Ruin Me With Lies, page 40
“Ow!” someone grunts.
I glance down.
Some dude’s just lying there in the grass, chewing on a stick or some shit. Hand shielding his eyes, he squints up at me. “Oh, shit,” he laughs out, a thick Spanish accent cutting through. “JB didn’t whack you?”
“She did. I’m a ghost.” I nod toward the mountain. “Tell me, where does that zipline run to?”
“What, you trying to get up on Grumpaa to Ray?”
“Yeah. To haunt her.”
“Nah, hombre.” He laughs at me again, loud and amused. “Hell nah. You better wait it out. No one is taking that risk.”
“What happens if you interrupt her while she’s sparring?”
“From past examples? She either breaks your bones or kicks you off her team.” He chews on his stick. “Between the two, getting our bones broken is preferable. ‘Cause being on Ray’s team? Best gig there is. But no one wants broken bones either, you know? She’s fast. You never see her coming. Why risk it?”
My girl sounds like a badass. “How long does she usually spar for?”
“Depends on how upset she is. And Ray’s been real upset these days. Could be hours.” He eyes me with a little more focus now. “Look…they won’t admit it, but everyone will be stoked to see you here in one piece. Your presence will change the atmosphere, no doubt ‘bout that. But no one is going to risk her wrath for you.”
He pats the grass next to him. “Come on, relax. Take a siesta. Enjoy the fresh air while the weather is still good. Your time with Pavlov couldna’ been anything but a stressful mindfuck.”
Hard as it is to let go of the tension clawing at me, it’s clear there’s no other option. Hell, I waited six months. What’s another hour or two?
I throw one more glance toward the mountain, then tug up my sleeves and sink into the grass beside him. “What’s your name?”
“Manuel.”
“You guys always this chill in the middle of the day, Manuel?”
“When we are at ThreeFours, yes,” he replies. “This is where we cool down. Recover.”
“And other times?”
He lets out a chuckle devoid of humor. “Other times...life is fucking loco, man. We don’t always all come back alive.” He glances sideways at me. “You should know, eh?”
Yeah.
~
SOMETHING’S FLUTTERING AROUND my face.
I rouse from a light nap to the blur of fast-beating wings, two tiny birds darting back and forth over my head. And I can’t help but smile, because fuck if this isn’t some Utopian shit.
They chirp then zip away into the sky, as if their dalliance right above my face isn’t as fun if I’m conscious.
Scratching my jaw, I glance to my left to check if Manuel’s still there, but instead of the Latino’s friendly brown eyes, I’m met with green. Soft, bright, beautiful fucking green.
My heart lurches against its cage, then settles into something deeper. Something steady. Because I see it now…
The thick black veil of desolate nothingness that I couldn’t see past a few years ago rips open, and suddenly…there’s light. A picture of a future. Years and years of it. Filled with her. As my wife. As the mother of my kids. As my obsession. As the very reason I breathe.
It’s her. She’s it. My reason. My future.
“Hey you,” she whispers.
Fuck. That voice. There’s no sweeter sound.
Disheveled. Damp tendrils clinging to her cheeks. Splotches of mud streaked across her face. A reddened scratch on her neck. She looks like she’s returning from a battlefield…
And she’s still the most flawless fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
A sigh escapes me, unprompted, reverent. “There you are...”
I’m in love with you.
She smiles. And it’s real. Genuine. True. This is her. The girl I’ve been desperate to know. “Here I am.”
I shift onto my side, prop myself on one forearm, and reach for her, fingers sliding to cup the side of her face. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Her lips part. Her breath hitches. Her pulse flutters visibly between her collarbones. But I don’t give her a chance to take another breath, I move in and take what’s mine.
She lets me in.
And fuck, I’ve wanted this.
Needed this.
I kiss her like I’ll never get another chance. Because hell, maybe I never will. Her fingers curl in my hair as she moans into the kiss, and it shoots straight to my cock.
I want her. She’s all I’ve wanted since I met her.
A starved grunt lodges in my throat, and I kiss her deeper, until my lungs burn for air. Even then, I can’t pull away. I’ll never get enough. Never get enough.
We break apart only because she nips my tongue and tugs my hair, forcing me to pause.
“What?” I ask, breathless. “What?”
When I go in for the kill again, she laughs and dodges me, slips out from under me and springs to her feet.
“Not here.” She clears her throat, scratches her neck. “Too many, uh…curious cats.”
Huh?
Needing to touch her again, I get up and reach for her, snaking my arm around her waist. That’s when I notice them. All the onlookers scattered about. Blatantly staring. Some craning their necks.
“What am I missing?” I ask her.
“There’s probably a bet or something.”
“On?”
“Whether I kill you or kiss you.” She shakes her head, smirking. “Most are indifferent about you. Some are big fans. And some just don’t like you. The latter wagered against you, for sure.”
That drags a gut laugh out of me. “Why would they think you’d kill me?”
Her shoulders lift and fall with a shrug. “Because I can be moody.”
“Oh, what a pair we’re going to make.”
I pull her flush against me and claim her mouth again. She doesn’t fight it. And while I’m deep in devouring her, I thrust a fist in the air, then flick up my middle finger for the fuckers who bet against me.
