Page 19 of Finding Love

I don’t want to underestimate him, but I would put nothing past somebody who looked like he wanted to kill me for refusing his kiss earlier. What a fun little surprise Dad would get if Luca pulled a gun. “It’ll be nice,” I tell her, though I fear it will be anything but.

Saturday. That’s four days from now. What do I do if my memory is still gone? How do I get through it?

“We’re looking forward to meeting him,” she tells me with excitement in her voice. “Now, don’t think you can get away with conveniently forgetting to tell me where we’re having dinner. We’ll set up a tent outside your front door if that’s what it takes. You are not going to avoid us forever.”

No. God forbid. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know as soon as Luca makes the reservation. I’d better go take something for my head before it gets bad again.” Before ending the call, I add, “I love you.”

I can barely wait long enough to make sure the call is disconnected before throwing the phone to the floor, then pressing the pillow to my face and screaming my heart out. All the confusion, the dread, the frustration. The loneliness. Fear.

By the time my voice gives out, I’m empty and weak. Not weak enough to stop the tears flowing freely down my cheeks. What am I doing here? What do I believe? Who can I trust? I’ve always been able to rely on myself. How do I navigate this when I’m the least reliable person in this entire fucked-up situation?

I’m curled in a ball, lying on the sofa and weeping when the front door opens without warning. It’s bizarre, the brief flash of relief at the sight of Luca as he steps into the house. It dies a quick death, especially when I remind myself he’s a big part of why I’m in this terrible, confusing place in my life.

He knows nothing of this. He only sees me crying, and it brings him to his knees beside the sofa. “What is it?” he whispers in that soft, warm, intimate voice that I wish didn’t touch some hidden part of me that craves it.

No. I crave comfort and safety. That does not mean I crave Luca Santoro.

“What is it?” I echo and sit up, throwing the pillow aside and making him grunt in surprise. “Let’s see. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know who I am, why I can’t go home, and why I didn’t just say to hell with it and confess everything to my mom so I can go back to my old life, goddammit!”

Something darkens his eyes until they look nearly black. “You were on the phone with your mother?” he asks, only it sounds like he’s confirming I stole his wallet or murdered his dog.

I blink hard in disbelief. “That’s what you took from everything I said? Yes, I was on the phone. Sorry if that hurts your plan in some way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He barks out a humorless laugh. “My plan? What plan is that?”

His derision only intensifies my outrage, turning my blood to lava. “Your plan to keep me all to yourself,” I snap. “You’re cutting me off from the entire world. You can’t blame me for not trusting you because of that. I just… I just…” My lungs can’t pull in enough air for me to continue. I just want to go home. I just want to remember my life. I want everything to go back to normal.

I want it not to feel so right when Luca enfolds me in his arms and pulls me close after I burst into tears again. A part of me demands I push him away, but right now, that voice is small, far beneath the surface. The rest of me wants very much to be held and comforted, even if it means by him.

“All I want is to keep you safe,” he insists, murmuring into my ear while I weep on his shoulder, wondering which of us I hate more. “That’s all. I’m here for you. Let me be here for you.”

Sadly, I want to let him. It’s because I’m lonely, confused, and scared of the unknown that I lean into his embrace, my arms snaking around his neck so I can hold on tight. Like I’ll fly away if there’s nothing keeping me on the ground.

Something takes over. Instinct, maybe. Something that makes it possible to turn my face toward his neck or inhale his spicy cologne and the unique scent of his skin. It stirs something in me— memory? Or am I so hard up for comfort that being this close to him feels like a good thing?

He pulls back far enough to look into my eyes. “Let me protect you,” he whispers, undoing me a little bit at a time with every word that tumbles from his generous mouth. “Let me love you. It’s all I ever want to do. That’s all I ask.”

It can’t be.

I can’t allow it.

No matter how right it feels when his gaze lowers to my lips, revealing his thoughts. No matter how easy it is for me to close my eyes the instant after he leans in, almost lunging, like he can’t wait another second before crushing his lips to mine. The instant our mouths touch, an explosion erupts in my core. Shock waves roll through me, sending sizzles of pleasure radiating from head to toe. I’m alive. I’m really alive, and something close to joy replaces all the pain and the fear as the kiss deepens, his tongue stroking mine, his arms tightening possessively.

And I love it.

Deep down, so deep there’s no room for a conscious thought, I love this. I want it. I want him. My fingers run through his thick, silky hair until he growls into my mouth, his hands running up and down my back. All at once, I want to take off my clothes so he can touch my skin. So he can mark it and make me his.

This is why I have no choice but to shove him away as hard as I can before I make the sort of mistake there’s no coming back from. It doesn’t matter that he somehow reaches some deep, dark part of me I didn’t know existed. My aching nipples and throbbing pussy don’t mean a thing. I’m not an animal.

I have a choice.

He is not my choice.

“No,” I gasp, fighting for breath. “No, Luca. It’s not going to be that easy.”

9

LUCA

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