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The hard bulge of his excitement nudged against her belly through his clothes. At that moment, he wasn’t the only one tempted to draw things out and not leave. She arched up, catching his lips with hers, for the first time in forever using her sensuality.
He pulled his lips away and rested his forehead to hers, though the firm curl of his fingers on her skin suggested she had him at least a little. “Can’t it wait until tonight?”
She shook her head. “I know you want to be there to help me, but this is something I want to do on my own. A rite of passage. A goodbye to that place and that part of my life.”
His brow pressed down into a hard line. “I still don’t like this.”
“I know.” She kissed him again, stroking the side of his face. “But you’ll let me do it because you love me, and you know how important it is to me.”
He leaned back, pushing her slightly away in the process. “That sounds like blackmail.”
“It is blackmail.” A new smile plucked at her lips, and she bounced where she stood, willing him to give in a little.
He growled, throwing one last flinty stare before turning for his wardrobe. “Fine, but only as long as it takes me to check on our stand at the fair, and then I’ll be right back to pick you up. You plug in your phone, lock the doors, call if there are any problems.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded, more excited than rational. A new chapter of her story was about to begin, and she couldn’t wait to start. Because despite all obstacles, her future would be with Blaine.
Blaine parked in Emilia’s driveway, the morning sun picking up a searing edge through his windshield. If not for his extra work at the fair, and Rochelle’s visit to peruse his work sometime this weekend, he wouldn’t be dropping Emilia off at the cottage right now.
There’d been her naked body pressed to his earlier and her promise to move in with him later in the day. She’d clouded his judgment. She’d done it on purpose. And though he admired her growing confidence, did it have to come at the cost of him being so easily distracted?
He drew the parking brake and turned to her. “If anything happens, you call, okay?”
A cheerful light brightened her eyes, and she leaned in and kissed him quickly. “Sure thing. I can handle an empty cottage and a few boxes.”
He hadn’t seen her this carefree and confident since her teenage years. And his attention dropped to the crumpled pink dress hanging off her, the same dress from last night. She looked even more beautiful now, the sparkling makeup and perfect hair replaced with a ruffled, loved-up appearance.
His body warmed all over again, and he clutched at the steering wheel to keep from reaching for her again just as she climbed out and onto her driveway.
Too bad he had to watch her walk away.
She took light steps toward the cottage, near prancing, before she stopped and turned to him, her audible laugh cutting through the distance and hitting him square in the chest.
“See you soon.” He said it out his window, more a prayer than a glib goodbye.
She waved, eyes squinting against the sun. “I’m counting on it.”
Anthony hid against the sun-heated weatherboards, the old cottage creaking at his back. After an entire night waiting for Emilia to return, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see her stepping out of another man’s car.
And still, he was surprised.
Stupid bitch.She’d left behind her high-flying life with him for this? To hook up with some small-town hick who lived in the middle of a dust-bowl hell pit.
He hacked back and then spat at the dry, yellow gravel beneath his feet, a rage-filled fire eating up his insides, every muscle in his body coiling like a hungry boa constrictor. A boa constrictor ready to crush its prey.
He hadn’t distinguished the other guy’s face. The daylight’s glare on the car’s windshield had stopped him from that. But the truck was unique enough, and it had a logo on the side that said, “Oak Tree Furniture.” He’d finish with Emilia, then track down this guy. Put a bullet in his head. Leave town. Move on, richer and happier.
A tight smirk pulled at Anthony’s face. Emilia belonged to him. She was his wife. No halfwit yokel could change that, and she’d learn her place soon enough, though still all too late.
Maybe it was a good thing his wife was a lying whore. Her absence last night meant he had a huge advantage. She’d gifted him hours to dig through her house and plan an end to this saga. Even though Luciano’s man had been tasked with following her through the night and was still a no-show…
Maybe the crony had made good on his threat to ditch the job. Maybe he’d decided to take a poorly timed nap. Who the fuck cared? Anthony preferred it this way. No one to hold him back. No one to share the spoils of what he was about to do. No one to keep him from the joy of watching Emilia Bonacci beg for her life.
Not that begging would save her.
He’d have fun with the deceitful bitch first—the flimsy-as-fuck locks on this piece-of-shit house and the bottle of gasoline in her garden shed would take care of that—then he’d put her out of her misery.
And make no mistake, she would be miserable.
