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Because the truth was, I had felt little of anything since he'd broken me.
“Enter,” a deep, masculine voice returned, following Donatello's knock. My heart stalled, having thought never to hear that voice again. It had changed, deepened, become more commanding as if there was almost no trace of the boy, I'd loved remaining. And yet somehow, my soul recognized it on some deep level that nearly brought tears to my eyes.
After all the time that had passed, just the sound of his voice through a closed door was enough to bring me to my knees.
Donatello opened both doors with a flourish, waving me forward with his hand and a bow of his head. I took a deep, steadying breath before I managed to will my feet to move into the room.
My eyes darted around the opulent space, reflecting on the way the decor in that house made me feel cheap in my forest green button up and short white petal skirt with silver rivulets all over it. I felt out of place and realized I'd never belonged in Matteo's world.
No wonder he dumped my ass.
At least my heels made me feel classy, looking stunning and strappy all wrapped around my ankles in forest green suede against the dark hardwood floor. “Ivory.” There was a smile in his voice, and I turned to the left where the room curved to find him staring at me from behind his desk, pen still in hand. Though his head tilted down to look at the paper he'd been writing on, his eyes fixated on me with startling intensity.
The breath whooshed out of me, confronted with that impossibly handsome face. In high school, he’d been all about clean edges, the blond-haired All-American boy next door with the stunning blue eyes and boy muscles packed onto his frame however he could. A decade later his hair was darker, browner than blond, and it only made those piercing azure eyes of his seem brighter. His once clean-cut face was covered in some cross between stubble and a very short, well-groomed beard. He’d bulked up, his lean frame a thing of the past with no issues packing on muscle now that he’d aged, that much was visible even covered by the designer suit he wore. He was everything he’d been in high school, intimidating and unattainable, but now he was just more. The pen fell to the paper in front of him with a clatter that drew me from my stare, and I shook myself a bit. “Ivory,” he whispered again, standing with a smile and walking around the desk to approach me. His lips found my cheek in greeting, and I winced when the contact sent a shiver through me. “You’re as beautiful as I always knew you would be.”
I flushed, staring up into his intense gaze. He stood too close, far too close, and I shifted back a step pointedly. "Thank you," I murmured awkwardly. Years ago, there'd been obvious affection in the way he looked at me, humor always in his eyes when they landed on me. That was absent, gone, only an almost dark, unsettling intensity remaining. "You look good too," I returned. The smirk he gave me communicated that he was arrogant enough to know just how much of an understatement that was.
Lie of the century.
His smirk melted into a grin. “What are you doing here?” His words were harsh, but his tone was gentle, almost mystified, and laced with his own disbelief.
I understood it very well. Standing in front of him after all those years of pain was a surreal experience, I had no desire to repeat. I wanted to get it over with and be on my way.
“I was at the Byline Bank in McKinley Park this morning when three armed men wearing ski masks came in to rob it,” I said in answer, deciding to just be blunt with the situation. I was growing increasingly suspicious of whatever might have brought criminals to identify me in connection with Matteo.
He stilled, his body freezing in a way that felt unnatural. He didn't so much as twitch aside from the movement necessary to form his next words. “Did they touch you?” His voice was carefully controlled.
“No. As soon as one of them got a good look at me, he begged me to tell you they didn’t know I was there. That they couldn’t have known I’d be there, and to tell you they didn’t touch me.”
“Ivory—” His face gentled, movement returning to his body suddenly. He leaned further into my space, and I backed up another step. I would not allow him to cross that line, not after everything he'd done. All I could do was get my answers, say my peace, and move on with my life finally.
“Why would bank robbers know my name? And why would they panic because of you?” My arms crossed over my chest, and my teeth sank into that spot at the corner of my mouth that had practically become a chew toy under all the stress of the day.
“You’re under my protection. You have been since high school.” His voice hardened slightly as his gaze traveled down to my crossed arms. He didn't appear to appreciate the posture, or the attitude behind it, but kept his mouth shut about it.
“Right,” I grumbled. “Well, let me make something very, very clear then. I do not want your protection.” The remaining gentle look disappeared in favor of hard, cruelly handsome lines. “Remove it, and I will go on living my life like you do not exist just as I have done for twelve fucking years.”
“Be very careful,” he grumbled under his breath. His nostrils flared at me, what had once been a relaxed posture tensing as he stood taller.
“I want nothing to do with you or whatever the hell it is you’re involved in where criminals are afraid of you. You let me live my life without interference, and if I get gunned down in the street then so fucking be it," I hissed, glaring up at him. The muscle in his jaw ticked, his glare turning positively glacial. "It will be better than being a part of whatever this is," I mumbled, turning on my heel to leave.
The doors I'd entered the room through had closed, courtesy of Donatello no doubt. I'd been too wrapped up in the enigma of a man behind me to notice.
It wouldn't happen again. I swore it on my soul, I would never see Matteo again.
He wasn't worth it.
I barely had my hand wrapped around the handle before Matteo's palms pressed against the wood beside my head, and he leaned into me—caging me in.
Fuck.
I'd forgotten what it was like to have a man make me feel short. At 5'7" I wasn't the tallest woman, but I was no slouch. It took a large man to make me feel tiny. Matteo's 6'5" was effective.
“You’ve been very foolish coming here,” he murmured, near my ear. His breath tickled the flesh, sending a shiver racing through me. “I let you go twelve years ago, and it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Did you really think I would do it twice?” I ignored my confusion at his words. Like he'd walked away for any reason other than wanting to fuck around.
“There’s a difference,” I gasped as his mouth trailed over the side of my neck in the whisper of a caress. Barely there, so subtle that with anyone else I might have wondered if it was a figment of my imagination. But I knew Matteo's lips, knew his mouth, knew his scent.
“What’s that?” The humor in his voice even sounded arrogant. He knew how affected I was by his touch, and I stilled my body and willed it to shut the hell up.
