Page 93 of A Beautiful Crime

My eyes flicker to his lips as I trace my tongue with my own. I feel his breath, hot and heavy, on my skin and damn if I don’t want to feel it cover every inch of me.

But the jarring stop of the car dispels the magic he has casted in the air and with it so do I.

Breaking free of his hold and wanting free from the suddenly suffocating confines of this car I go for the door handle.

Except my hand never makes it there.

He grabs ahold of my hand gently, forcing it back to my lap. I look from my hand in his to him with a cool raised brow.

“Pietro always clears the surroundings before we make our exit.”

I remove my hand from his. I immediately miss the warmth of it. The comfort. Damn him. “Don’t you mean your exit?”

He cocks his head to the side with those eyes examining me better than any scientist. “I knew you to be stubborn, Carina, but never this blind.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “Is that an insult?”

“Take it as you wish.” He simply shrugs with what I do believe is a dash of disappointment. And I absolutely loathe how it makes me feel. “We both know you will take my words and manipulate them to what you think you want to hear.”

Before I can make a rebuttal a sharp three raps of knuckles against the window happen behind me.

Constantine opens his side of the door and buttons his suit jacket when he comes to a stand. He then does the very same action he did the first night we arrived at his home.

An outstretched hand awaits me.

A choice.

Constantine Donati always gives me a choice.

And despite the loathing I say I have for him, the loathing that dies little by little every time I’m in his presence, I accept his hand so easily.

When I come to a stand beside him he pulls me closer. Close enough to where my breasts press up against his chest. Close enough to where he can angle his head down and whisper something for only me to hear. And he does. “Trust me, Carina.”

It’s the second time he’s asked this of me.

Trust.

As if it can be given so freely.

Except with him, I’m finding it that easy to give.

Not trusting my voice I nod my head. He nods back before addressing Pietro. “Is he here?”

With my hand still intertwined with Constantine’s and practically glued to his hip we join Pietro on the other side of the car.

Pietro smiles at our union, eyes lighting with glee. I’m realizing this man’s spirit, despite the dark world we live in, is like a golden retriever. He’s always jovial. Energetic. Playful.

Complexity.

I wonder if I tell Rico he’s right about the people in this world if he’ll actually experience an emotion such as smugness. But something tells me he’ll just stare at me vacantly and without thought make his exit.

I have little knowledge of him but confidently expect the latter.

“I was hoping to have some fun with him,” Pietro says with a feign pout.

Constantine merely shakes his head at his most trusted soldiers' antics. “It’s not yours to have, Pietro.”

Pietro looks at me for a moment. I try to decipher the meaning behind the acceptance in his eyes before he gives his attention back to Constantine. “I know,” he agrees. “Think I will be let in on the action, though?” He hopes.

---