with a quiet curse. I sink lower into the pool, pulse still racing, adrenaline now tangled with panic.

“Get out of here,” Matteo hisses, eyes scanning the edge of the property. “Go through the side door, I’ll distract whoever is coming.”

I hesitate, but his gaze is sharp now, all playfulness gone.

“I mean it, Fossette.Vai, adesso.”

I nod, slip away from him, and dart through the water, heart thundering. As I climb out, the cool night air kisses my overheated skin.

I don’t look back. But I feeleyeson me the entire way.

The morning sun bathes the dining room in a soft, golden glow, the kind that should feel warm and comforting. But all I feel is heat, under my skin, between my thighs, lingering from last night like a bruise no one can see.

The table is full of life. Bianca is slicing a crostata, Enzo is half-listening to Luciano rant in Italian about something political, and Matteo...he’s sitting across from me, coffee in hand, looking far too calm for someone who made me come in the pool six hours ago.

Our eyes meet.

Just for a second.

His lips twitch, and he lifts his mug to his mouth, hiding a grin.

My stomach flips. I glance away quickly, forcing a smile at something Bianca says about the local bakery and hoping no one notices the way my hand trembles slightly as I reach for a strawberry.

Beneath the table, I feel the brush of a foot against my ankle.

Matteo.

I don’t look up, but my toes curl. And then the front door creaks and conversation falters. A shadow cuts across the sunlight.

“Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Enzo mutters with a smirk. “Didn’t think you would actually made it.”

Oh, fuck...Ares.

I don’t even need to look to know it’s him. The air shifts the way it always does when he walks in, like gravity warps to make room for his presence. Heavy. Suffocatingly silent. I finally lift my eyes and instantly my eyes lock with his.

He looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept. Maybe he and his little friend went a few more rounds after they were done. Or maybe he’s just in one of his moods. Tight jaw, unreadable expression, eyes sharp enough to gut someone if they so much as say the wrong thing.

His dark eyes scan the table.

And then, of course, his eyes land on the only empty seat. Right beside me.

My throat goes tight.

He doesn’t say a word. Just walks around the table with that slow, controlled way he always moves, as if nothing surprises him.

He pulls out the chair and sits, right beside me. My body goes rigid, heat crawling up the back of my neck. His knee brushes mine beneath the table, just barely, but it feels like a spark, sharp, unwanted, and impossible to ignore.

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