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“Great, I’ll pick you up at eight.

“Great, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Gabby.” I end the call to find Brad is right behind me. I jump, nearly dropping my phone.

“Oh, my god,” I shriek, my voice echoing around the underground car park.

Brad's eyes narrow and his jaw ticks. “Who was that?”

I think about lying, telling him it was Ali or Ria, but a really twisted part of me wants to see his reaction. “Patrick. He’s taking me out for dinner tonight.”

“How lovely,” he says through gritted teeth as his jaw tightens.

I follow him into the elevator.

“I don’t have my car here. Could you drop me back to my apartment, or I can take a cab?”

“I’ll take you home. I have another call to make first.” His responses are short and clipped.

We exit the elevator, and he lets us inside his apartment. I don’t take more than three steps before he grips my hips, spinning me and pinning me to the wall. My purse and its contents clatter to the floor, and he’s on me. His large hands slide into my hair and tug at the root, pulling a moan from my throat. His lips meet mine, and our tongues collide as the kiss becomes frantic. My fingers fist his shirt so vigorously that I’m close to tearing it from his skin.

This kiss feels different. It’s as if he’s claiming me, getting lost in me to quieten whatever noise is plaguing him, and I want to be that for him. He begins to slow the kiss, and I let him lead. I am his, and I’d let him have me in any way he wants or needs. That thought should scare me, make me run for the hills, but it doesn’t, because it all feels different with him.

Our lips part, and he presses his forehead to mine, his erratic breathing matching my own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he rasps. “I just needed to...”

“What?”

“I just needed to get lost in you for a second,” he admits.

I swallow hard, lost for words at his confession. He lifts his head. His whiskey eyes look more haunted than usual, and it pains me to see he’s struggling with something. I want to take it all away for him.

“You can talk to me,” I reassure. He closes his eyes.

“Look at me,” I say, cupping his face. “Talk to me.” His body softens, and he takes me by the hand and walks us over to his leather couch that wasn’t here the last time I was here . I sit beside him, curling my legs underneath me. He never lets goof my hand, trailing his index finger over the back in intricate circles. I wait for him to begin, not wanting to force something he isn’t ready to share.

“Going to my mom’s house is always hard.” His voice is so low I almost miss what he says.

“My full name is Marco Bradley Russo. Bradley is after my grandfather on my mom’s side. Growing up, my dad was into some bad shit. He was an evil man. Beat my mom, beat us, ruled the house with an iron fist. Long story short, there was an incident. I was meant to be there with Matteo, but I didn’t show up. Him and my dad went down for murder.”

I try to hide my shock, but the gasp falls from my lips. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and lean my cheek against his head, letting him know I’m here.

“They went down for a long time. My mom sat me and my younger brother down and said we had two options: we end up like my dad and Matteo, or we join the military and build a new life. So that’s what we did. I dropped the name Russo and went with Bradley, and eventually, I just became Brad. I just wanted to disconnect from that name, that life, that world. I struggled a lot, fighting for control. It’s why I am the way I am. I have to be like this or I’ll…”

He stops and I hold him tightly, my eyes welling with unshed tears. My heart is fit to burst, knowing he feels safe enough to open up to me. There is so much more to Brad than most realize.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say softly. “I can’t imagine how hard that was growing up like that and going through all that.”

He brushes his knuckles against my cheek, and my eyes flutter shut at the warmth of his touch.

“I have to go to LA tomorrow for a few days. Come with me.” It’s not a question, more of a plea, and I don’t even have to think about my answer.

“Okay.”

I sit across the table from Patrick in a swanky steak and cocktail bar in the middle of Times Square. It has white table cloths and little lamps on the tables and soft jazz music in the background, drowning out the conversations happening around us. We have an incredible view of the city, which has been a great distraction as he talks about his job and his plans to own a law firm one day. I admire a man with career goals and a life plan, but there is just something about him that doesn’t get me going.

He’s a nice enough guy, but I don’t feel the spark. He doesn’t give me butterflies when he smiles, he doesn’t make me ache for him when we are apart, he doesn’t have me hoping it’s him every time my phone rings. No, Patrick doesn’t do those things for me, but a man who will never fully be mine does and I need to get over that before my heart gets broken.

“Thank you for giving me another chance to take you out. I’m sorry If I was a bit of dick on our last date. Being around a woman as beautiful as you can get a guy all twisted up inside.”