Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise Stories Book 2) (9 page)

When I exited the building, Cain was waiting just outside the main door. I could see him through the etched glass as I approached; he had been pacing. Something about this made me giggle. I had to calm my nerves; I was shaking like a schoolgirl. He had something in his hand behind his back, and he waited as I cleared the front stoop.

“Here.” He thrust a red Gerber daisy at me. The bright red color with a dark center matched my outfit. He wiped his hand nervously down his pants, after I took it from him, and I brought the flower to my nose. My smile could not be helped. He seemed nervous, too. He was charming when he wanted to be.

“Shall we?” he offered, pointing for me to lead us toward the street. His hand pressed against my lower back, and I flinched in surprise, side glancing over my shoulder. He instantly removed his touch and I felt the loss. It wasn’t that I didn’t want his hands on me. In graphic detail, images of his fingers up my skirt, buried inside of me days ago in a hall haunted me. I’d craved his hands on me for the rest of the week. What I didn’t desire was the sting I was certain to feel after I accepted his affection.

We were quiet as he drove. He seemed quite confident in his directions through town and then slightly outside of it. In an older district with quaint homes, he pulled into a driveway. When I looked at him, he was already exiting the door.

“Stay,” he growled as I reached for my handle. He quickly crossed in front of the SUV and opened my door for me. He offered his hand to help me, but I slid out on my own.

“Where are we?” I asked, eyeing the elaborate white stucco home with a terra cotta roof, like many others in this part of California. It looked like a villa, only on a smaller scale, and I instantly thought of my grandparents’ inn and a vineyard I’d visited in Italy.

“Come inside” was his reply, ignoring my question. His hand found my lower back, but this time he didn’t remove it and I didn’t flinch away.

We entered the home to the mouth-watering smell of pasta, and I was reminded of my grandmother’s cooking. Leading me straight back to the kitchen, I was met by a large man dressed in black. Arms as big as Cain’s, his head was bald and shining under the kitchen lights, but his smile was instant and friendly.

“Ms. Vincentia, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

I remembered him. He was Cain’s bodyguard. He followed Cain’s father, when he barged into Cain’s guest room at the inn. He was also the man who tried to hand me my panties and bra after the interruption. When Cain’s father demanded I leave after insulting me. My face heated at the memory of this large man holding out my intimate apparel for me. Embarrassment was hardly the noun to describe the moment. Mortified was a better word.

“Sofie?” Cain questioned. I shook my head. I was not about to relive those memories with him.

“Kursch.” The large man stuck out his thick hand. “Since Cain here is too rude to introduce us again properly. You look very nice tonight.” I blushed again. We’d actually met on another occasion. He was present as a witness to our marital vows, and then he disappeared that night, with one of the divorcees.

“I see you took my advice, sort of,” Kursch added, eyeing the single flower pinched between my fingers. He shook his head in teasing disappointment.

“Shut up, old man,” Cain groaned under his breath, but with a smile. Kursch’s eyebrow rose as if to say he’d proved his point.

“On that note, I think I’ll leave you two alone. Have a good evening.” Kursch looked at Cain pointedly. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Vincentia.”

I nodded my reply as the scary man in black left the kitchen, followed by the soft click of a back door closing.

“He was wrong,” Cain said, filling the awkward silence at the bodyguard’s exit. “You look beautiful.” He appeared to surprise himself after the words were spoken, and I assumed he didn’t believe them. I shouldn’t have cared, but I was slightly insulted by his tone. I looked down at myself. My t-shirt was plain. The skirt too feminine. I’d seen the images of the type of women he preferred. Women who revealed more by wearing less modest clothing. Cursing, I reminded myself I wasn’t here to impress him.

“What smells so good?” I asked, ignoring Cain’s comment and crossing to the stove. The kitchen was moderate sophistication. With industrial steel appliances, granite countertops, and a country sink, it was your typical domestic set-up, and yet it was comfortable. The scent and the decor reminded me of my grandparents’ personal kitchen, not the restaurant’s large scale one. A short island counter stood with two high stools and a dark wood table filled the in-kitchen eating area.

“Kursch made his famous pasta. It’s some family recipe. I don’t know what’s in it, but it’s delicious, I promise. Wine?” he asked, as he brushed past me for two glasses in an etched glass display cabinet. He poured us each some wine then handed a glass to me.

“Shouldn’t I just be signing the papers?” I questioned in confusion.

“What should we toast?” he asked, ignoring me. My stunned response was immediate.

“To divorce?” I laughed, trying to lighten the situation, but Cain didn’t seem to think it was humorous. He clinked my glass softly then drank the red sweetness down.

“Let’s eat,” he finally said, and the awkwardness returned.

“Eat?” I questioned again, like an incompetent buffoon. I stared as he served us each a large bowl, then carried them into another room. The dining room held a table that sat eight. It was inviting and antique looking. I stared at the contrast between this rough fighter and the furniture that surrounded him.

“Whose house is this again?” I asked quizzically, hinting that he hadn’t answered me before. My eyes roamed the quaint space. It was then that I noticed the blue envelope on the sideboard and reached instantly for it. As if I received an electric shock, my hand retreated, while I read our names on the cover.

“Sofie,” Cain pleaded. “Come eat with me.” His voice was soothing, and I cursed myself for the way it warmed me. The way it drew me away from the dreaded papers. I turned to find him seated, waiting for me to take a seat next to him. The setting was too familiar. He seemed so out of place in this house, and yet he appeared rather comfortable here.

I sat, taking a bite of the most delicious pasta I’d ever tasted. I might have moaned in appreciation and noticed that Cain was watching me. He smiled slightly before he took a bite himself. I was comfortable being in this dining room. After several seconds, though, the awkwardness returned.

