Page 76 of Phantom Mine

“I called you the original sin, but a more apt comparison would have been to Cinderella.” Matteo’s deep voice rings out behind me, gravelly and seductive. I turn to face him, stunned speechless by this discovery. Dark, lingering eyes meet mine. “She too left something of hers behind before she disappeared without a word.”

He watches me from the kitchen, taking in my reaction with lingering eyes that miss nothing and give away even less.

“Those feathers.” My voice cracks, my throat dry and unbearably tight. “They’re from my dress.”

The ones he ripped off my costume that night in his desperation to get access to me.

Matteo’s nod is languid, unhurried.

“Pavona.” His eyes trail over to the frame, seemingly ensnared by the sight of the feathers. “It’s the first piece I hung when I bought the place.” A hint of pride colors his next words. “Made it myself.”

“You kept them.” Beneath my skin, my heart feels like it’s going to punch through the walls of my chest and fly away. “Why?”

Matteo frowns, looking at the frame like he’s waiting for it to givehimthe answer.

Eventually, he lifts a shoulder. “Masochism.”

He makes no other excuse, gives no other explanation for why he kept them. Why he framed them and hung them on his wall in his home when every likelihood said that we would never meet again after that night.

Matteo stares at me like I'm a skittish mare about to bolt, his gaze penetrating as I approach him with the first aid kit clutched in my hands. Shaking fingers reach to unbuckle the belt and unwind it from around his arm.

“Take off your shirt,” I instruct softly.

I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I’m afraid of what he might see in mine, so I explore the contents of the case instead. Whereas I can’t look at him, I feel his searing gaze pinned unflinchingly on me. He slowly opens his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one until it hangs open over his chest.

“I need help taking it off,” he murmurs erotically.

He looks into my eyes as I slide his shirt off his shoulders. His stare is indecent, borderline lewd even, communicating every dirty thought racing through his mind. It’s enough to heat my skin to the point that I feel almost feverish with lust.

Rock hard abs appear before me. Two distinct columns of muscles, each perfectly sculpted. His skin is smooth and pulled appetizingly tight over every dip and ridge. My fingers tingle with the need to touch him. There isn’t a single tattoo on him,which is unique amongst Underworld men. Enzo’s arms are covered in them, as is my brother’s entire body, down to his neck, head, and even his face.

It’s yet another thing that makes Matteo stand out. I’ve always been attracted to tattoos but awareness dances through my lower belly seeing his bare skin.

His muscles first flex as he inhales, then tense deliciously when he blows out an amused breath.

“The bullet wound is up here,cara mia.”

I flush bright red, not missing the cocky smirk that spreads across his lips at my reaction.

It’s more difficult than I’d like to admit to pull my gaze away from his abs and up to the wound in his arm. My stomach pitches when I see the large red gash there.

Matteo cocks his head, his voice turning sultry. “Are you going to kiss it better for me?”

“This is barely a graze,” I blurt. “You had me thinking you were dying.”

His gaze roams inquisitively over the side of my face. “Were you worried?”

Was I worried? I snapped out of my fear-induced torpor the second I saw Matteo running towards me and watched as, behind him, the gunman blindly raised his gun again, this time in my direction.

Inhisdirection.

A sick feeling of panic twisted my gut, one far more potent than the dread that had consumed me moments before.

“Hardly,” I scoff.

He hums. It might be my imagination playing tricks on me, but I think I pick up on a note of disappointment there.

Once I’ve pulled the thread through the eye of the needle I start stitching the wound closed. Joaquín showed me how but I’ve never actually done it myself.

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