Page 28 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

With the spell broken, I flop down on the bed, covering my face with a fluffy pillow and fretting over Julian’s irresistible hold on me.

There are only two days left until Cass Tempesta returns. He made it clear he’ll expect to hear my decision.

I roll over to my belly and fold my hands under my chin.

A wall clock I’ve barely noticed before suddenly sounds oppressively loud as the seconds tick by.

The quilt I’m lying on is a patchwork of roses and stripes.

Pink is the dominant color but far from the only color.

The quilt is very pretty and very suited to my style.

Just like the flowers in the room.

And just like the boots Julian surprised me with.

And the birthday cake.

I have trouble believing this is all a coincidence. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to curate my experience here and cater to my tastes.

A muffled bang coming from the first floor is familiar to me by now. Someone has just entered the house through the heavy front door. Within seconds, footsteps ascend the stairs at a steady, deliberate pace.

Realistically, the man who is now climbing the stairs could be any of Julian’s brothers but I know it’s not and I feel vindicated when the footsteps come closer.

Fort’s room is at the top of the stairs. Tye and Getty have rooms in the opposite direction and their father’s suite is up on the third floor. But Julian sleeps two doors down. All that separates us is another guest bedroom.

His heavy boots thud on the hallway carpet. I can see his shadow beneath the door when he pauses right outside.

I rise up on my forearms. I’m still aroused. Can’t shake it. My hips dig into the mattress. Pleasure ignites between my legs, an itch that begs to be scratched. My teeth sink into my lower lip, stifling the moan that wants to escape.

Julian lingers outside my door for a few more seconds. I hold my breath, awaiting a knock, or the rich timbre of his deep voice speaking my name. He must be cold after standing out in the rain for so long.

He doesn’t knock or speak before moving down the hall. I don’t recognize my own disappointment until I finally exhale with the feeling of a ballon that’s just deflated.

Hinges squeak and an unseen door closes as Julian enters his bedroom. I picture him stripping his sodden clothes off, rubbing a towel over his wet skin.

All this does is magnify my own sexual frustration.

Not helpful. Hormones, no matter how powerful, need to take a backseat.

I have so many questions. The course of my life depends on the answers.

Stretching to reach the phone I left on the nightstand, I hesitate to call Alice. She’s baffled and distressed by this whole ordeal. The arcane world of the Mafia, shrouded in dark secrecy, is unfamiliar to her and I’ve already dumped too many of my troubles in my best friend’s lap.

As for Gabe, there’s nothing he can say that would help me reach any conclusions and I hate adding to his distress.

Instead, I’m stuck calling the one brother who might actually know something. I can feel the scowl deepening on my own face as Angelo’s phone rings four times before I hear a click.

“Yeah?” he says in the hurried tone that implies I’ve just interrupted him while he’s trying to run the country. Whatever. I’m surprised he picked up at all.

“It’s me,” I say. “Cecilia.”

“Like I don’t fucking know that. What’s up?”

What’s up????

I want to scream and curse him with a receding hairline. I want to throw paint on his favorite leather jacket.

My teeth grit together and I force a civil tone. “I’ve had trouble getting in touch with Gabriel. Is he all right?”

Angelo blows out an annoyed breath. “Sure. He’s living it up while I’m taking care of everything. Hope that asshole is enjoying the beach while the rest of us work.”

“So he’s still in San Diego?”

“I just said that, didn’t I? He needs to quit partying and get his head on straight. Playing with pussy doesn’t pay the bills.”

I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that vivid narrative. “Angelo, I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Ask away.” He sounds bored enough to fall asleep.

“What kind of personal information about me did you share with the Tempestas? Did you, for instance, tell them that my favorite color is pink?”

“No. How the fuck do I know what your favorite color is?”

Good point. Angelo probably forgets that he even has a sister until I’m needed to be used as a Mafia pawn.

“Anyway, what difference does it make?” he asks.

“None,” I sigh.

“Hey, when in the hell are you getting married? Grandfather’s pretty fucking pissed he hasn’t heard anything yet.”

Rather than answering his idiotic question, I end the call and turn the phone off before tossing it aside. That’s all the Angelo I can handle right now.

The three top buttons on my sweater are still open. My journal is also still open. My list remains unfinished.

If Julian made a list, I wonder what it would look like.

We’re not in love.

No doubt Julian would agree with me on that point.

Everything else is cloudy. I don’t know how he feels or what he expects. He keeps his thoughts to himself.

The only person who can answer questions about Julian is Julian. We’re due for a very direct conversation.

If I think too hard, I’ll talk myself out of marching to his room right this minute. I check my reflection in the square mirror on the wall beside the door. My cheeks are flushed and my loose hair is slightly tangled. I swiftly run my fingers through the length and let it be.

There are drops of water visible on the dark wood floor right outside my door, as if Julian stood at the very edge of the carpet runner while deciding whether he ought to just barge in. My bare foot lands in a damp spot. I should have slipped on shoes but I’m not turning back.

I shouldn’t be so nervous. There’s nothing scary about a simple conversation.

My chaotic pulse doesn’t get the message. When I lift my hand to knock on Julian’s bedroom door, I’m surprised that I’m not shaking.

Three raps on the wood seem as loud as fireworks in the hushed corridor.

Julian answers within seconds. His wet clothes are gone.

He wears only a pair of black nylon gym shorts and there’s a folded towel draped over his shoulder.

For the first time I see the tattoo on his muscled left bicep.

It’s identical to the ones his brothers have.

Family is everything .

The sight of his bare chest alone is enough to send me into a silent spiral.

His body is insane. Every inch is ripped perfection and the wild riot of dark hair splashed across his defined pecs only adds to his devilish appeal.

His shorts hang low on his hips, his muscles carving out grooves that I’d love to run my tongue over.

I consider it a small miracle that my knees aren’t buckling. There ought to be a name for this skill. It’s in the same category as the one that keeps my voice calm amid the frantic thrashing of my heart.

“Can we please talk in private?” I ask him.

The flicker in his dark eyes isn’t curiosity or surprise. It’s desire mingled with something else. Victory perhaps, or something close to it.

Julian opens the door wider and tosses his towel on a chair. “Come on in, Cecilia.”

Even as I cross the threshold I’m aware that Julian doesn’t need to be told why I’ve nervously entered his bedroom.

He already knows.

He was expecting me.