Soraya must sense something, because she breaks the kiss and narrows those pretty eyes up at me. “What did you just do?”
“Kiss you.”
She tilts her head. “You know there are cameras everywhere, right?”
“Let’s kiss some more, then.”
She bites her lip, shaking her head. “Let’s go up to my house.”
“Hmm. Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”
A burst of giggles spills out of her. “What’s wrong with you?”
I’m in love with you.
Her giggling… It’s the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.
This is all I’ve wanted—to touch her, breathe her in, feel her against me. I could die right now, and it would be with a smile. I need nothing more. Just her.
All of her.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Soraya
SOFT STEFANO IS HERE.
After everything he’s been through these last couple of months, I was expecting a man at his wit’s end. Aggravated. Irritated. Rancorous. Demanding answers.
I was geared up to face his justified anger. But Soft Stefano caught me off guard. Knocked me completely off kilter. This is the Stefano from that unforgettable weekend at his Summerlin house. The Stefano who looked at me like I was made of gold. Who touched me tenderly, softly, held me close. Who snuggled and cuddled and kept me glued to him, skin to skin.
The Stefano who made me fall in love with him all over again.
After everything, how is this Stefano the one standing in front of me?
See, this is what keeps me under his spell. Every time I think I have him figured out, he shows me another side of himself. Does the unexpected.
I’ve been raw and on edge for weeks. Wired with tension. Gutted by guilt. And up until he opened his eyes, looked at me, touched me, kissed me...
I didn’t know this was the version of him I needed to show up.
When I came down from sparring and heard he was here, I dropped everything and ran like a gazelle to get to him.
Finding him intact, alive, peacefully asleep in the grass—the most un-Stefano thing I’ve ever seen—I felt calming relief at first. But the longer I sat there watching him sleep, the more dread crept in as anxious thoughts crawled around my mind…
How much did Dad tell him? Does he still want to be with me? Is all of this too much for him? Have I ruined him completely?
And then…he woke up.
And he looked at me with those soft, contented eyes, like I was his favorite view in the world.
And just like that, it soothed everything in me, like a balm over every raw nerve. Quelled the panic, gave me reassurance.
I’m still in there...
And now, filthy and grimy as I am, he won’t stop trying to kiss and grope me, making the walk to the house take twice as long as it should.
“Can you knock it off for a minute so we can get up the hill?” I ask through a laugh as he nuzzles the side of my neck.
He grumbles something unintelligible, then steps in front of me and dips slightly. “Hop on.”
“What?”
“We’ll get there faster if I carry you. Just backseat drive.” He snaps his fingers. “Come on.”
“It’s a really long climb up that hill, Stefano.”
He cocks his head, challenging. “Calling me weak?”
Well, if he insists…
With a shrug, I climb onto his back and wrap my legs around his waist. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He straightens and pats the side of my thigh. “All good back there?”
“Mhm hmm,” is all I can manage, grinning like an idiot.
Chin resting on his shoulder, I guide him until we reach the bottom of Bird Hill.
Stefano stares up at the long stretch of stone steps snaking up the hillside. “Who the fuck are you? Sisyphus?”
“I told you it was—ahh!”
A squeal tumbles out of me, tangled in laughter, when he abruptly takes off running up the steps. There are almost four hundred of them, but he doesn’t stop running until we’re at the top.
Downright impressive. Always full of surprises, this man.
I plant a kiss on the side of his neck, then slide off his back.
His hair’s grown out quite a bit, loosely tied back at the nape. His beard is clipped low but ungroomed. Unkempt doesn’t suit him. Stefano Castello has always been the embodiment of flawlessly immaculate. Head to toe.
Did I do this to him? Brought him to a mental state where he doesn’t care how he looks anymore?
Hands braced on his hips, chest rising fast, he frowns toward the left where two ATVs are parked. “Why the fuck are those up here and not down there?”
I laugh. “Because the steps help me build endurance. I rarely use them. They’re more for emergencies.”
“Yeah, no. I’m gonna be using those,” he hustles out, still winded. “I practice my endurance in the bedroom.”
Don’t I know it...
He shifts his attention to the modest two-story chalet in front of us. Adorned with red gardenias and splashes of vibrant seasonal flowers spilling from window boxes, all framed by a white picket fence.
He raises a brow. “White picket fence, huh?”
I scratch a nonexistent itch on my neck. “I figured it’s the closest I’d ever get to...normal.”
“Fuck normal.” He catches my hand and pulls me into him. “What did I tell you? Extraordinary people are given extraordinary lives. Embrace being extra-fucking-ordinary.” He touches his lips to mine, then adds, “Because I’m sheer magnificence, and I don’t fuck with normal.”
This man…
“I see your ginormous ego is still intact.” A silly grin on my lips, I twist out of his arms and lead him toward the house. “We’re clear of staring eyes up here. Only four others are allowed in this area—my two main men, White and Wren. And my assistants, Bran and Holly.”
“Two main men, huh?”
