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He steps so close that the heat of his skin is like a warm mist around me. “Yes, this is going somewhere, but you already know that.” He adds with a wicked glint in his eyes, “Despite what your mother and father may say.”
My heart starts galloping in my chest. His masculinity is overwhelming. I’m no match for the power he exudes or for the experience that comes with his age, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Now, tell me, cara,” he says in a soft voice, leaning closer. “Is it sweet sixteen and never been kissed, or has that card been claimed?”
Annoyingly, the heat burning on my cheeks gives me away again. I hate that he knows how inexperienced I am.
Satisfaction bleeds with something darker into his black eyes. “Good. Keep it like that. Your first kiss is mine.”
Awareness of him, his smell, and how tall and strong he is washes over me. Goosebumps run down my arms.
He leans closer still and continues in a possessive tone. “All your firsts are mine.”
With those words, he invades my spaces, my dreams, and my hopes, and builds an indestructible nest for himself in my future.
My pulse pounds in my temples. Angelo Russo wants my first kiss. And more. So much more.
He fixes his gaze on the bracelet on my wrist. The approval that sparks in his eyes warms me. I have an inexplicable urge to please him. My parents have always showered me with love and acceptance. I’m not starved for approval, but I crave his. No one’s appreciation matters as much as his. Until yesterday, my dad was my hero. My everything. Somewhere between then and now, Angelo has challenged that first place my dad held in my heart.
Urgency infuses his words. “Tell me you understand. Make a promise. To me. Now.”
“A promise?” His sudden intensity scares me. It pushes my newly empowered heart into the background and allows my logical reasoning to take center stage again. “You’re going back to Corsica in a few hours.”
“I’ll always come back for you. Remember that. No matter what anyone says.”
He’s so serious now, so overbearing, that I can’t help but take a step back to breathe, to focus. To put distance between us.
This isn’t how relationships develop. This isn’t a guy asking me out on a date. He’s skipping everything in between, jumping straight to what sounds an awful lot like a serious commitment.
“I don’t understand what you’re asking from me,” I say, my throat tight as I stare up at his beautiful face.
His gaze drills into mine. “I’m asking you to be patient. To wait.”
“We only met yesterday.”
“When we met doesn’t matter.” He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“I don’t have it on me. It’s in my room.”
“Give me your number.”
My mom pops her head around the front door. “Sabella, your guest is waiting, and your father is on the phone. He wants a word with you.”
“I’m coming,” I call. “I’m just saying goodbye.”
Mom purses her lips but goes back inside.
“Give me your number, Sabella,” Angelo says.
Not, will you please give me your number? No. He’s demanding it like it’s his right to have it.
A calculated look comes over his face. “I can get it easily enough, but it’ll be sweeter if you give it to me.”
The part of me that doesn’t like to be told what to do wants to resist, but another part of me, the part that needs to please him, wants to do as he demands. Do I want to? There’s not even a question about it. I wanted him to own more than just my number before he’d even spoken to me. From the moment I saw him, I wanted things I can’t put in words.
“Sabella,” my mom calls from inside the house, her tone carrying a warning.
If I’m not back in the house in the next second, my mom will come out and drag me inside. Having been embarrassed once in front my instant crush is more than enough.
I quickly rattle off my number.
The approval I want so desperately shows in the curve of his sensual lips. “Good girl.”
That warm feeling of earlier spreads through my whole body. I focus on his lips. His bottom lip is fuller than his upper lip, giving his mouth both a sexy look and a determined set.
“I’ll text you my number,” he says. “If you ever need anything, you only have to call.”
The enormity of the statement takes me aback. He doesn’t owe me anything, yet he behaves as if he’s already much more to me, even more than a boyfriend.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strolls to the car parked next to the fountain. This time, when he drives away, he doesn’t look back, but it’s as if a part of him stayed behind. Inside me.
