Page 166 of Vicious Intentions
I run my fingers over his cheek, down to the curve of his chin. Matteo is marble brought to life. I brush my finger along his lower lip, my breathing turning uneven. His lips are soft. Inviting.
What if I only kissed him tonight?
Just one kiss. That isn’t so bad, is it?
One kiss?
I feel my heart drum in my chest as I lean in and ever so gently press my lips onto his. His mouth is warm beneath mine, pliant in a way I didn’t expect. The fullness of his lower lip makes my breath hitch as it grazes against mine, his exhale mingling with my own. For a second, the world narrows to just this—his lips, his breath, the quiet pull between us.
And then suddenly, Matteo’s hand is in my hair, firm and unyielding. I gasp as he rolls us over in one swift motion, my back hitting the mattress. I try to catch my breath as Matteo hovers above me, his weight caging me in. His eyes are open now. Dark, awake, and locked on mine. However, the fact that his lips are no longer kissing me almost makes me whimper. Thankfully, I don’t.
At least I don’t think so.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his breathing ragged.
“I was… trying to kiss you,” I admit, my voice sounding minuscule compared to the intensity of my pounding heartbeat.
“You wanted to kiss me?” he asks, his eyes darkening.
I nod, licking my lips, almost begging him to take me out of my misery and just let me kiss him again. Just as he’s about to answer all my silent prayers and lower his lips to mine, he pulls back abruptly at the last second.
“Have you been drinking?” His forehead creases.
“I… um…”
“You have,” he accuses, confused, straightening up on top of me. “I can smell it on you.”
“Well… I was in the library… and then Rafe—”
“Rafe?” he whisper-shouts, jumping out of bed entirely.
No. No. No. Why is he putting distance between us? Why is he…
“So let me get this straight,” he says, his jaw tight as he drags a hand through his hair. “You were talking to my brother in the middle of the night, alone, got drunk, and then decided you wanted to kiss me?”
“That’s not… what happened. I mean, it is, but…” I stammer, unable to find my words.
“So is that what happened or not,wife?” he counters, his tone colder than ever.
I’m so stunned by his reaction that I don’t even have it in me to answer. I’ve seen this look in his eyes before—fury masking the pain underneath. So much of it that it suffocates whatever response I might have had.
“I’m not sure what’s worse. That you needed to get drunk to kiss me, or that maybe you were imagininghislips on you instead of mine?”
I don’t have time to defend myself, because he starts opening drawer after drawer, yanking out a few things before heading for the door.
He pauses with his hand on the handle, his back to me. “If you wanted him,” he says in a tight voice, “then why marry me?”
“Matteo—”
“Don’t. If your intention was to hurt me, congratulations. You succeeded.”
And then he’s gone.
He doesn’t sleep in our bed that night.
Or the following night.
And I start to wonder if he ever will again.
