Page 38 of Craving Chaos

“But you’ve been with men?”

“I’m attracted to all kinds of people, but I prefer to be with people I respect, and that doesn’t seem to happen as frequently with men as it does with women.”

“And the men you have been with.” His words sound oddly strained. “They didn’t know how to touch you?”

His hands feel so incredible. If I wasn’t on my back, I’d be drooling.

“Not really,” I say dazedly.

Renzo lifts the cup and pours more water over my hair. When a drip strays to my temple, his finger catches it, then drifts along my cheek to my jaw and down the side of my throat. This time, I can’t resist the urge to press my chest upward. I’m so hyper sensitized by him that I don’t miss the hitch in his breath.

“Let me prove not all of us are worthless in bed.” Each word is a physical caress, flaming the already raging fire inside me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ren.”

“Why?”

“You’re you, and I’m me. Our families. Our loyalties.”

“There are no loyalties out here.” He continues slowly in a soft but urgent voice. “No families. Just you … and me.”

That’s true. What happens in the wilderness could stay in the wilderness.

I could scratch that itch. It’s tempting. I’ve never made Mari any sort of commitment, and the fact that I’ve hardly thought about her since I’ve been gone speaks volumes. What I need to remember, however, is just because I can doesn’t mean I should. This is Renzo Donati, boss of the Moretti Mafia family, not some schmuck off the street.

He must sense my indecision when he takes another angle.

“How about we make a bet?”

Oh, fuck. I do love a bet.

There’s a reason my family’s primary source of income is gambling—we live for a game of chance.

“What sort of bet?” I ask hesitantly.

“How about this … if I can catch a fish from the creek, you let me show you how good I am with my hands?”

A desperate voice buried deep in my psyche begs for me to let him show me now. Logic clears her throat until I’m forced to pay attention. Any sort of sex with this man is a bad idea. However, what are the chances he can catch a fish?

“How would you do it? A spear or something?”

“There’s some fishing line in the cabinet. I’ll make a rod.” He sounds so confident that it’s easy to fall in step with his words, but I know better. The city boy using a homemade fishing rod with no reel to catch a fish from a half-frozen creek in the middle of winter—that’s got to be the best odds I’ve ever been offered.

“And if I win?”

“I’ll jump in that creek naked, fully submerged.”

He’ll never win, but even if lightning strikes, and he not only catches a fish but also manages to make me come, it’s still a win for me. What kind of Byrne would I be if I didn’t take those odds?

I steel myself and say the one word that may be the best or worst thing to ever happen to me.

“Deal.”

CHAPTER 19

RENZO

I’ve never fished a day in my life, but people do it all the time. How hard can it be? I’d already been thinking about giving it a go—this is simply an added incentive.

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