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“It is you!”
That voice.
A thousand memories. A thousand kisses. A thousand promises.
I’m assaulted by a past I try desperately to forget each day.
No.
Dropping down to pick up the can, I gulp down a lungful of air. I hope I’m imagining this. Not a chance. I stand and lock eyes with the familiar, probing and intense blue eyes of none other than Lucca Russo. His eyes—oh my God they stab at my heart—lock with mine, anger flaring in them.
Anger?
Hell no.
He has not one single thing to be angry about.
But me? I’m fuming.
“Be with you in a second,” Jake calls from his station. “Your timeliness will be the death of me.” I don’t reply, my focus trained on one thing.
Lucca marches toward me, a furious wave rippling from him.
Thud. Thud.
“Lucca? What the fuck?” Jake frowns, but Lucca only has eyes and words for me.
Before he can speak, I do.
Fuck him and his glare.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, the snuffed out fire inside my chest blazing into an inferno only Lucca had been able to manage.
His devastatingly handsome face twists into a cruel sneer—a sneer he’d saved for lots of people in the past, but never me. Not until the end. Not until now.
“Me?” His laugh is cold and mocking, his familiar scent engulfing me as he comes to rest a mere foot from me. “I work here. What are you doing here?”
I swallow down the emotion clawing its way up inside me. “I have an appointment.” I cross my arms over my chest. His blue eyes dart there briefly, making my skin heat, before he mimics the action. With him standing there, his biceps bulging and dark hair in disarray, I’m reminded of so many times together with him. Pain slices through me, nearly debilitating.
He left me.
He stole everything he ever created within my heart and took it when he bailed on me.
My eyes burn with tears. I fist my hands, wishing I could hit him for every time he made me cry from his absence. My lip wobbles, and I bite down on it. Of course, Lucca’s stare drops there. He never misses a detail. Cold indifference contorts his face into a deadly expression—a hateful one I’ve only ever seen once.
“That’s my design,” he says stubbornly.
Anger surges back inside me like the swell of a wave, building with desperation to decimate before crashing down. “It was a gift,” I hiss, my upper lip curling. “Mine.”
He scoffs, and his cruel expression hardens. “You were mine.”
I blink at him in shock. “And you left me.”
Our voices have risen, and several people become interested in our argument. I’m only interested in slapping the shit out of him. After feeling dead for so long, the anger swirling inside me feels good. I certainly feel alive. Someone opens the front door, and the wind whips after me, fluttering up my dress again, drawing Lucca’s eyes to my thighs.
“Hi. I have an appointment with Layne,” a woman says, standing next to me awkwardly, sensing she’s walked in on a moment.
“Back here, Rena!” Layne calls out.
Jake appears with a giant roll of paper towels.
“Take it outside, Russo,” he grinds out. “Make it quick.”
I can hear the irritation in Jake’s voice. Of course he doesn’t want his employee and customer to have a nuclear meltdown in the front of his shop. Bad for business.
Lucca grips my bicep in a possessive way that used to have me swooning. Now, it makes me jolt from his sudden touch. Still warm. Still firm. I try to jerk from his hold, but he simply growls in frustration before hauling me out the door. He guides me around the side of the building and away from prying ears. As soon as we’re in the alleyway, he glowers at me, his gaze raking over me from head to toe.
“I can’t believe you even have the audacity to twist that shit around on me,” he snarls, the muscles in his neck making his tattoo seem to breathe with life.
“Twist it on you? Lucca, you left me!” This time, the tears build, and one lets loose. I hastily swipe it away, harnessing my anger.
He steps closer, and my ass hits the brick wall. I hate how my body responds to him, even after all this time. He sets me on fire in a way no one else ever could. The control he has after all this time is infuriating. It’s my fault. I never let him go, and now that he’s back, the pull is strong, and I can’t help but go with it.
“I left because I had to,” he utters lowly, a brief flash of pain in his blue eyes. “Sofina was just a teenager. She had no one, Autumn.”
My real name on his lips sends a deep, familiar tingle down my spine. And I hate it. I hate that he’s inside me and doesn’t have to do a thing to earn that.