“Maybe I should just sign the papers and get it over with,” I spoke, trying to rid my jumpiness and doing a terrible job of it. My nerves were almost consuming me.

“Maybe you could tell me how you’ve been?” he asked. I blinked in surprise. A year had passed. Surely, he couldn’t care one bit about the past year.

“I…”

“Did you see David?” his voice teased as he interrupted me.

“David?”

“Yes, the man hung like a horse. Was he what you thought?” he provoked further.

“Excuse me?” I stared at him in disbelief.
Who the hell was David, and how would I know what his body parts looked like?
I turned red at the thought, and Cain smiled devilishly before he took another deep sip of his wine. He waited a beat for my face to clear.

“David?” he repeated in a forced Italian accent. “You saw him in Italy.”

My face instantly turned pink again. He’d remembered my mentioning that I planned to see the Statue of David by Michelangelo when I went abroad. I had teased him with my desire to “meet” David because of the size of his human anatomy.

“I did,” I swallowed. My eyes puzzled that he recalled the conversation.

“I would have liked to have been there. For comparison sake, of course,” he smiled slightly.

“Of course,” I giggled, letting go of some of my nervous energy.

“I’ve heard Italy is…romantic. Was it?” he inquired, his voice softening. It was a strange question to ask, and I didn’t want to assume he had an ulterior motive for asking.

“It was and it wasn’t. I mean Italy would be the perfect place for a hon….” My voice trailed off.
Honeymoon.
When he asked me to continue to pretend our false wedding, he promised he’d take me to Italy for a honeymoon. I remembered his words, but I blocked the thought. It was hard enough traveling through romantic villas and crowded piazzas, wondering what it would be like, if I was there with a lover, not a group of college students. Looking up, I was reminded of what Lindee warned: Cain isn’t a lover; he’s a fighter.

It was time to change the subject.

“Tell me about your next fight.”

“Let’s not talk about fights, tonight.” I acquiesced with a nod. I didn’t really want to know the details of his decision to fight his brother. It was too asinine in my opinion. What did it prove to fight your own brother? But as long as we were having this difficult moment of sharing, I did want to understand better why he fought in general.

“How did you get into fighting?”

“Sofie,” he sighed, warning me.

“I’d just like to know. Try to…understand you,” I offered. He took another deep sip of his wine, and then began a tale of how his father encouraged boxing when he was young. It evolved to mixed martial arts for him, because of the diversity of moves. While he didn’t mind pounding into someone, he liked the ability to use his legs as well. Any part of him could be used to strike. He emphasized this with a quick jab of his cobra-covered arm and I flinched then giggled in surprise. His movements were so rapid and controlled.

“Don’t…don’t be afraid of me, Sofie. That would be the worst thing you could do.”

“I’m not,” I lied. It wasn’t his physique I feared, or rather it was. If his body was used against me, I’d lose my battle to stay removed from him. His easy banter, as he talked of learning to fight, reminded me of our first dinner. Once we began talking, we were comfortable with one another. The conversation filled our thoughts with other things than the blue envelope that was burning a hole in the sideboard behind me.

She was so fucking beautiful and I was going to hell for dragging this process out further. She wore those damn sexy red glasses and seductive red lipstick that I imagined drawing a new pattern of design on my already inked body. When she smiled, her face glowed, as if what she said, or rather what I said, was the most interesting thing in the world. She didn’t overly smile. It was more of a slow burn that brightened up as her lips rose. I should have kissed her that first night, not shoved my fingers into her. I just wanted her attention. I wanted her to remember. Her lip twitched as I stared while she gave some explanation about something in Italy. I wasn’t listening. That mouth was the sweetest candy, distracting me, and I wanted one more lick of them.

I had to stop thinking about her lips, I scolded myself.

My phone dinged in the kitchen and I ignored it, but when it buzzed again two seconds later, Sofie suggested it might be important. I couldn’t think of anything more important than prolonging this dinner, keeping her attention, and holding that smile. But when it rang one more time, I decided to excuse myself.

Practically ripping the phone off the counter, the missed calls were from my father. I wasn’t about to return them, and the last thing I wanted was him to ruin my night, even from a state away. I was turning off my phone as I returned to the dining room when it buzzed again.

Malinda
, it read. Her overlarge cleavage showed under her name scrolled across the screen.

I’d like to say I was a faithful man, but I was no saint. I was the devil, and Malinda had played the succubus part to rid me of tension I couldn’t relieve alone. She was in Vegas, and the night before a fight, we had a standing engagement, if I wished. I wasn’t in Vegas tonight, though.

I looked up to find Sofie standing, literally right in front of me. Her face began to color pink, knowing she was caught glancing down at my phone. Her playful smile had disappeared.

“Must be really important,” she whispered.

“It’s not,” I stated, clicking off the phone and pocketing it.

“Too bad for her,” she added under her breath. I was about to give her a warning when her hand reached out for the blue envelope. She brought it to the table and stood as she read the front cover. I had the words memorized:

In the matter of marriage, Petitioner, Cain Atom Callahan, and Respondent, Sofie Antoinette Vincentia, Final Decree of Divorce…

Skipping to line 4.

It is ordered that the Petitioner and the Respondent are divorced.

I wished I’d memorized our marriage license half as well as I studied that divorce decree. A settlement was attached that seemed reasonable and fair for Sofie to remain quiet about this affair. It felt appropriate to pay her for her trouble, although I was doubtful she’d want to share with others her whirlwind engagement, one-year estranged-marriage, and secret divorce. It was so scandalous and ripe for the tabloids, which was just what I didn’t need. I was trying to rebuild my reputation, or at least my father wanted it rebuilt. He wanted me to prove I was still the best. Cleared of killing Joey Montana, The Mountain, Atom still wished for men to fear the power of death within my hands.