Of Blood and Bone (15 page)

She struggles within their arms, but I am there within a few seconds, administering a strong sedative to calm her. Her eyes flutter closed as they keep her restrained.

Luca scoops her into his arms and I accompany him as he carries her back to her suite.  Her limp feet dangle over the side of his arm and she looks as small as a child.

He puts her on her bed, where we leave her with Sophia.

As Luca locks the door behind us, he thanks me. 

“She could’ve died today,” he says.  “You stopped her. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I answer, staring him in the eye. 

He shows no sign of distress about the incident, about the way his mother feels about him. It breaks my heart that he buries his feelings in such a way.  I know that if I were able to help him deal with the feelings, he would feel so much better.  So I tell him that.

He smiles a grim smile and for a flickering, fleeting moment, I see something in his eyes, something vulnerable. And then it is gone. 

“I think I owe you an explanation,” he tells me instead of agreeing.  “I have an engagement tonight, but I would like to sit down with you tomorrow.  It’s the least I can do, since you are living in my home.”

I am surprised at his sudden willingness to talk to me, but I don’t question it. I nod instead.

“Of course.”

He smiles and my heart flutters.  He is more handsome than any one man has the right to be.

“Until tomorrow.”

And he walks away.  His spicy cologne lingers in the hall behind him.

Chapter Eighteen

At 7:00 p.m., I find myself alone in the large formal dining room. 

It appears that Luca was unable to be here, detained by yet another conference call. Apparently, his job keeps him very busy. I appealed to Adrian for company and he told me that he never eats in here.  They have traditions here at Chessarae and this is one of them. No matter how good of friends he and Luca are, the servants do not eat with the Minaldis. I find it strange, but I must respect traditions. 

The quiet in this enormous room is smothering. 

My fingers drum restlessly on the gleaming mahogany tabletop as I wait for the first course, a chilled cucumber bisque. It is garnished with shaved cucumber rinds and looks almost too beautiful to eat.  I thank the butler who delivers it, then lift a spoonful to my lips. It is as delicious as it is beautiful.

I wish that Luca was here so that I could talk to him about the things that his mother said earlier, the hurtful things that I know must have crushed him.  It worries me that he has continually borne the brunt of her delusions and anger without ever having an outlet to process those feelings.  I know we’ll discuss it tomorrow, but I’m impatient to try and help him.  In my head, I see the little boy that Luca must have been at one time and it saddens me.  This is not a good atmosphere to have grown up in.   

I finish the next four courses then retreat into my room, comfortably full and just slightly tipsy from wine.  The solitude in my room is startling at first; the quiet is so still that it almost roars in my ears.  I open the balcony doors and the crash of the sea against the shore provides a quiet and rhythmic background noise as  I answer emails from my mother and my father, then work for a bit on my thesis project.  My dissertation is coming along nicely, although I know that I need a few more subjects for research material.  I make a note to go into Valetta sometime this week. 

I’m finally tired, and I ready myself for bed.  After I brush my teeth, I cover my bare legs with a cashmere throw while I read a book to relax.  I know I’ll never sleep until my mind is calmed.  The wine didn’t help with that, which is unusual.

I read for several chapters before I sigh and set it aside.

I can’t focus on the book.  Normally, I would find it incredibly interesting, but not so tonight.  Tonight, all I can see in my head is a pair of dark eyes; dark eyes that are churning with so much unspoken emotion.  Dark eyes that are an enigma that I can’t solve.  They are at first hard and calculating, then impassive, then soft and gentle.  I want to uncover what they really are, but I can’t get close enough.  It’s frustrating.

I finally sigh and give up, putting the book away and turning off the crystal-encrusted light.  I can hear the sea through the open doors and I focus on that, trying to allow it to lull me to sleep.   I visualize the clean sea air covering my body and then focus on relaxing every single body part, attempting to will myself into sleep.

No such luck.

I am wide awake and staring at the ceiling, watching the moonlight glimmer off of the crystal in the chandelier above me.  Each perfectly cut piece of glass sparkles with the light of the moon.  It is fascinating. 

And then my door opens.  

