I read the message again. And again. And again.
“In case you change your mind.”
Part of me, the small part that hadn’t felt wanted in years, whispers:What if you did?
I thought about Nathan. About the way he had looked at me when he said I didn’t know what love was. About my father, who’d walked out without a word. About my mother, who’d loved me but had been too exhausted to show it.
I thought about all the ways I’d been left.
And then I thought about Lorenzo, watching me with those dark, hungry eyes, telling me I could have whatever I wanted if I just said yes.
Chapter Eight
Lorenzo
I didn’t sleep.
Not because I couldn’t—I’ve gone days without sleep before, running on whiskey and rage and the constant hum of something broken inside me. No, this time I couldn’t sleep because every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Zara.
The way her dark hair had fallen across her face when she’d looked down at her hands. The way her voice cracked when she talked about being broken. The way she looked at me, like I was either a savior or a threat, and she couldn’t decide which one scared her more.
I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my sheets twisted around my legs. The penthouse was silent—the kind of silence that comes with too much space and not enough warmth. I’d bought this place because it was spacious and nothing like the cold, gilded cage I’d grown up in.
But lying there, alone, it felt just as empty.
I kept replaying last night. Every detail. The way she’d walked into my bar like a storm cloud in human form, dragging a suitcase and a world of hurt behind her. The way she ordered drinks, like she was trying to drown out heartbreak. The way she’d looked at me when I’d wiped her tears—wide-eyed, frightened, wanting.
She’d wanted me. I’d seen it. Underneath the fear and confusion, there was a spark. A pull. The same pull I’d felt the moment I’d laid eyes on her.
But she’d run.
And I’d let her.
For now.
I ran a shower, hoping it would help to clear my head.
I stood under the scalding water, my palms pressed against the tile, and let it beat against my shoulders. Steam filled the glass enclosure, fogging everything until I can no longer see my own reflection.
But I could still see her.
Those lips. Full, pink. I’d wanted to bite them. I’d wanted to taste them. I’d wanted to drag her into the back room and show her exactly what kind of arrangement I had in mind.
My cock hardened again at the thought.
I wrapped my hand around it, leaning into the feeling, letting the image of her fill my mind.
Her curves. The way her sweater had hung over her body, clinging to her breasts when she held herself. The way her leggings had curved around her hips, her thighs. I’d imagined peeling them off her, piece by piece, revealing the soft olive skin underneath. I’d imagined pressing her against the bar, her back arching, her gasps filling the air as I took her right there.
I stroked myself harder; the water sluicing down my body with every movement.
In my mind, she was moaning my name.
In my mind, she was mine.
My hands quickened pace as I pictured her on her knees, water weighing down that thick head of curls as her lips worked my cock between her lips.
