Page 12 of Texting Mr. Stranger

Maybe it’s my imagination—my head is rushing, making it difficult to think clearly—but I’m almost sure he makes a quiet groaning noise like he can feel that electric jolt, too. Maybe this is what people mean when they talk about chemistry, or perhaps I’m reading too much into it.

“Thank you,” I say.

He stands up, his smile faltering. Okay, so I imagined it, whatever I thinkitis.

“We’ll be in touch about the next lesson,” he says. “We can see ourselves out.”

He leaves the room, taking Sofia’s violin case with him. When I hear the front door open and close, I spread the bills out on the bed, slowly stroking my fingers over them, trying to convince myself they’re real. This could seriously change my life depending on how many lessons Sofia wants.

That means I have to promise myself something. If, by some crazy turn of fate, this handsome, tall, rich manisattracted to me on some level, I have to keep it strictly business. I can’t risk ruining this opportunity based on him touching my hand for a few seconds. That would be insanity.

Kneeling down, I reach under the bed and grab the safe I bought. It’s not keeping any bank robbers out, but it’s better than leaving it lying around in a building like this. After locking the cash away, I lie down for a few minutes.

I try not to do it. I really do. Inevermasturbate. I can’t even remember the last time.

Yet all this electricity buzzes through me. It’s like I’m suddenly in fight-or-flight mode. Or maybe it’s fight-or-fuck. Sliding my hand down my body, I start stroking myself, gently toying with my clit as I think about Matt sliding his hand from my wrist to my leg, gripping me as confidently and with as much passion as I held the Stradivarius.

My pussy grows wet as I shift my hand from side to side. My head feels flooded with chemicals like stimulants rushing through me. I haven’t got enough experience to get overly vivid, but I don’t need to.

All I need to do is imagine he leaned in and pressed his lips against me, then pushed his hand between my legs like I’m doing now. I know it would feel so much better if he did it. It would eliminate all those old nerves and anxious flutters when it comes to dating and boys and all that stuff.

It would be heaven with him, a real man, Matteo DeLuca.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MATTEO

“You’re smiling,” Elio says as he secures his wraps around his wrists. Before our father passed, he made us promise one thing:Never let yourselves become weak.

“Am I?” I grunt, wiping the smile away when I realize he’s right.

He laughs. “It’s not a bad thing, you miserable bastard.”

“A happy Don isn’t any use to anyone.”

“So we’re quoting the old man now.” It was one of our father’s sayings.

“Is that a problem?” I snap.

“No,” he says, slipping one hand into the boxing glove. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“The war’s over,” I grunt.

“Yeah, we sent the Gallos to the gallows. But you didn’t have that boyish grin on your face last night.”

“Boyish grin,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Well, I would …”

Since leaving Bella’s apartment around two hours ago, I keep replaying when I put the money into her hand. There was a second when it felt like the most natural thing would be to lean in and kiss her. Not that I love her, or know her, or … or … Hell,anythingher. Yet in that moment, it was so damn tempting. Her lips parted slightly. She smelled of perfume and something else, just her.

“Earth to Matteo?”

“You haven’t even put your second glove on yet.”

“Yeah, ’cause I just asked if I should sort the timer or if you’re going to, and you just stared at me like a loon,” he chuckles.

“That’s the thousandth time you should thank God we’re related.”

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