Page 111 of Phantom Mine

After a while, my skin starts to go numb from the cold. I hear the pelting of raindrops on my body, but I hardly feel them anymore.

Until the rain abruptly stops.

At first, I think the storm has simply passed. Then, another crack of thunder booms overhead, as if to boast its presence.

The muffled pattering of drops on grass tells me the downpour continues.

A raising of the hairs along the back of my neck alerts me to movement nearby. The unmistakable presence of a large, warm body appears next to me.

Lifting my head and opening my eyes, I find Matteo settled beside me on the blanket, his arm extended above him, his gaze fixed stoically off into the distance.

An unnamed emotion knots my windpipe seeing him. I trace over his handsome profile, pausing on the stubble lining his perfect jaw. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and it gives him a more rugged appearance than his usual GQ cover model look. If the pang in my lower belly is anything to go by, I like this rougher version of him.

My gaze tracks his extended arm and journeys upwards. My heart clenches violently in my chest when my eyes find the canopy of the umbrella he holds open above my head.

The wind catches the soft edges and rustles the fabric as I stare, but Matteo’s grip remains unyielding. None of the rain reaches me any longer.

He doesn’t use the umbrella to shield anything other than me. He sits off to the side of the covered perimeter, the rain continuing to beat down on his face and body, soaking his dark grey suit through in seconds. He doesn’t acknowledge the cold he must undoubtedly feel; he sits there, unflinching, almost arrogant in his resolve, facing the storm’s assault while actively protecting me from it.

All I want is to crawl into his lap, curl into his body, and rest my head against his chest.

“How did you know where I was?” I ask. A raindrop hangs precariously off the tip of his nose. I wipe it away before it can fall.

Matteo turns his face to the side. Rain runs down his temples in rivulets. It plasters his hair to his forehead in unruly curls that highlight the sharpness of his cheekbones and the strong, solid line of his jaw. He’s all soft looks and hard edges, so dangerously handsome he’s almost painful to look at.

Drops gather on his dark lashes as his gaze rakes unhurriedly down my body, his nostrils flaring in obvious appreciation. My skin prickles everywhere his eyes touch. He manages to make me feel like the most beautiful and seductive woman in the world even when I must look like a drowned rat.

“I followed you.”

Why?

I don’t ask the question even though his eyes dare me to. I’m not brave enough to find out the answer.

“Can’t make a habit of that,” I murmur instead, attempting humor and failing. My voice comes out hollow and sad rather than teasing. I watch the rain.

Matteo is silent. He listens to the tearful hiccup I can’t swallow, he watches me sweep a tear off my cheek, he stares at me with a look so intimate it sears straight through to my soul.

“How long does it take to form a habit?” he finally asks.

My forehead creases. “I think I read somewhere that it’s twenty-one days.”

He hums thoughtfully, dragging his gaze away from me and back out into the rain in quiet contemplation.

“Too late then,” he whispers, as if to himself.

I glance over at him. He might as well have reached into my chest and wrapped his fingers around my heart for the way it stalls at his words.

Instead, his arm stays upright, the umbrella continuing to steadily shield me from the rain.

“You’ve been gone,” I murmur, unable to muffle the slight accusatory note in my tone.

Matteo shakes his head. “I wasn’t far,cara mia.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks back at me, holding my gaze the length of three clumsy heartbeats. I know because my heart crashes repeatedly into the walls of my chest, counting off each one.

One.

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