I hear the heavy wood swinging quietly over the thick, plush rug covering the stone floor.  I’m startled at first, until I look up to find Luca.  I exhale a sigh of relief before a rush of excitement thrills through me.  He’s here.  In my bedroom. 

He is standing in the dark shadows of my room, his face somber.  He is rigid and alert, not the picture of casual elegance that I have come to expect from him.  I look into his eyes and there is an expression there that I haven’t seen before.  The light is gone from them and he is staring woodenly at me.  I instantly decide he must be drunk.

“Luca, are you alright?”

I sit up in bed and pull the covers around me.  The nightgown I’m wearing tonight is barely-there silk, practically indecent.  A person can see right through it. 

Luca doesn’t answer.  He’s still leaning against the door, staring at me with the strangest expression and his eyes are so flat that they don’t even glitter.  A chill runs down my spine and my heart thuds against my ribcage.

My son is evil.

Melina’s words spring unbidden into my mind.  And I’m being foolish.  Luca is many things, but evil isn’t one of them. 

“Luca?”

He strides across the room and is next to the bed in six steps. 

I stare up at him.  His eyes meet mine but I don’t see anything familiar there.  He’s not himself; he’s not anyone I know.   His chiseled features are taut, his expression so empty.  It’s startling and causes my heart to thunder against my ribs.

“Luca,” I whisper.  But he still doesn’t answer.

And then he moves and is everywhere.  He is above me and around me on the bed, his spicy scent enveloping me in the night.  His strong legs straddle me and his mouth is suddenly on mine, rough and hot.  He tastes of Scotch and man and his teeth bite into my lip.

What the hell? 

I am braced against him, as my heart pounds loudly against his, as his hard thigh slides along mine.  This is so unexpected and shocking.  I can’t wrap my mind around what is happening, even though time seems to be passing in slow motion.

Luca’s hands clench me tightly and I am sure that I will have bruises in the form of his fingers tomorrow on my arms.  But before I can pry them away, he moves them, ravaging my breasts.  

At first he is much too hard, too harsh and strong. But then he relents, his fingertips sliding into gentleness as he palms my nipples, then moves in a circle around them. His fingers are long and strong.  Sensations shoot through me, stemming between my legs and spreading through my belly.   I can feel him, hard against me, as his erection lodges against me, tucked into the juncture of my thighs.  He is rock hard.

I swallow and I can practically feel my heart in my throat.

Luca is breathing harshly now, loud in my ear. 

“Luca!” I cry out, finally finding my voice.  “What are you doing?  This isn’t like you.”

“Don’t you like it?” he asks thickly, and his words are almost slurred.  He looks up at me and the expression is almost lucid, but not quite. It’s still hazy and empty.  I don’t understand it. 

“Are you drunk?” I ask, trying to assess him.  He doesn’t smell like alcohol, however, even though he vaguely tastes of it.  He also doesn’t move.

Instead, he leans forward and kisses my neck, his teeth nipping at the skin beneath my earlobe.  His touch gentles, then firms; gentles, then firms. It’s a rhythmic rush and against my better judgment, I find myself leaning into it.  His hands grip the sensitive tissue of my inner thigh, hard, then harder. 

He is rough and this isn’t how I pictured this scenario with him.  I pictured it as sweet and sensual, like when I kissed him in my cottage or when I fantasized about him during those first nights here in Malta.  This is very much not that.  This is charged and electric and violent.

He laughs, but doesn’t answer my question. 

Of course he’s drunk,
I answer myself silently.  He has to be.  This is not the Luca that I know.

He yanks me to him, ripping my nightgown from my body before he drops the delicate silk into a twisted heap on the floor by the bed.  I’m pushed naked backward onto the bed and his fingers are inside of me, sliding in and out, while his arm creates a fascinating friction on the delicate skin of my belly.  I can feel the moisture from my body dripping onto his hands.  In this moment, I have to admit that I like it.  He’s being rough and I like it. 

What is wrong with me?

I moan as he sucks on my nipple, as he slides it in and out of his mouth at the same speed that his hands are moving. 

