I’ll let him have it all.All of me.
My heart hammers at just the thought.Fast, panicked, like it’s already bracing for the fall.
What does he want this time?I can’t… “Oscar…do you know what he wants?”
He takes a beat before answering, “You know the answer to that, too.”
With trembling fingers, I unzip my bag, pull out my inhaler, and take a slow, steadying pump.
~
BY THE TIMEOscar coasts through the wrought iron gates of the Summerlin mansion, light droplets are drizzling down from the swollen gray clouds above.
I’ve never been inside this place, but I know every inch of it.Every hallway, every shadow, every secret.
As Oscar eases to a stop in front of the limestone path, I ask, “Where is this?”
Done with my futile questions, he gets out without a word.He circles around to my side, pops open an umbrella, and opens my door.“Come on.”
Unwillingly, I slide out.“Do you think you could catch me if I ran, Oscar?”
Umbrella held steady over me, he nudges me forward, giving me nothing, as always.
“Don’t worry, I won’t run,” I say.“I respect your hardcore loyalty too much to get you in trouble.”
It’s not until we’re at the front door that I realize he’s kept the umbrellacompletelyover me the entire way.
“Aww, Oscar, you didn’t have to get your nice suit all wet for me.”
He tips his chin.“Boss would kill me if I did otherwise.”
With that, Oscar turns and heads back to the car.
Several minutes pass, and I just stand there, staring at the brass door handle like it’s a loaded gun.
I toss a glance over my shoulder.Of course, that damned Oscar is still there, watching me from the car, waiting.As if he truly believes I’ll bolt.
With a resigned sigh, I wrap my fingers around the handle and push the door open.
High ceilings.Marble floors.A sweeping staircase.Gold trim everywhere.Splendor in every corner, opulent and excessive.
A palace befitting a narcissist.
I follow the sound of synthwave music coming from deeper inside the house, letting it guide me.It leads me to an indoor pool bathed in soft daylight from the skylight above.
And there he is.
Stefano Castello, slicing through the water like he’s training for the Olympics.Powerful, focused, fluid.No hesitation in his strokes.
I drift toward a poolside table and drop my bag onto one of the chairs, settling into the other.A bowl of strawberries and grapes sits on the table, along with a half-finished glass of whiskey and a jar of chocolate almond butter.
Watching the gorgeous villain glide through the water like a shark, I pluck grape after grape and pop them into my mouth.Just to keep my hands busy, to calm my nerves.
Eventually, he bobs up and wades toward my side of the pool.Propping his forearms on the ledge, he rests his chin on his knuckles, and peers up at me through dripping lashes.
Hair slicked back, cheeks flushed from exertion, he looks so boyishly charming and innocent right now.Disarmingly cute.Like he’s never done a wicked thing in his life.
And God help me, I want to lurch at him and slobber kisses over every inch of that deceptively innocent face.