“Yep.” I throw him a mischievous smile. “They service me well.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, but I see the gears turning behind those sharp eyes, the subtle tightening at the corners of his mouth. The weight of the questions behind his silence.
How much did Dad tell him?
Were it up to me, I’d keep all my secrets hidden. Locked away. Anything to keep him here, close, mine. Because what if he learns too much? Gets too close? What if he sees all the ugly, jagged, broken, defiled pieces of me and decides I’m not worth it?
Dad kept him for a while, so there’s no doubt he knows some things. Probably more than I’d like, considering he hasn’t asked me a single question yet.
“This is me,” I say, opening the front door and letting us in. “Make yourself at home. Kitchen’s there. Coffee station’s in the back nook. Mini bar’s across there. Whatever you’re in the mood for.” I tug at my shirt. “I’m all grimy, so I’m gonna run up and take a quick shower.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He doesn’t even look at me. His back is turned as he moves through the space, taking it in. Moments ago, he couldn’t keep his hands off me, now they’re buried in his pockets, distant and restrained.
Soft Stefano is gone.
Dammit. My dumbass tried to be all cute and playful, cracking that little joke. But all it did was chase him off. Why did I think that would fly? His ego’s bigger than the mountains surrounding us.
The man standing here now, studying my sword collection like it personally offended him, is moody, broody, unpredictable Stefano.
And that’s fine. I love all his versions. I’ll just have to recalibrate, because this version is a bit trickier. He requires more patience, more finesse.
Without another word, I leave him there and head upstairs to shower.
When I return twenty minutes later, he’s standing by the living room windows, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the fading light. A glass of whiskey dangles from his fingers, the amber liquid catching the soft, warm glow. There’s a tautness to him, a stillness as he stares out at the gardens.
It never fails to surprise me how swiftly his moods can shift.
With this version of Stefano, indifference works best. Apathy draws him in. It teases his attention, tickles his intrigue. His ego registers it as a challenge—not being feared or fawned over.
With draggy, unhurried steps, I slip right into that mode as I cross the room. Flop down into an armchair, as though I couldn’t care less about the weight pressing between us.
“Alright.” I hang my head to the side, my damp hair falling against my shoulder. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”
Slowly, he turns from the windows. Takes a drink of whiskey.
His head tilts slightly as he regards me. Watches me. Studies me.
The weight of his stare presses against my skin, heavy and deliberate. And I wrestle the urge to twitch, to fidget, because I feel exposed. Raw. Split open. All my ugliest bits laid bare for him to inspect and scrutinize.
How much does he know? What the hell was Dad doing with him all that time? What secrets did they share? How much does he fucking know?
A siren wails in my head, growing louder with every second he holds that knowing stare. Pressure builds. It climbs up my legs, coils in my gut like a bomb waiting to detonate. Until it surges upward and bursts out of me in a violent, white-hot explosion.
I’m on my feet, storming up to him, chest heaving. “What?” I shove him. “Fucking WHAT?!”
One corner of his mouth hikes into a slow, deliberate smile. “There she is. Soraya.”
Dammit. “What?”
“You went upstairs and came back down as Raya. The phony little liar who sneaked into my villa and conned her way into my heart.” His voice is low, even. “Why did you revert to that girl? Why hide?”
Damn you, Stefano. Damn you!
Why must he see me so clearly? Always peeling back the layers I’d rather keep buried? “How much do you know, Stefano?”
“How much do you want me to know?”
“Nothing. I want you to know nothing. Because I fucking love you, and I don’t want you to—”
He grabs the back of my neck and crashes his mouth to mine. Sweeps his tongue inside and ignites every nerve in a surge of heat, kissing me with fervor and fire and color and sound.
My heart staggers, sagging in relief before it swells and hammers hard against my ribs in a riotous rhythm of lust and excitement and arousal.
The sharp clink of his whiskey glass hitting the wooden table barely registers before he’s pressing me back against the wall, his body flush to mine. His hands slide up to cradle my face, and he kisses me deeper. With a fierce, borderline frantic desperation.
As if he can’t get close enough. As if kissing me is the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
My chest rises and falls in ragged, shallow breaths, breasts straining against the fabric of my tank top as a moan slips from my throat, only to be swallowed by his relentless mouth.
His hands drift between us, the pads of his thumbs grazing over my nipples through the thin cotton. The lightest touch, but it sends a jolt of heat straight through me that makes me arch into him, desperate.
I want him. I need him.
But I can’t beg, not when he’s holding my mouth captive. Even as every fiber of me screams for more, I can’t form the words, because he won’t give me a chance. He’s still kissing me like it’s the last time he’ll ever have me. Like we’re on borrowed time and this is the only thing keeping us breathing.
My pussy throbs in anticipation as his hand slides lower and tugs at the strings of my shorts. Only then does he breaks, but only long enough to peel my shorts and panties down the length of my legs.
I step out of the tangle without hesitation, kicking them aside.
As he straightens, his fingers slip between my slick heat, and I moan, soft and broken, melting back against the wall.
The heat of his touch, the ache of his presence, it’s…intoxicating. God, I didn’t realize how much I missed the feel of his hands on me.
I’m putty right now. Undone. Utterly his. All his.
