Page 22 of Where Wild Hearts Dance (Dark Hearts #2)

C ontessa

The freeway passes in a blur of Fleetwood Mac and Chanel Mademoiselle as the wind whips up my hair.

I allow my senses to tune out my neurotic thoughts. It’s helping to cover up the guilt I feel at leaving Cristiano’s for a pool party instead of accompanying Trilby to her gallery. And, handily, it’s softening the urge to scream the words “I fucking hate you, Bernadi” at the top of my lungs.

How dare he? He insists on following me around when I never asked him to, and I hate that he’s doing it under the guise of defending me from myself. He looks at me like he hasn’t eaten any solid food for days and is prepared to try human for the first time. Then he just goes ahead and ignores me, like I don’t even exist.

I shake the image of his burnt bronze eyes from my head and my gaze catches in the rearview, and something— someone —is driving like an absolute lunatic, seemingly in pursuit of my car. I glance at the road ahead. Thankfully it’s clear. Looking in my rearview again, I see a black BMW getting closer, faster. Whoever’s behind the wheel must be driving at a hundred forty miles per hour, at least.

I look straight ahead and press my foot to the accelerator. My hair whips around my face and I wipe it away with a shaking hand. I suddenly wish Bernadi was following me.

I jab at the dash, trying to locate a number to call. Papa, Cristiano, Trilby… anyone .

In the corner of my eye, I see the car closing in. It’s too close now. My foot is flat to the floor but the BMW has power that my car simply doesn’t. It sails past and pulls in front of me. Then it slows right down.

I jam my foot on the brake and the rear wheels skid to the side. I scream, my hair rushing forward and obscuring my view of the road.

I’m a dead woman.

In seconds, my car finally screeches to a halt. Through my beating heart and hazed vision I can just about form an image of a man stepping out of the BMW and running towards me.

Mentally, I surrender. He’s got me, whoever he is. There’s no way I can get out of this vehicle and walk, let alone run. I’m a mass of shaking limbs and lightheadedness.

The door to the driver’s seat is yanked open and a strong hand wraps around my neck, hauling me out of the car, pressing my back against the black metal.

I’m half-panting, half-sobbing when a face rams up against mine and I almost faint with relief.

“What the FUCK was that?” Bernadi yells, his saliva hitting my cheek.

The relief is so immense, my chest feels too light. So light that I laugh. I laugh . In Bernadi’s face. I can’t help myself.

If I thought I’d seen darkness, I was mistaken. Bernadi’s glare thickens like molasses and a growl rolls out from somewhere deep within him.

“I swear to God, Contessa, if you don’t shut the hell up now, I’m going to either slap you or fuck you.”

My mouth snaps closed.

I search his eyes for some suggestion he’s spoken out of turn, that he’s said something wildly inappropriate to his boss’s sister-in-law—something he absolutely has to retract, but his gaze only thickens. That’s when I realize… he might be a paid consigliere but he answers to no one. If he wants to slap me, he will, and not even Cristiano can stop him. And if he wants to fuck me… I swallow.

He shoves his hips into me, pressing me flat against the car. Something hard presses into my pelvic bone. The thought of what it might be tears breath from my lungs. The pain of the pressure is quickly overtaken though by an intense heat that crawls over my clit and up through my core. If he wasn’t pressing me into the car, I might’ve crumbled to the ground .

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, my hoarse throat aching with the effort.

He slips a hand into my hair and fists it at the follicles, taking a never-ending breath that expands his chest until my mine feels like it’s about to collapse under the force.

When he speaks, it’s as though his voice has been taken over by wolves. “Try. Me.”

My thighs tremble and I become distantly aware that my panties are starting to feel damp. I should be cold with fear but I’m burning hot… everywhere .

“Wh—” My throat feels scratchy when I swallow. “Why are you here?”

His gaze drops to my lips where I’ve just wet them with my tongue and he rolls his shoulders as though he’s holding himself back.

“I’m taking you home.”

That’s all I need to hear to be reminded of why I hate him. “I’m not going home. I’m going to a party.”

