Enzo walked into his en suite, turned on the light, and I quietly followed him. Without saying more, he shoved down his sweats and stepped free of them.
As he removed his boxers, I stifled a moan and leaned against the counter. Enzo’s body was absolute perfection from head to toe. And his muscular ass . . . Michelangelo couldn’t have carved a better one.
He wordlessly stepped into one of the most luxurious showers I’d ever seen, and God, I wanted to join him. But it was more important that he sober up right now and shake off some of his anger. I needed him to talk to me and let me help him with whatever the hell was going on.
Keeping the door open and with the water on, Enzo slowly turned beneath the spray, and I braced the counter on each side of me at the sight.
The girth of that man. His length. The veins that led to the head of his impressive cock. I licked my lips, wishing I could taste him.
He leisurely slid a hand up and down his shaft as I worked my focus up his wall of muscles to find his face. He ran his free hand through his wet hair and messed it up, and his wet lashes only intensified that dark look in his eyes as he stared at me.
“This what you want?” he roughly asked while moving his hand up and down a few more times, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek, trying to summon the strength not to slip my hand down my pants and touch myself as I watched him.
And then a hard knot formed in my stomach and had me gripping my shoulders. I smashed my forearms to my breasts to hide myself. “You wouldn’t do this if you hadn’t been drinking or weren’t so upset. Maybe I—I shouldn’t be in here with you?” I gave him my profile, prepared to flee and leave him alone to rub one out.
“So help me, Maria, if you walk out that door, I will slap your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.” The abrasive tone of his voice and order had me nervously peeking over at him, finding him still gripping his cock.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t try me, Tesoro,” he remarked, only further turning me on as I fully faced him. I dragged my eyes up to meet his hard gaze, needing more reassurance from him that he truly wanted this. “It would take an entire bottle and then some for me to completely lose my mental faculties. Even then, that’s debatable. I’m not drunk. Now, get your sexy ass over here.”
His brother had said he’d been heavily drinking, and I’d assumed he was drunk, but he hadn’t slurred since I’d arrived.
Smirking, he motioned for me to come closer, but I kept my hands to my shoulders, feeling my body blush with embarrassment.
The man before me was all hard and rigid lines, and I was the opposite. I’d never had washboard abs even before pregnancy, and working to get them now wasn’t on my to-do list. I’d rather enjoy cheesecake and eat chips and salsa while binge-watching shows on Netflix.
“Maria?” He peered at me with a question in his eyes. “Don’t you tell me that idiota ex of yours is in your head right now. If you’re thinking about what he said today, so help me . . .” He was no longer beneath the spray of the water, and yet the cooler air striking him didn’t make him go remotely limp.
“I’m just . . . well.” I gripped my shoulders a touch harder. “You’re like this Greek god before me.”
“Italian,” he shot back, nearly smiling despite whatever grave news he’d received earlier.
But then Thomas and his mother infiltrated my thoughts, and their not-so-kind words painted vicious strokes through my mind. “I’m curvy, Thomas was right.” I thought about my stomach next. “Soft.” I shook my head. “I have hips. Thighs. An ass. And, well, life’s just too short not to eat bread.” I shrugged, still holding my shoulders.
His lips twitched as if torn whether he wanted to smile or scowl. The mention of Thomas was probably to blame for the latter. “I love watching you eat, especially my food,” he finally said. “And if you think for one second I don’t love everything about you just as you are . . .” Instead of finishing his words, he surprised me by swallowing the space between us. “Lower your arms and let me look at what’s mine.”
The rough command alone would’ve done me in, but the way he’d snapped out “mine” had me feeling dizzy with desire, as if I were already on the precipice of an orgasm.
“Tesoro,” he said in a calmer voice this time, dragging a finger along the contour of my cheek while staring into my eyes. “If you walk away from me, I will snap. I can promise you that.” He swallowed. “You’re the only one capable of keeping me from . . .” He closed his eyes. “The only one who can save me when this is all over.”
Over? “From what?”
“From hell, Maria.” His lids slowly parted. “From hell,” he repeated in a solemn tone that time.
“Enzo,” I whispered, unsure what to say or do. “Talk to me. Now you really are scaring me.” I let go of my shoulders to hold his muscular biceps, slick with water droplets. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He bowed his head to mine and in a shaky voice shared, “The man my brothers and I murdered wasn’t responsible for Bianca’s death. He was framed.”
Your brothers helped you kill him? And wait . . . what? He was innocent? My body went cold at his words as disbelief grabbed hold of me.
“The man was still a killer, just not her killer.” He eased his head back, and instead of the harsh look that’d been there since the moment I walked into his place tonight, I saw the twenty-four-year-old young man in mourning before me. Sad. Hurt. Angry and broken. “The day Bianca died, though, I died, too. Part of me, at least,” he said in a hoarse voice. “That’s my problem, don’t you see? I only have half of me to give you. And you deserve someone who can give you their whole world, not just a piece.”
My lip wobbled at the threat of tears, unsure how to talk without a sob escaping. But before I could find the strength to speak, he shifted away from my touch and went to the shower and turned off the water.
His hands went to his hips as he faced me. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. I can’t—”
“I just want to be here for you, Enzo,” I cut him off as I stepped before him. “Let me in. Stop pushing me away when it should be obvious by now I’m not going anywhere.” Let me love you.
He reached for me and drew me against his body a second later, and my tits smashed against his damp skin. He held me tight, setting his chin on top of my head, and I lost track of how long he held me like that before we went into his bedroom.
He offered me a tee of his to sleep in, and he pulled on a pair of boxer briefs while I swapped my work pants for his shirt. His eyes never left my body the entire time I changed, and chills scattered across my skin at the way he looked at me.
Once in bed, he cradled me beneath his comforter, and little did he know he was still giving me the only non-naughty number on my list and the one that meant so much to me: falling asleep in his arms.
