Matteo (4 page)

Chapter 6

Lester Buntlake.

I take a steely breath and push a plastic smile to my lips as I approach our table. Gosh – is it possible that this man gets more repulsive every time I see him? He’s painfully skinny with stringy hair tugged into a pathetic comb-over and, as usual, he smells like a mixture of tuna, cigarettes and cheap cologne. I have to remind myself that Lester’s company is my blog’s biggest advertiser. His checks have been, in large part, responsible for keeping my employees and freelancers paid for the past year and a half. And all I’ve had to do was meet him for drinks once every quarter to talk business and dodge his flirtations.

Usually, he’s harmless, but tonight he seems to be feeling extra brave and I assume that the pomegranate margarita that he’s been nursing since I walked in isn’t his first of the evening.

“You look awfully pretty in that dress,” he says leaning in close to me, his eyes skimming the top of my red jersey dress. I can smell the alcohol on his hot breath and its nauseating.

I laugh uncomfortably, shifting back in my seat. “Thanks Lester,” I say as my stomach roils. I try to redirect the conversation. “So, how are things going over at Hampton Fresh? I see that you guys just launched a new citrus-berry flavor.” I subtly shift my body away from him.

“Yes, we launched a new flavor.” He eyes me predatorily. “So, are you wearing a new perfume? You smell like flowers.” His hand falls to my knee and I feel sick to my stomach.

“Oh, Lester – why must you always make things so uncomfortable?” I say with a hint of a smile though I firmly push his hand away. Gross – this man is older than my father was. “Let’s just keep it business, shall we?”

He’s more insistent when he immediately puts his hand on me again. “C’mon, Elle – I’ve been funding your little blog for the past two years. You really think that was all business? I really like you and I think you ought to give me more than a few hours at a bar every three months. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I most definitely would not agree.

I pull back sharply. And just as I’m about to open my mouth and give him a piece of my mind, I see a shadow rush in beside me. It all happens in a blur. A tall, dark-haired man grabs Lester by the collar and yanks him to his feet.

“Hey!” Lester screeches right before the man growls, his fist making contact with Lester’s jaw. Lester goes flying and lands in a thud at the feet of a couple having dinner at a neighboring table.

I yelp, jumping to my feet. “Oh my god!” I shriek just as the dark-haired hero turns around to face me.

I find myself looking up into the wild and tempestuous brown eyes of Matteo Moretti.

Chapter 7

I can tell she’s furious as she steps over the threshold, holding the apartment door open for me to follow her inside. She flips on the switch and soft light emanates from a vintage crystal sconce, illuminating the tiny studio apartment. She yanks off her jacket and tosses it in a heap on the pale pink tufted chaise longue facing the huge arched window.

“Come with me,” she says. She’s trying to keep an even tone but I can hear the sharp edges in her voice. I don’t get why she’s so pissed. I just saved her from the horny pig that was all over her at the restaurant and here she is mad at me.

You just can’t win with these women. No wonder chivalry is dying.

I follow her across the room, and I swear, it’s like I’m walking through a Parisian-inspired dollhouse. Everything is soft pink or white with gold accents. Next to the chaise is an antique glass coffee table that holds an old-fashioned reading lamp, a cluster of scented-candles and a few photographs set in bronze vintage frames. A tall bookcase overflowing with classic reads covers half of the wall.

Her wrought-iron bed is a mess of soft white pillows and tangled sheets. A bunch of colorful blouses, short dresses and faded jeans hang from portable hanging racks lining the wall near the bed. The apartment is whimsical and girly – a stark contrast to the leather-clad, sharp-tempered vixen leading me down the hall.

She shoves open a door and steps inside, motioning for me to follow her. She flicks on the light. It’s the bathroom. It smells of vanilla-scented candles or something of the sort.

She bends as she opens the cabinet under the sink and every cell of my body is aching to reach out and squeeze a handful of her perfectly round ass. She emerges with a first aid kit and sets it down on the counter near the sink.

“Sit,” she orders nodding towards the edge of the claw-foot bathtub.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say trying to push back the smile tickling at the corners of my lips. Frankly, I find her sassy attitude amusing…and sexy as hell. Does that make me an asshole?

She brings her gaze to my face and rolls her eyes.

“What?” I say, feigning innocence.

“You really shouldn’t have interfered,” she grumbles under her breath as she reaches for my bleeding fist.

And the contact is electric.

Her touch makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

She jolts slightly as she drops my hand. And I know she feels it, too. I see the way her eyes widen. I hear her breath hitch in her throat.

I chuckle and it comes out gravely and raw. “I shouldn’t have interfered? Honestly, I thought you’d be thanking me. That guy had his hands all over you.”

She gawks at me as she throws the first-aid kit open and pulls out gauze, bandages and antiseptic wipes. “
Thanking you
? I could have handled him myself.”

“I don’t think so. He looked pretty persistent.” I readjust myself on the edge of the bathtub, my erection straining against the fabric of my pants.

Her grip tightens as blood rushes to her cheeks and to those puckered, red lips. “What do
you
care? Why did you make it your business?”

I look up at her, searching for the right words. Goddammit, she’s beautiful. Even more so now that she’s pouty and defiant. I’m usually not at a loss for words but sitting here looking at her, sexual energy pulsing through this tiny space, all I can come up with is a one-sided grin.