For a few seconds, he stares at me, and his dead expression fools me into thinking no thought is going on behind it. I play my trump card, even though I hate it. “Cristiano said I could go.”

I’m still stunned when he takes a step back and says, “Fine.”

I heave in a breath now that his chest isn’t pressing the life out of me. “Fine?”

He shrugs but there’s a glint in his eye I don’t trust. “Sure. Go to the party. Just know that every single man who lays his eyes on your ass in that skirt will get his head blown off.”

I drop my gaze to the gun I hadn’t realized he’d been holding by his side. When he cocks it, I physically jump. I dart my gaze back to his and know, unequivocally, he isn’t bluffing.

His voice carries an innocent lilt as his brows hitch. “You don’t want that on your conscience do you? I mean, you seem to care so much about other people…”

I clamp a hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. Emotions rise up my body like a wave, threatening to engulf me.

“I hate you.” The words slide weakly through my fingers.

I refuse to open my eyes, letting the tears fall through cracks as I surrender to the fact that he’s right. If anyone were to be hurt because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

A warm hand presses to my cheek and I retreat into myself. He can do whatever he wants but if I make myself small enough, insignificant enough, nothing will touch me.

“I know.”

My insides shatter with those two words. He’s just going to accept it? He doesn’t care that someone in this world hates him? What does that say about the life he’s had?

My racing thoughts are only interrupted by the searing touch of his palm on my skin. I try my hardest not to admit how strangely exquisite it feels, but my body has other ideas.

My head turns to the side and his pinky brushes against my lips. He doesn’t move it away as I linger there, hearing only labored breaths and heavy heartbeats. The skin covering my entire body comes alive and my lips part, a quiet moan escaping on a long exhale.

The pulse in my ears quickens and Bernadi’s pinky curls inwards, the tip gliding along my bottom lip. Keeping my eyes closed, I let my tongue inch outward to taste his finger. I hear a sharp intake of breath which urges me on. He dips the tip into my mouth and I wrap my lips around it and suck.

Oh God, what am I doing?

“Tess…” His voice cracks as he says my name.

My mind fills with a black stare through the gap in a door, the sound of a gunshot, Mrs. Falconi’s scream. Heat floods through my veins and prickles my skin. My teeth graze along his calloused skin as I chase them with my tongue. The humidity wraps around me like a hot, damp sheet.

I suck his finger deeper into my mouth, then I release my hands from behind my back and grip onto his jacket lapels, pulling him toward me.

“Tess…” he says again, this time withdrawing his finger.

My lids pop open and I don’t know what he sees in my eyes but it makes him pause. His pupils cover the whole of his eyes—black with burnt bronze edges .

He starts to shake his head and my heart flutters in a panic.

I tighten my grip around his jacket.

His hands reach up to cover mine, gently easing my grip. My heart skydives at the rejection.

“You started this,” I whisper, accusingly.

He holds both my hands inside one of his inhumanly large ones, and passes the fingers of his other hand through my hair. His gaze strokes my ear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Embarrassment floods my throat, my cheeks, and I yank my hands away, balling them into fists at my side.

“Get in the car,” he says, calmly but firmly.

I curl my fingers around the handle and pull the car door open but he shakes his head once and pushes it closed. “Other side. I’m driving you home.”

“And your car’s going to get itself home is it?” I snap, turning away so I don’t ever have to lay eyes on this man again.

Instead of answering, he turns me toward the back of the car, clamps his hands to my upper arms and chaperones me around the vehicle as if I’m a small child. As soon as I’m clear of the trunk I shrug him off. The feel of his skin against mine is searing.

We each close our doors at the same time and he puts my vintage Camaro into gear. Just before he pulls out he stops and stares straight out the windshield.

“Contessa…”

“What?” I snap.

“Don’t ever put your mouth on me again. ”

My breath rushes out and I pan my gaze to him. His jaw grinds slowly like he’s chewing on bone.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because you’ll start something I won’t be able to stop. And that’s a promise.”