Page 73 of Mario
I live in a brownstone that was converted into two apartments on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s a good neighborhood. A place I chose for its peace and quiet and low crime rates.
I realize neither of them even asked where I live. It's not information I typically give out to clients, so the only way he'd know is if he sought the information out.
Armando pulls up to the curb in front of my building. The engine is still running, but the silence that falls is even heavier than before.
This is it.
The moment I can escape.
I reach for the door handle, my fingers clumsy.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say, my voice stiff and formal.
But Armando is already out and has Mario's door open.
When Mario gets out, I realize he plans to walk me to my door.
I can't make myself object. I've objected to every step so far. He knows I want to run away from him. And it wouldn't take a genius to figure out why. And Mario Conti isn't an idiot.
My legs feel unsteady as I get out of the car. I clutch my briefcase and walk towards my front door. The streetlight casts long shadows, and I can hear the distant sound of a siren.
Mario is a step behind me. I can feel him. I can smell him. His presence is a physical force, a current of electricity that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I fumble for my keys. My fingers are shaking so badly I can’t get the key into the lock.
“Let me,” he says.
His voice is low, right next to my ear.
I freeze. I can feel the warmth of his body, the solid wall of his chest a breath away from my back.
I want to lean back against him. I want to feel his arms wrap around me. I want to feel his hands on my body.
Instead, I force myself to hold still, to not move a muscle.
I hold out my keys.
He takes them.
His fingers brush against mine again.
I fight the shiver, but I lose. It racks my body, a deep, involuntary tremor that I can’t control.
He doesn’t say anything. He just unlocks the door and pushes it open. He hands me back my keys, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.
I step into the entrance. It's a small space with two doors that split the building in half, giving me one side of the brownstone.
I turn to face Mario in the small space. He has stepped inside behind me, and the door is still open, but it feels like the entire world has shrunk to this tiny, dark space.
The dim light of the entryway illuminates the sharp lines of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes.
“Thank you,” I say again. My voice is barely a whisper. “For the ride. And for… my car..."
I can't finish my thought, not with him standing so close. So close I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. I can see the faint stubble on his jaw. I can see the pulse beating in his throat.
I want to press my lips to that pulse. To feel the life thrumming beneath my tongue.
I want to know if he tastes as good as he smells.