She sighs, clearly exasperated. “Give me your hand,” she says with a grunt. My hand reaches out to her, eagerly anticipating the thrill of feeling her skin on mine.

And that electricity is there again, rushing through my flesh and causing my blood to boil in a delicious way.

Jeeze – her skin is
so
soft.

Her eyes flutter and her lips part but this time, her steely expression slips back into place in a flash. I can see the strain on her face as she struggles to maintain her façade, trying to convince us both that my touch doesn’t affect her on a level that melts away her frustration towards me and replaces it with a warm, bubbling flush that tickles her entire body.

Still smiling, I race the fingers of my free hand up her arm. “You okay?”

And, I watch her crumble all over again.

Her mouth moves, but only an incomprehensible sound escapes as her eyes gloss over and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

She takes a sharp breath and straightens her shoulders. She’s fighting for control of herself…It appears to be a losing battle.

“Fine.” The statement is meant to sound confident but her voice comes out in a squeak. I can tell I’m unraveling her.

Her trembling hands disinfect and bandage my wound. My gaze drifts to her spell-binding gray irises before wandering down to her lips, her jaw, her throat and lingering at the plunging neckline of her dress.

I’m staring and I know it, but even when our eyes meet, I just can’t look away. This woman is just fucking captivating and she has no idea.

Her pretty eyes fall to the floor as her cheeks redden.

“Hey,” I say in a soft voice.

“What?” she grumbles, still determined to be mad.

“Look at me.” With the index finger of my free hand, I gently crook her chin so that she’s looking into my face. It’s a bold move, putting my hands on her like this, but I can’t help myself. I need to relive what it feels like to have her skin against mine, to see the way her lips quiver as she takes in sharp, shallow breaths to temper what she’s feeling. I’m tingling where my skin is touching hers.

“What?” she whispers all breathy despite her pout.

I push a gust of air from my lungs. I usually don’t apologize for my actions – I’m the kind of man who stands by my decisions – but here goes. “I didn’t mean to get in the way. I just didn’t want that creep taking advantage of you.” I hold her gaze and it seems to take every ounce of energy in her body to look away. “Why were you out with him, anyway? Do you like him? Is he your type?”

“Why are you asking me that?” she snaps. “Who I spend time with is none of your business!”

I study her for a moment before my hand falls away from her chin. “He can’t be your type. That’s just ridiculous. A beautiful woman like you can have any man you want.”

“Oh, really?” Her tone is hostile and sarcastic. She’s trying so hard to be tough, but I can see the soft, vulnerable parts of her skirting the edges of her façade.

I give her a smile and it feels soft and genuine as it unfolds across my lips. “Really.”

She rolls her eyes as she closes the first aid kit and slides it back under the sink.

I reach out and grab her hand just because my body is throbbing to feel her touch again. “I mean it, Ellie.”

There’s a line – even
I
know that – and I’m about to cross it.

Not because I’m an asshole who has no regards for the rules – although that’s true of me – but because I can’t help it. There’s just something in her eyes that I want to fall into. There’s something about those lips that make me want to pull them between my teeth. Something about her body that says my hands belong on it.

I rise to my feet and I’m towering over her. My thumb skims across her bottom lip and she makes no effort to stop me. Instead, her eyes flutter as she leans into my touch. It feels like my heart is about to pound its way right out of my chest. I’m hesitant as I lower my face to hers.

And just as I’m about to do something incredibly stupid, my phone chimes loudly in the pocket of my slacks.

Startled, I take a small step back. Her eyes go wide and she watches as I pull the phone out of my pocket. I glance down at the screen.

A text from Catalina.

Both resentment and warmth stir within me simultaneously as I swipe my finger across the screen and open the message.

No doubt, jolted back to the moment, Ellie turns slowly on her heel and pads out of the bathroom.

I take the opportunity to read Catalina’s long, rambling text message. I heave a sigh. Catalina can be so damn overbearing at times but I know without a doubt that absolutely no one else could occupy the role that she plays in my life. I force myself to remember that whenever my resentment towards her begins to build.

I tap out a quick reply to her and hit ‘send’.
Hey. Don’t wait up. I’ll b home soon.

I shove the phone into my pocket and go off to find Ellie.

She’s in the kitchenette. Her back is to me as she stands at the sink, filling her electric kettle with water.

“Hey,” I say softly as I come up behind her. My body is telling me to lean into her, to glide my hands up and down her tight little body, but I hold back, for once listening to my better judgment.

She spins around towards me, poker face in place. “Hey.” Her tone is curt.

It’s clear that the moment we shared in the bathroom has passed.

“I’m gonna get going,” I say, rapping my knuckles against the butcher’s block counter. “Thanks for helping me out.” I wave my bandaged hand around in the air.

“Yeah – no problem,” she says coldly as she leads the way to the door. She swings it open and she plants her fist on her waist as she taps her foot impatiently, waiting for me to leave.

Just as I’m about to step over the threshold, I turn to look at her. “Good night, Ms. Parker.”

And, her shell cracks just long enough for me to glimpse the disappointment beneath her carefully-constructed mask. “Good night, Mr. Moretti.”