Sweet Jesus.

He gets rougher, sucking harder and moving faster.  His hands are everywhere and I arch up toward him, bucking my hips to get closer.  I have no excuse for enjoying this.  I’m not drunk.  But I want him anyway.

Things that I should care about seem to fall away. 

I don’t care that he isn’t answering me. I don’t care that theoretically, he is my employer.  I don’t care if this isn’t my dream scenario.  All I care about are the sensations that are overwhelming me.   

The moments are coming in flashes now.  His lips against my neck, his mouth on my breast, his hot breath on my skin.  His hand brushes my thigh, his fingers grip my side.  His fingernails cut into me and I gasp.  He glances at me, but doesn’t truly see me.  His gaze is unfocused. 

Luca steps backward, away from me.  The cool breeze blows over my skin as I watch him, causing goose bumps to form. I wait, my breath frozen and my cheeks flushed, for him to come back to me. 

His strips his slacks off and kicks them to the floor.  His penis is long and hard and curved against his belly, an impressive sight.  I eye it and then him.  It’s been awhile since I have been intimate with anyone but he doesn’t give me time to be nervous.

He pushes against me again and he is not gentle.  His bare chest slides over mine as he thrusts hard and fills me up, sliding with an exquisite friction.  I whimper and clutch at his back.  I should be angry, I should be resisting, but I don’t want to.  I want him here. I want him inside of me.  I can’t lie. The truth is that I’ve fantasized about this from the day I met him.

The flashes come back, instead of logical thought.

He thrusts.

I arch.

My leg curves around his hip.

His hands are in my hair.

He pulls.

I moan.

He bites my lip.

I taste blood.

As he thrusts into me, hard and rhythmic, I force myself to focus.  Because when I stare into his eyes, they are flat and black.  The thunderclouds that I sometimes see in them are markedly absent.  The milk chocolate gaze that I sometimes see there is gone.  There is nothing there right now, just an empty void and it startles me.  I grip him tighter at the same time as I pull him closer with my legs.  He is filling me, filling an emptiness that I didn’t even know that I had.  I find myself wishing that I could do the same for him.

“Luca?” I whisper. 

But he doesn’t answer and his handsome face is twisted into something angry.  But then, I’m distracted by the overwhelming sensations that threaten to carry me to a place that I hadn’t expected to go tonight, not like this. 

Luca thrusts harder and harder and finally I’m screaming his name as intense pleasure wracks my body in waves and leaves me shaking on the sheets.  He throws his head back and groans and I feel his hot seed pouring into me, completely filling me and then he falls limply to the side. 

“Luca?”  My voice is quiet in this large room, tentative. 

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t stay.  He simply picks up his slacks, puts them on and walks away without a word.  The door closes once again behind him and I’m left alone.

Did that just happen?

The wet ejaculate running down my thighs tells me that it did.   

I lie in a motionless heap, my legs still quivering, as I think about what just happened.

Was I just raped?

That’s absurd.  You can’t rape the willing
, I tell myself.  

And I did want it.  I was willing and I wanted Luca more than I’ve wanted anything in quite a while.  But if I’m honest, I know that it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d submitted willingly or not.  Luca would have taken me with or without my consent.  The look in his eyes told me that. 

My son is evil.

I can’t shake the words.  He’s not evil. I know it. I know it in my bones and in my heart.  He’s not evil.  But he’s…
something.
  I just don’t know what it is.  And he was right earlier.  I deserve an explanation, especially now, and I can’t wait to get it from him tomorrow.  But it will definitely have to wait until tomorrow. I’m not leaving this room tonight.  

I get up and clean off, then lock the door. 

Then I go back to bed and replay every moment of the intimate exchange. 

It had been primal and intense and electrifying, even as it was puzzling.  And as I think about where his lips had been, the way he thrust into me, the way he bit at my neck, I find myself getting wet again.  My lips are swollen from his kiss, my body aching from the rough sex.  Everything about it seems so forbidden, so erotic.  My fingers slip beneath the sheets and into my panties, and for the second time since I have known him, I satisfy myself while I think of Luca.