I looked back at Chiara and tried to talk, but she kept squishing my lips, so I nodded my answer. A few times.
Maria retreated to the bathroom, presumably to finish getting ready. And I peered at her adorable daughter, shifting Chiara’s shoulder-length dark hair away from her face. She had the same dark mass of curly hair as Maria, but Maria’s was often styled to be wavier instead. Her ex used to make her straighten it, though, and . . .
I sat on the bed, trying to discard my anger toward Chiara’s real “dah-dah” for being such a horrible human being. But the dark, shitty side of me was secretly glad he hadn’t been husband of the year. Because if he had, he’d still be with Maria right now. And Alessandro was right, my self-control had its limits. Maria may have been married when I moved here, but her eyes and the way she’d always looked at me betrayed her secret. Her eyes weren’t just a window to her soul. They were a mirror of my own thoughts and desires.
And fuck, I didn’t just want this woman, I craved her. Needed her like fire needed oxygen. But if I had her, then I’d do what fire did best—ravage and consume her. And then I’d ruin her life, because ruining lives was what I was good at. And that was why I was so hell-bent on not giving in to what we both so desperately longed for even though she was now single.
But Alessandro was right, I’d barely survived her relationship with Thomas. How would I handle someone new?
“I’m crazy, huh?” I asked Chiara in a soft voice while holding her little fingers, and she giggled her answer, as if saying, Yes, you are. I bounced my leg up and down like I knew she loved as Maria opened the bathroom door.
She folded her arms and leaned into the interior frame, and I took a moment to study her. Her hair was like a bed of silky waves that stopped just shy of her belly button. She wasn’t tall or short, about five-six, but in her heels right now, she was tall enough that if I fisted her thick hair and pulled, I could slant my mouth over hers without too much effort.
Her light-brown eyes and long lashes beneath those dark brows always did a number on me. And I could feel her gaze piercing me, so I gave her my attention and did my best not to imagine her on her knees looking up at me with hooded eyes.
“Were you working out when I texted?” I lost sight of her brown irises for a moment as she peered at Chiara bouncing on my thigh.
“I was sparring with Ryan, yeah. We were just finishing up.”
“So he told you about my date tonight?”
I nodded, and this news had her straightening, relaxing her arms at her sides as she crossed into the room as if delicately stepping over the invisible line that I’d done my best to maintain between us.
“Never offer yourself to me again,” I remembered telling her six years ago, and I’d meant every ugly word. If she wanted a happy life, untainted by the likes of me, then it was best if she never let me have her. Because I also meant what I told her three weeks ago, if she were to ever be mine, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d ever be with anyone else. “I thought she was staying with Thomas tonight?” I steered my focus to the issue at hand—her dating someone. “What happened?”
“He had a work thing run late, so he bailed on me.” She frowned. “I was hoping you could watch Chiara.” At her words, she took her from me.
“You’re asking me to watch her while you’re on a date?” I slowly stood, and I was wrong, I still towered over her, even in her heels. “It’s only been five weeks since you’ve been divorced, maybe you should wait?”
She looked up at me with a stubborn lift of her chin. “And it’s been forever since a man has touched me.” She flicked her wrist, and her bangle bracelets jangled together.
Yeah, well, I wish no man other than me had ever touched you. And if Chiara wasn’t wedged between us, I’d allow my thoughts to turn dark. To picture this woman with her long legs over my shoulders, her heels digging into my back, and those bracelets clinking together, as I plunged in and out of her.
“Dating, are you sure that’s what you really want to do? Maybe give those dance lessons a try again?” I suggested.
Last month, she’d taken dance lessons and quit. The month prior, she’d taken a few real-estate classes. She’d been on a quest to find a new passion in her life ever since singledom, and I was all for her doing that. But did dating have to be next on her Things to Try list, as she called it?
“I sucked at dance lessons, and you accidentally walked in on me practicing and nearly fell on your ass laughing. These Italian hips just don’t move like they should.”