Page 87 of Always Mine
“What the fuck,” he growls as he scrolls through what appears to be a dozen messages. Pinning me with his dark eyes burning black with fury, he says through gritted teeth, “Tell me the fucking truth, did you give that crazy woman my number?”
Seriously confused, I give him awhat the actual fucklook as I walk to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, there are about fifteen or more messages from an unsaved number I don’t recognize by sight, but I do recognize her signature red lipstick and nails, both of which fill the screen in a close-up image she’s sent of her blowing him a kiss. Raf is notoriously private and not much for playing games.
Then there’s Chiara. Everything is one big game to her—and she’s set her sights on Raf as her prize.
“I swear I didn’t give her your number. If I had to hazard a guess, it would be her new bestie…who happens to be your blood relation.”
“I’m going to fucking—”
“Watch yourself,” I warn. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about, and we still have one more round in the ring.”
“I just don’t understand why she would do that,” Raf snaps.
“Because you need to loosen up a little,” Sebastian chimes in. “When’s the last time you actually fucked a woman?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“I rest my case.” Sebastian snorts.
“Cool your jets, you two,” I say, jabbing a finger at Luca and Sebastian. “I’d like to live to see thirty, so before you go around playing fucking cupid, let’s not forget who she’s related to, yeah? In all seriousness, I do need you guys to have my back tonight. That includes you, Raf.”
“Fuck my life,” mutters Raf. “What happened now?”
I give them a summary of what Sophia told me about Chiara and the fact she doesn’t know AJ is coming tonight, as well as the news about Arty’s unfortunate mishap. I allude to him pissing off the wrong people but withhold the part about calling in a favor from AJ. It dawns on me that I’ve added another half-truth to my body count. Fuck! I just don’t want any of them to be implicated in any way. I’m toeing a gray line, but I would fully cross over to the dark side for the people I love. By the same token, the longer I keep the truth from them, the closer I feel to dying by my own sword. Theonly quote I’ve ever memorized from the many my dad has in his wheelhouse comes to mind. “Power is always dangerous. It attracts the best and corrupts the worst.” Ain’t that the truth.
Once we’re all agreed on the plans for tonight, Raf included, he and I jump back in the ring for our last round. I don’t even come close to winning. Between the slew of texts from Chiara and being roped into my plan for a fun group outing tonight moonlighting as my eyes and ears, he’s got more pent-up rage than when we started. My body becomes his punching bag. I’ll give it to him, because he needs the release. But I also agree with his brothers—the guy desperately needs to get laid.
Chapter fifty-seven
Favors For Friends
Sophia
Twohourslater,Marcopicks up me, Chiara, Stella, and Evie from her house in his luxurious SUV. Arabella parted ways with us after the sauna so she could bump into the event early.
The girls pile into the back seat, and I take the front.
Marco rounds the car to open the door before I can and pushes in close behind me so I can feel the heat of him at my back. “Let me get that for you,” he says, reaching for the handle.
“Such a gentleman, Mr. Marrone,” I play. “But I must ask, is that a gun in your pants, or are you just excited to see me?”
“You’re fucking trouble, you know that?” He snickers, unable to keep a straight face.
Not breaking role-play, I pin him with a sultry stare. “I’ve been told I’m the very best kind of trouble.”
“Not fucking wrong, Kitten. Please get in the car before I do very ungentlemanly things to you in front of our audience.”
I give him a wink and let him help me into the car, before he gets into the driver’s side.
He looks sinfully sexy tonight. His now-longish hair still damp from his shower is pushed back off his handsome face, showcasinghis chiseled jawline perfectly framed by stubble that’s been trimmed with precision. His lips are pillowy and glisten in the low light like he’s just run his tongue over them. The knowledge of what that tongue can do sends an audible shiver through me.
“You cold?” he asks, brows furrowed, automatically settling his warm hand on my thigh. He gives me a covert sexy smirk, and I’m back to feeling like a teenager with a massive crush on her brother’s best friend.
It’s been an intense week, so we’re all ready to let our hair down and have some fun. As we make our way towards Le Sip where we’re meeting my three brothers, I keep trying to steal glances at the most handsome man I’ve ever known. Tonight, he’s wearing a charcoal wool blazer over his usual all-black, and the gold chain. The only accessory he ever wears. I remember the summer we all went to The Hamptons and he wanted to swim in the ocean but was worried he’d lose his chain, so he asked me to mind it. He stepped up close behind me, his bare chest to my warm back, and draped the necklace around my neck and fastened the clasp. Then he whispered a hushed “For safe keeping” at my ear before walking past me with a wink and running to join his friends in the water. Looking back now, it’s one of many moments that gave us an excuse to be close enough to test the boundaries of the friend zone. I relived that moment more times than I can count. Funnily enough, after how this afternoon’s events played out, our current proximity has me hyper aware of every nerve coiled deep in my core. I might be an independent woman, but I’m not too proud to admit I’m a goner for Marco in the starring role of possessive and protective boyfriend. Not to mention, our earlier texts have left me wanton for his brand of punishment. My skin prickles with awareness of what the night will bring.
“Hey, driver! Can you please turn up this song,” chimes in Chiara, popping her head between the seats and hitting me with a mischievous grin before breaking out into an impromptu karaoke singalong to Lola Young’s “Messy,” now blasting through the speakers. By the time we make it to Le Sip, the mood is lighterand my cheeks hurt from smiling at the girls’ ridiculousness, each taking turns to belt out a tune of their choosing.
After we park, Marco opens the door to let Stella, Evie, and Chiara out first, before rounding to my side and taking my hand to help me out. His eyes rake over my body, cataloguing every inch of it in the fitted long-sleeved leather dress with a deep V neckline. He dips his chin and slowly works his hungry gaze up from my pointed leopard Louboutin heels to my cherry red lips. Taking the corner of his lip between his teeth, he runs his thumb across his mouth to stifle the raspy plea that falls from them. “Red lips and fuck-me heels—are you trying to fucking kill me, woman?” The moment is short-lived as Chiara comes to join us.