Chapter 3

RHIANNON

It wasn’t a dream. I had no idea where Ashley was after she had led me out, and I was sitting in the car of a man I knew zilch about.

A man who was currently witnessing my breakdown and saying nothing about it.

My phone beeped in my purse. Two new messages from Ashley and Hailey.

Seeing Hailey’s name on my screen pulsed something inside me. I didn’t know—rage? Bitterness? Or just deep sadness? So I opened Ashley’s message instead.

Ashley: I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you into his car, purely unintentional, but if you need me to call the cops, just respond with an “okay”, okay?

Me: I’m fine. ( • ‿ • )

“Are you okay now?” the man in front of me asked, his face as expressionless as a statue’s.

“Yes,” my voice croaked out. How easy it was to lie about that when all I felt was a contrast to the word fine.

I mean, how was one supposed to feel when their only sister they had sacrificed so much for, like some naive idiot, gave a public address meant to embarrass them in return?

My hand still lingered over Hailey’s message. I was as curious as I was pained as I slowly clicked on it.

Hailey: You should have waited for the grand finish, Ria. I had a present for you waiting to show you how much I care. But since you’re gone, maybe I’ll wait until you’re back home so I’ll give it to you. Kisses.

No apologies. No ‘that was all some prank, and I never meant it to hurt you.’ No atom of remorse. Just this.

Tamping down the urge to throw the phone down in the car and stamp my feet on it, I slammed it shut by my side.

I never would have imagined things would turn out this way. My sweet little sister turning out to be the devil Ashley had labeled her to be.

I was sure I deserved a lot of “I told you so’s” from the number of times she had warned me about Hailey.

“Please,” I glanced at the man, insecurities about him having a front-row seat to me trying to solve this escalating problem eating at me. God knew what this man already thought of me. “Drop me off at the nearest hotel.”

He didn’t respond, and when I looked again, he was staring at me. Giving me the full-on analytical gaze with those beautiful blue eyes of his.

Now that I took my time to notice it, this man was double the beauty up close. It was almost like I was staring at a man made up from the figments of my imagination.

He broke his gaze, reached towards a bottle of wine I hadn’t noticed before, uncorked it, and poured himself a glass. When he took a sip, he stretched it towards me.

“A glass of wine keeps misery away.” I’d heard many accents my whole life, but none beat the one that escaped his lips on the word misery. I guess he was probably Italian. “Here, have a drink.”

And there went my subconscious alarm, ringing alert in the back of my mind, listing the many reasons why accepting a glass of wine from this man was all shades of wrong. But my body had a mind of its own, and my hand reached for the glass.

One glass, and my throat burned.

Three glasses, and I could barely feel my pain anymore.

“I must look like some hopeless damsel in distress to you,” I told him, sipping on my fourth glass. It was almost as if the entire car was spinning, and I maintained balance by leaning my head against the window. “Some distressed hobo”—belch—“whose beautiful sister decided to make a fool of without b…bating an eyelash, and she probably doesn’t even regret…”

And before I knew it, I was sobbing like some shattered dam. I didn’t know why I was crying this much, wailing nonsensical things about why she could have done this to me when I had loved her to death, but I was definitely a comic show to this guy.

Only when I felt the warmth of his hand on my cheek seeping deep into my skin, his nearness, and saw the seriousness in his eyes, did I know he didn’t think me a joke.

He didn’t pity me, either.

“Maybe you’re my damsel in distress. I have no problem with that,” he said, hot breath caressing my face so that all I could think about were his lips, very close.

What are the chances that I get to kiss them before I leave this car?

“But you’re not a distressed hobo or whatever you think you are. I’ll tell you what you are.” He gently rubbed his thumb down my chin, close to my lips. His minty cologne filled my nostrils, a pulsing heat finding its way through every part of my body.

He glanced down at my lips for one long second. “You’re a flaming ball that ignites everything on fire in your wake.”

“And is that a good thing?” I breathed, and my insides clenched when he ran a finger torturously slow over my bottom lip.

He nodded. “That’s why the world is jealous of you.”

I didn’t restrain myself, capturing his lips with mine. Kissing him with every passion in my soul as my arms found their way around his neck. He didn’t resist, and I felt his burning desire with the way he kissed me back, pulling me in one jerk onto his lap and caging me to himself with an arm. With an unmatchable hunger that urged me to keep up. And as our tongues engaged in a slow, pleasurable tango of alcohol and something much…deeper, something sparked alive in me. Something I didn’t think I had ever felt with all the men I had dated.

All I wanted right now was him. The feeling of perfect symphony as his mouth devoured mine never to end.

He grunted something under his breath, probably Italian, as his lips broke away from mine, but I didn’t allow the separation to linger. Whatever this was, I didn’t want it to end now.

“Let’s continue this inside, Tizzone mio,” he grunted against my mouth. I didn’t know what the last word he had said meant, but I knew it was Italian, and it created a tingle in my stomach that made me want to hear him say it again.

“Tizzone mio.” The name tasted like snowflakes on my tongue. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Italian for ‘my burning ember,’” he whispered and planted another kiss on my mouth. “Tizzone mio.”

“That’s the best thing any man has ever called me,” I whispered back, kissing him again.

“Then you’ll never hear any man call you anything better,” he said, and our lips tangled again in another hot kiss.

And I was still lost in the moment when the car door opened, and the sight from my peripheral caught my attention, and my jaw dropped.

“Where are we…?”

“My home,” he responded. “I couldn’t let you go to some hotel to spend the night accommodating the misery your sister had the pleasure of putting you in.”

He had brought me to his home. And the said home looked as surreal as himself.

I didn’t question his reason. Instead, I turned back to meet his eyes and allowed my fingers to roam his hair. “Let’s go in.” I didn’t get tired of kissing him. “And finish…this.”

And maybe I would regret this tomorrow because it was just a spur of the moment, I wanted to relish with my entire being, but there were no regrets now.

Just pure, unadulterated passion that should never end.