Page 11 of Sweet Retribution

“They’ll eat inside,” Stone finally says, and takes a seat next to me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and wash it down with a healthy gulp of wine. I set my empty glass down, and he picks up the bottle, refilling it. We’re alone and don’t speak while we eat.

When I’ve scraped my plate clean, I drink more wine and dab the corner of my mouth with my napkin.

“You have your appetite back.” Stone points at my empty plate with his fork and takes another bite of the macaroni and cheese.

“I guess.” I place my napkin on my plate and put my hands on the table, ready to push myself up and excuse myself, but he stops me with one word.

“Stay.”

It doesn’t come out like an order or a bark. If it had, I would’ve flipped him off and left. It’s the softness in his voice, a simple request, almost pleading, that gets to me.

I drop my hands to my lap and wait. I won’t initiate the conversation. If he wants to have one, he can lead it. I’m tired of begging for attention, for conversation, for comfort. I sit in silence as he finishes his meal, then washes it down with the rest of his wine.

He wipes his mouth and leans back in his chair, his gaze on me once again. I don’t look at him and pretend I’m interested in the scenery behind him, which I am. His vineyards and the ocean backdrop are stunning.

“This is your home too,” he finally says.

I lift my shoulder in indifference. I won’t let him see how those words affect me.

“Gia.”

I can’t fake a stony facade like he can. I push back from the table and rush down the steps and across the lawn, heading toward the vineyard. I want to escape him and also want him to chase after me.

He does. I hear his footsteps even in the grass. “Gia. Wait,” he says.

I don’t stop, but I slow down allowing him to catch up with me.

“Gia.” He grips my shoulders and forces me to stop, spinning me so I face him. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you intrude on my dinner? Chase me across the lawn?” I try to shrug off his hands, but he holds me tight.

“Fuck if I know.” His razor-sharp gaze pierces my soul, and his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip.

My gaze follows his tongue, and I can’t help how my mouth opens, wanting him. Wanting his mouth on mine. He’s never kissed me. I’ve wanted to ask why. Why he’ll put his mouth on my breasts, in between my legs, but never on my lips?

“Fuck, Gia. Don’t look at me like that.”

Like what?My body betrays me. I don’t want to give in to it. I want to push him away. To show him he has no affect on me. To prove to him, but mostly myself, that I am in control of my body.

Only I’m not.

I swallow and hear my breath, short, raspy. I lick my lips and notice my hands moving on their own accord, reaching for Stone. They rest on his chest and I lift my chin higher, my mouth begging to be taken by his.

The vein in his forehead makes its appearance again. The only sign I’ve gotten to him, otherwise his face is relaxed, his breathing steady. If it wasn’t for the vein and his tight grip on my shoulders, I’d think he was in complete control of his body.

He curses again then drops his hands from my shoulders and steps away. I want to cry at the loss of contact.

“Why?” I ask, ashamed at how needy I sound.

He shakes his head and takes a long, smooth breath. “You’re still recovering.” His gaze drops to my wrists.

I rub my fingers over them. They’re healing and no longer hurt. What hurts more is his rejection. I move closer to him and place my hands on his chest.

“Touch me,” I beg.

Stone closes his eyes and lets out a loud sigh. When he opens them again, a storm is brewing.

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