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“Shit,” I whisper to myself as I try to squeeze the foreign object from my hand. I battle with it, pressing my finger, nearly bringing tears to my eyes at the sting of such a small fragment of wood. I’m so engrossed in my task I don’t notice Gianni standing by the office door until he speaks.
“What’s the problem?” I’m instantly caught in his dark mood, which even the whiteness of his shirt fails to lift. He scrutinizes me as I drop my hand, guilty for what, I’m not sure.
“Just a splinter. It’s nothing.” I shake my head, grasping my cloth, ready to resume cleaning. He strides over to me, and my heart quickens with every step he takes. I’m still annoyed at him after our little showdown in the office, and my instinct tells me he is putting his own plan into action. Right now, wanting him to be nice to me was the wrong idea entirely. I can’t handle him looking at me, let alone talking to me nicely. He’s next to me in a second, the intense amber smell of him enough to make me feel light-headed as he takes hold of my hand.
I gulp silently, trying to control myself as the touch of his hand is like a firelighter. It will only take one spark to set the splinter alight, and I fear this will happen when he holds my finger up to the window, inspecting the injury with his ruthless eyes.
After confirming its presence, I expect him to drop my hand, shrug his shoulders, and tell me not to be so soft and get on with my job. Instead, he turns to face me, blocking out the view anyone may have of us. He continues holding my hand as his eyes move up to my face. Captured by his gaze, arousal and fear collide as I wonder what game he’s playing. I’m entranced as his other hand rises to the neckline of my shirt. He slides his hand inside the small gap where my shirt fastens, his fingers brushing against my skin, flirting over the top of my breasts, setting my cheeks on fire, his eyes never leaving mine.
For a brief second, I’m lost under his touch. He stands in the middle of the shop, his hand underneath my shirt, barely a breath between us when he couldn’t even look at me this morning. It is wrong. A siren is screaming at me to push him away, but I’m dumbstruck, caught in the spell of him.
He tugs on the material of my shirt as he fumbles with my name badge, releasing the pin at the back. With my badge in his hand, he works the pin under my skin to dig out the splinter.
My efforts had brought tears to my eyes, but I feel no pain as he works. With my eyes locked on his face, the feel of his touch and our closeness overpower the discomfort in my hand. It takes only seconds for him to work the splinter from my finger, but the relief at its removal is frog-marched away by despair that he’ll now drop my hand and walk away. Job done.
He smooths his thumb over my finger, making sure the splinter has gone, and as my heart pounds, he pulls my finger to his lips, kissing it so gently I think I might fall.
“Better?” His question is barely a whisper.
I nod. The splinter is better, my finger recovered, but I’m not. I’m a wreck. His touch, his lips, and his words have worked their way under my broken skin and made a wound I’m not sure will ever heal. I think I can’t take any more, then he leans in further, his Italian accent whispering in my ear, his fiendish tongue seducing me as if he were the devil himself.
“I know desire when I see it, Chloe. You want nothing more than for me to continue touching you.” He pulls his head from my ear, his face molding into a satisfied grimace as I try not to react. “I’m merely giving you a taste of what could’ve been if I hadn’t learned what you are.” I see his white teeth as goose bumps rise on my arms. “This is me being nice.”
He drops my hand and steps back as Faith enters the shop, humming. He smirks at me before turning and heading back into the office. I try to move, but my feet are grounded as if they’re submerged in quicksand. My hands are useless, my head a revolving door. Faith busies herself around me. I’m so angry but also ridiculously aroused. How dare he use sex as a weapon against me, tormenting me with his touch and words. I’m no pushover, but I doubt I can withstand the mind games Gianni seems so good at.
“Are you okay?” Faith asks as she moves around the front of the counter, shuffling her feet and hands in unison, arranging snack packs of muffins.
“Yes.” I gulp. The air is hard to swallow. It’s as if I’ve been standing in a darkened room, Gianni blinkered my senses, but Faith turned a large fluorescent light on. The starkness of it bewilders me, and the buzzing floods my ears.
“You don’t look it.” She stops shuffling, her arms straight by her sides as she assesses me.
“I’m fine, honestly.” I stare at a tablecloth, but all I see is that look of victory on Gianni’s face.
“You haven’t been fine since our night out. You know, the one that never happened.” Faith has turned her tone to something that isn’t dissimilar to my father when he’s on one of his quests for information. The hunt where he already knows the answer, and I’m frustrated by the whole performance we must go through so he can prove a point.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I gaze at my finger again, imagining his hand upon it.
“Come on, Chloe. You’ve had your head in the clouds these past few weeks, and I know Gianni has something to do with it.”
The mention of his name is enough to pull my attention from my wounded finger. She isn’t stupid. I study her face as she continues to potter around the counter, a little smile creeping over her face like she’s a detective about to reveal her findings.
“I saw you outside the restaurant, and I saw Gianni approach you, probably with the offer of a lift home, but I’m only guessing.”
“I… nothing happened if that’s what you mean. He did give me a lift home, but that was all.”
“I’m not suggesting anything happened. All I’m saying is that man has gotten under your skin in more ways than one.”
The door to the shop opens, and two women bustle in, a shower of leaves following them as the wind rattles against the frame. Faith stops what she’s doing and shimmies behind the counter as the ladies shake their coats, sweep their hair from their faces, and examine the menu board.
“What can I get you, ladies?” Her tone is so natural, so calm that I’m dazzled by her. How has she summed up my life for the past month in one swift statement? How can she see the things I don’t even want to see?
Like a blizzard, Gianni sweeps from the office and announces he’s leaving for the day. Faith nods as I stare at him, hoping for some acknowledgment of what has happened, but my stomach vaults as he walks out of the shop without giving me a second glance. I’m shaking, rage boiling to danger point. How dare he treat me like this? I’m sick of his mind games, and I’m not about to be humiliated by him.
I follow him out of the shop, my head on dangerous ground as I march up behind him, shouting his name, my voice shocking me as my anger resonates through the air.
“Hey! What was all that about?” He stops in his tracks, the wind blowing my hair in front of my face, twirling around me, and picking up the back of Gianni’s coat as he swivels around. There’s satisfaction on his face that makes me want to slap him.
“You asked me to be nice to you, Chloe. Make your mind up. Which is to be?”
