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“It’s not over,” I say.
The door to our apartment building flies open so violently, that the window shudders. The sound of heavy footsteps echoes from the direction of the hall, and we both turn to look at my front door.
Matt tenses. “He’s coming up?”
I’m too busy scanning the room for something pointy to reply.
“Eh,” he continues shakily. “It’s not like he’ll be able to break your door down. I tried the other week, remember? Almost broke my foot. It must be made of steel or—”
Bang.
The door flies open, and fluorescent light from the hall washes across the carpet. Unadulterated rage jolts me to my feet, but Matt has a different survival instinct: making a weird, girlish noise and pulling my duvet over his head.
And then he’sright here.Darkening my doorway. His wild eyes search the room until they clash with mine.
Gah. The sight of him tightens my lungs then makes my throat burn. It’s been two weeks since I woke up in his bloodied bed next to a million-dollar check and a cowardly confession written on a Sinners Anonymous card. And for two weeks, I’ve been a deranged mess. Alternating between sobbing, plotting his demise, and scrubbing his name off my lower back.
But here he is, in his blackest of suits with the sharpest of creases.Two weeksI’ve spent writhing in his damn trap, and all the while he’s been strolling around like he couldn’t care less that he lost the key.
Fuck him. Fuck him twenty-times over. “Get. Out.”
His attention turns down to the lump on the sofa and sparks black. One hand reaches for his gun, the other rips the duvet away.
He points the gun in Matt’s face. “Are you fucking my girl?”
Matt squeals and holds his palms up in surrender. As soon as Rafe realizes it’s just my Golden Retriever neighbor, he rolls his eyes.
He flicks the end of the gun barrel in the direction of the hall. “All right. Get out before you piss yourself.”
Matt doesn’t even glance back at me before bounding out of my apartment.
Fucking traitor.
The slam of the door reverberates around the room, then tapers off into a heavy silence.
We stare at each other for three stuttered heartbeats before I find my voice. “You have some nerve bursting in here. And I’mnotyour girl—”
He takes a sudden step toward me, and I lose the breath needed to finish my sentence. I’m not quick enough to dodge the hand that flies to my nape, but I wish I were, because his proximity makes my head swim. He brought the winter chill in with him, but his hand is hot and the weight of it bitterly familiar.
“Penny.” His eyes soften as they search my face. Then they slide south and harden on my collarbone. “Who gave you that necklace?”
Ah, for a split-second, I almost thought… Christ. I’m embarrassed to admit what I thought. I should know by now love isn’t like it is in the movies. Raphael Visconti didn’t pop my front door off its hinges because he suddenly realized he couldn’t live without me.
My jaw tightens, and I focus on the wall behind his head. “Let me guess; you’re still unlucky even though you shoved me out of your life, and now you’re hoping if you buy a necklace of your own, it’ll help? You know, I’m starting to think your luck had nothing to do with me, and everything with you being a massive ass—”
“The woman, Penelope. Describe her to me.”
I try to yank out of his grasp, but he only tightens his grip. There’s a desperate edge to his tone and it pricks my curiosity. I look back to him, and realize it’s mirrored in his eyes now, too. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” he growls.
“Dark hair, in her fifties, maybe.”
“Give memore.”
“I said I don’t know,Rafe. She looked expensive. Nice dress, high heels. Had this big rock on her finger. What’s that purple gemstone called?”
His lids flutter shut. He releases me and walks to the window. Laces his fingers behind his head and glares down at the street. “Amethyst. An amethyst wedding ring.”
