Page 33 of Caesar DeLuca
I’m attracted to Caesar. I sense he’s attracted to me too… in some way.
It’s been years since I’ve been involved with a man. In all this time, I never addressed my issues. I ran away from everything and settled down in the small, secluded space I created for myself. It was never part of my plan to re-emerge.
Caesar was never part of my plan.
I accepted certain life milestones would never be mine. These were sacrifices I decided to make. I thought I had shut myself off from these desires years ago.
Yet Caesar’s been here a couple days and he has me flushed and hot like a cat in heat. As if his stare downs and jealous behavior weren’t enough, his touches made me lose my breath. His kiss made my pussy throb. If I hadn’t pushed him off the couch, I would’ve been a goner. I would’ve done something very reckless that would only mean pain in the end.
I’m too sensitive for any other reaction to intimacy. I couldn’t handle the repercussions of going down that road.
Freddie understood this about me—he used it to hurt me. Tear me down and bring me low. Make me self-conscious and insecure. And when he stepped outside of our relationship, it became my fault. I wasn’t good enough.
They were prettier. More interesting and fun. Skinnier.
If I could be more like them, then Freddie would really love me.
Freddie had no problem letting me know about my shortcomings. Criticisms of his that soon became my thoughts about myself. I tried so hard to change that it took me in a never-ending loop for years.
It still does in many ways.
As attractive as I find Caesar, I could never tune out the noise. I’d always be listening to the small voice in the back of my head telling me I still wasn’t good enough.
I already told you. I’m particular.
Caesar said himself he has high standards. Particular is the word he’d used.
How can I be so foolish to think he’s attracted to me? And even if he is, the attraction would be physical only. I’d never meet his criteria for a partner. For anything more than a quick, one-time, casual fling.
That’s without even addressing the information I’ve willfully omitted from our conversations. At first it made sense, as I was keeping my identity from him, but the more time we spend together, the worse it looks.
I sigh. “How did this get so complicated?”
The end to our night is just the beginning of our silent war. By the time I wake up, the power has been restored, though the snow flurries blow fiercer than ever. I slip on my fleece robe and tiptoe downstairs to get my coffee brewing.
The door to the guest bedroom remains shut, not a peep to be heard.
Caesar doesn’t make an appearance ’til later in the morning. He appears in the kitchen, and I look away, pretending I’m more interested in the glass cup I’m washing. The worst part is that I can sense his presence.
Feel the power he exudes and the masculine heat that radiates off him.
I feel my face warming up in response. I scrub the glass harder, ignoring the jump of my heartbeat.
Caesar comes up behind me. So close, if I’d lean back, my back would touch his front. I’d feel the hardness of his chest—among other things. I fall still, letting the water under the faucet go cold. He reaches over me, practically trapping me where I am, and opens a cabinet door.
It takes a concerted effort to hold it together. For me to close my eyes and breathe calmly through my nose. Otherwise, I’d be caught up in the heat, the throbbing, the way even his near-touch makes me lose my control.
Caesar’s hand falls to my hip. He gives no indication it’s by accident. In fact, he gives my curvy flesh a squeeze that forces a gasp out of me. I tilt my head enough so that I glance up at him. His eyes are already on my face. His dark, blackish blue eyes hold a spark in them.
He’s well aware of what he’s doing.
He’s playing a dangerous game and inviting me to join him.
The moment ends with me looking ahead, dazed and speechless. Caesar steps away and I listen to the pad of his footsteps out of the kitchen. I’m shook for minutes to come. It’s not until I make it back upstairs, safely in my room, that I’m able to calm down.
The rest of the afternoon plays out in similar fashion. Neither of us speaks a word to the other, but we come in close proximity, ratcheting up the tension, letting it clench the air. Once Caesar catches me as I stretch by the window, my cellphone cradled in the crook of my neck.
The cropped top I’m wearing lifts up with me and I quickly pull it back down the second I catch his eye.
