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The timer went off, and I grabbed my oven mitts to pull the prime rib out of the oven. The wire rack over the pan served as an effective cooling rack, and I transferred it to set over a cutting board so I could use the drippings to make my au jus.
With that finished, I snapped my photos of all the completed components before I sliced into the prime rib and prepped up three plates. One I popped into the fridge for Duke, knowing I'd shoot him a text that it was waiting for him if he got hungry. I'd just finished wrapping up Duke's plate when my front door opened, and I spun around quickly.
“I locked that for a reason," I pointed out, staring at Matteo's stunning face as he stripped off his suit jacket while he prowled toward me. He tossed his jacket, so it landed on one of the stools at the island, stepping into my space until his torso pressed into my chest. I gritted my teeth, staring at the spot where his white dress shirt was open at the top. Even all wrapped up in a fine suit and with the potential to be a gentleman, Matteo somehow managed a small rebellion from the norm that hinted at just how ungentlemanly he could be. The lightest dusting of hair peeked out from the bottom of the opening in his shirt, yet another reminder that the boy was gone. Replaced by a beast of a man who was nothing but bad for me. His hand reached out, running a thumb over my bottom lip as he tilted my face up to his. Soft, coaxing lips touched mine, and I had to fixate on remaining still. I wouldn't make the same mistake I'd made the night before, wouldn
't kiss the devil in front of me.
He pulled back, an evil knowing in his eyes as he stared down at me. He knew exactly what game I was playing, that my lack of reception to his kiss had nothing to do with being unaffected and everything to do with trying to prevent myself from falling under his spell. "I told you, you need an alarm system." He took my hand, guiding me over to the breakfast nook where I'd set the plates and put out a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. I knew it wouldn't be up to Matteo's standards, but I wouldn't have bothered if I'd been able to stomach not having wine with prime rib. I didn't want him to read into it, but Cabernet was just perfect. He put me in a seat, somehow knowing it was the seat I always sat in, with my back to the windows so I could see my kitchen—my inspiration. He took his own seat, pouring the wine into our glasses without commenting on the wine itself.
"Would an alarm system keep you out?" I asked after the silence grew too large for my tastes.
"What do you think?" He grinned, a flash of teeth that spoke to just how animalistic the man was.
I sighed, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. "Then what exactly is the point in having one? If it doesn't keep intruders out of my home?"
"I'm not an intruder, Angel. Soon enough, you'll welcome me into your home and bed. We both know these little games will be futile." He picked up his fork and knife, slicing through the prime rib that melted like butter in his hands.
I couldn't blame it.
Popping the meat into his mouth, he paused, chewing thoughtfully before emitting a deep moan of satisfaction that made me press my thighs together. "That's fucking incredible."
I shrugged, picking up my glass and sipping at my wine. "It's just prime rib."
And it was. Just great prime rib.
"You're gifted. Truly." Matteo's voice was astonished, as if he was seeing something about me for the first time. It suddenly felt too intimate, which was ridiculous. My cooking was far from a secret. Thousands of people read my blog every day, but something about Matteo had always seen beneath the surface to every facet of my being.
"Why are you doing this? Forcing your way into my life? Surely, there must be other women who could satisfy whatever need it is you think I'll meet—"
His fork dropped to the plate, and he stared at me until I fell silent under the force of that glare. "I am doing this," he paused, heaving a deep sigh. "Because you are mine. It's as simple as that."
"I haven't been yours for a long time, Teo," I protested, wincing at the way the name I'd once called him felt as it left my lips.
"You've always been mine, Cara mia. Even when we couldn't be together." He said it like it was so obvious. But the reality was he had spent over a decade fucking other women and leaving me to be with other men. That was not the man I wanted to belong to.
"I'm not interested in whatever weird kind of relationship you think it is we have. An open relationship? Something where you come back whenever you feel like it? Neither of those scenarios appeal to me, Matteo. I'm sure there are plenty of women content with what you're offering, and there's nothing wrong with that if it works for you. But I'm not that girl." I gave him a sad smile, setting down my silverware. I was finished—eating, playing his games, all of it. "I believe you know where the door is." He took another bite of his prime rib, defying me and my wishes to the last. When he'd finished his plate, he stood, watching me as I finished cleaning up my kitchen. It was an obsessive thing, always needing to clean the space down after every use. He glanced at my sage off-shoulder maxi dress, and his eyes tracked down to take in the nude heeled boots on my feet.
"You're comfortable in those?" he asked, and I furrowed my brow in confusion.
"Yes, though I'll take them off as soon as you leave." He knelt at my feet in front of me, shoving my dress up enough to inspect the shoes. I nearly lost my balance when he took one foot in his hands, twisting it gently to inspect the heel.
"They'll do. Let's go." Scooping up his jacket, he shrugged it back onto his shoulders but left the front unbuttoned. Like a crazy, elegant rebel.
"I'm not going anywhere," I protested. He seemed to consider his options and then nodded as if he was conceding defeat. With a heaving sigh of relief, I flinched when he stood directly in front of me and his hands grasped my hips in his hands. After he truly settled there, he lifted and heaved me up onto his shoulder. I grunted, smacking his back in struggles that went ignored as he turned and walked toward my entryway. He turned off the lights as he went, grabbing my keys off my console table and making for the door. "Matteo!" I shrieked. "Put me down!" Stepping out on to the front porch, he didn't seem to care that we must have been attracting attention from my neighbors—that they would likely call the police to report an abduction. "I need my phone at least. My purse." He swatted me on the ass with a resounding thump. It wasn't painful in the slightest, not through the combined fabric of my underwear and my dress, but the principle of it was shocking, regardless.
"Don't need them," he grunted, sealing my door shut with my own keys. When he turned and strode for the Aston Martin, I increased my struggles.
"Stop! Let me go! The neighbors will call the police, you know."
Matteo chuckled, turning me around so suddenly I felt dizzy. "You calling the cops?" he asked, and I had to wonder which neighbor he was harassing.
"No, Sir. Wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Bellandi. I didn't see nothing," my friendly, older neighbor Mike said, and his front door closed with a thud.
Traitor.
I imagined him retreating inside it, leaving me to the mercy of a man that he feared himself.
"Matteo, please," I begged as he pried open the passenger door.
