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Chapter 16
Evelyn
Massimo’s lips were even softer than I’d dreamed, caressing mine in a skillful, seductive kiss. With every flick of his tongue, he stoked the heat gathering low in my belly. My breasts felt full and heavy, my nipples peaked to hard buds. I pressed my body closer to his hulking frame, wantonly seeking to stimulate them against his hard chest.
He hummed his approval and deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a deep, domineering stroke. My head tipped back farther, inviting his claim. His big hand cradled my nape, holding me in a careful but immovable grip. He kept me right where he wanted me and plundered my mouth, taming my tongue with his.
My core pulsed with arousal, an aching beat. I’d only ever felt this once before: during my illicit dream about the dark stranger who’d come to my rescue. I’d awoken, tormented by guilt for betraying George in my subconscious.
My stomach soured, and I broke the kiss. Massimo could’ve easily kept me locked in his firm embrace, but he allowed me to put distance between us.
Even as I felt sick with an echo of my misguided guilt, my body burned for him. I craved more of his fierce seduction, but that desire was wrong. Crazy.
“What’s wrong, farfallina?” he murmured, silver eyes molten with worry and residual lust.
I shook my head. “I can’t do this. It’s just…” How could I put my roiling emotions into words? “It’s too much.”
I hated the guilt that churned in my gut. I had no reason to feel guilty, but I couldn’t quite shake the awful feeling.
George. The man I’d thought I would marry. We’d planned to spend the rest of our lives together. He’d always wanted to be a DEA agent, a force for good in this world. And I’d intended to be his most ardent supporter, his devoted wife. I would’ve sacrificed anything for him.
I had sacrificed for him. I’d given up my job at the university. I’d isolated myself in that tiny apartment.
And even before then, I’d given up all career aspirations of my own to follow him to Mexico. I’d left my Fine Art degree collecting dust so that I could support his noble dreams.
But there was nothing noble about George. He’d sold his loyalties to a cartel. He’d stood by and watched as a man pulled a gun on me. I would be dead if Massimo hadn’t saved me.
“You should take it off,” Massimo growled, his dark brows drawn into harsh slashes over his glittering eyes.
“What?” I asked, following the direction of his glower.
I realized I’d been fiddling with my engagement ring, spinning the small diamond around my finger as anxiety ravaged my psyche.
I clenched my hand into a fist, instinctively refusing to take it off. I’d worn my ring ever since George had proposed two years ago, on the day we’d graduated from college. It’d been a constant sign of his pledge to love me forever, a love that no one else had ever offered me. Not even my parents.
A sense of utter loneliness crushed my heart.
Had any of it been real?
“You don’t belong to him,” Massimo insisted. “Take it off.”
“I… It’s not that simple,” I protested.
If I took off the ring, I’d be accepting the awful reality of my current circumstances. I would have to fully acknowledge the depth of George’s betrayal.
How long had he been corrupt? I remembered how fervently he’d expressed his desire to be an agent back when we were freshmen at college. Surely, he hadn’t been lying to me then? Surely, every moment we’d shared couldn’t have been a lie.
I didn’t think my heart could bear the loss. Not only the loss of six wasted years with him, but also the loss of the future I’d envisioned for us in Albuquerque. My whole world was crumbling around me. The ring felt heavy on my finger, an anchor tethering me to sanity. If I took it off, I would be adrift, without direction or purpose. Supporting George’s dreams had been my passion; his happiness had been my only concern in life. If my fiancé was content and fulfilled, that was enough to sustain me. Before meeting him, I’d been alone.
I couldn’t endure that loneliness again: the isolation borne of callous indifference from the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. My family had never given a damn about me. But George had. He’d loved me.
Hadn’t he?
If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, the floodgates opening. Maybe George had loved me once, but not anymore.
He would’ve left me for dead in that basement. He would’ve allowed me to be gunned down right in front of him without a word of protest.
