Page 20 of Wicked Sinner
It's nearly midnight. Nobody comes to the shop this late unless it's an emergency. And I recognize the headlights of the car. It’s not someone who had a car problem and needs my expertise.
It's him.
I know it with absolute certainty, even before I see the sleek silhouette of the Ferrari pull into the lights, into the exact same spot he occupied three weeks ago.
Caesar Genovese has come back.
And I am absolutely not ready for this.
I set down my wrench with hands that are suddenly shaking, wiping my palms on my coveralls as I watch him get out of the car. Even from a distance, even in the dim light, he's breathtakingly beautiful. Tall and lean and perfectly put together, like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine. As gorgeously handsome as he was the first night he showed up here, except this time he’s in a suit instead of jeans. Or part of one, anyway. He’s not wearing a jacket or tie, his sleeves rolled up to show off muscular, tattooed forearms, but the suit looks expensive, and something about it makes me think he came from somewhere important.
The kind of place I wouldn’t, and would never want to be welcomed.
My stomach knots as he walks toward me, his gait easy, his eyes searching. I’m not ready for this conversation. I hadn’t planned to have it.
Maybe I can just throw him out.
I don’t have to fall prey to weakness like that first night. I can stand firm and tell him to go away. That it was only supposed to be one night, and that’s all I wanted. I don’thaveto have this conversation—he can just leave, and it will be over.
I’ll figure everything else out on my own.
I force myself to move, to step into the light where he can see me. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look casual, trying to hide the way my pulse is racing.
"We're closed," I call out, my voice sharper than I intended. "Whatever you want, you'll have to come back during business hours."
He stops walking, and I can see his face clearly now. Those dark blue eyes, that sharp jawline, that mouth that I've been dreaming about for three weeks. He looks surprised by my tone, like he expected me to be happy to see him.
“You said that the last time,” he chuckles, as if we’re sharing a joke. “I think we’re past that, don’t you?”
“No,” I say flatly. “I don’t. I didn’t ask you to come back. Just like I didn’t give you my number or ask for yours. Wasn’t that a hint, Caesar?”
"Bridget." My name sounds different in his voice, softer somehow. "I know it's late. I was hoping we could talk."
“Talk about what?” I glare at him, and he pauses a foot or so away from me, clearly confused by my animosity. Which is fair, I suppose, given how our night ended last time. “We didn’t talk much before. I don’t think the conversation will be better this time. And I’m not interested in a second round.”
“Is this because I didn’t come back?” He lets out a sharp breath. “I didn't think you'd want me to call. I thought… I thought it was understood that it was just one night."
“I didn’t give you my number,” I remind him. “I understood it perfectly. So why are you here?”
He still looks confused by my sharp tone. I’d be confused too if I were him. I should be fine. We ended things the way they should have ended. It should all be okay, even if I don’t want him here.
But I'm not fine. I'm the opposite of fine. And seeing him standing there, looking perfect and untouchable while I'm falling apart, makes me want to scream. My emotions are not in control, and it’s becoming more and more evident by the moment.
"Because you don't get to just show up here whenever you want," I say, my voice rising. "You don't get to waltz back into my life like nothing happened, like you have some kind of claim on me."
Caesar frowns. "I don't think I have a claim on you."
"Then what are you doing here?" I snap, and he lets out a breath.
He runs a hand through his hair, and I can see that he's struggling with something. Good. I hope he's as confused and off-balance as I am.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he admits finally. "I had to see you again."
I cross my arms. "Well, congratulations. You've seen me. Now you can go."
Caesar looks at me like he can’t imagine why I’m being so difficult. “Look, I know showing up here again wasn’t the best idea, but I'm here now. Can we just… can we talk?"
“About what?” I demand. “About how you think you get whatever you want? That you probably think you can just snap your fingers and I'll drop everything to fuck you?"
