Page 73 of Sinful Desires
My condo wasn’t even mine anymore. Not with six feet and five inches of silent temptation stalking the halls like he ownedthem. An ex–Navy ghost with a voice like gravel and eyes so dark they made me forget how to lie.
My mind drifted to the night after our second pool incident, when I’d woken up with my head pounding and my mouth bone dry.
Strong arms. Grey eyes. His lips inches from mine.
I’d gotten out of bed ready to face him, to stop pretending. I needed to know if he’d felt it too—that heat, that ache, that slow-burn pull that made me want to ruin every inch of him with my hands.
I changed quickly into a hoodie and black pants, then made my way into the dining room, where my parents were already halfway through breakfast. Kiara sat at the table with her phone in one hand and an apple in the other, chewing.
I pulled out a chair and sat down. I looked toward the doorway.Any second now, I thought.He’ll walk in.
“Buongiorno, dolcezza. Mangia la colazione, la cuoca ha preparato il tuo piatto preferito: uova alla Benedettina con salmone selvaggio affumicato,” my mother said with a soft smile, sipping from her porcelain teacup.
My mother had always spoken to us in Italian growing up. Even after marrying an American, she still clung to her roots.
So, we’d had Italian lessons, spent half our summers bouncing between the Hamptons and Positano, sat through Sunday brunches with the Lazzios, and spent every Wednesday in the kitchen with her—chopping, stirring, tasting.
It was her way of keeping the bloodline intact, I guess. The Lazzio in her never really left. She still frowned every time I answered her in English. Like it physically offended her.
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry,” I said. My eyes drifted toward my father, who was tucked behind his copy ofThe New York Times, which he partially owned, because of course he did. “Has anyone seen?—”
Kiara took another loud bite of her apple, then shoved her phone in my face. “Oh my god, Scar! Youhaveto give me this guy’s number. Please tell me you have it.”
She zoomed in on the screen, nearly blinding me with the brightness. A guy with dark eyebrows, darker eyes, and a silver lip ring stared back at me.
“He’s an actor! He played inThree Winters With You!”
“Kia—”
She tapped the screen. “He presented your Grammy last year, remember? For, what was it, your breakup album or whatever?”
“Dolcezza, per favore mangia qualcosa, sei diventata troppo magra ormai?—”
“Mom—”
Kiara sighed, fanning her face like she was about to faint. “If you get me his number, I swear I’ll come clean your condo for a whole month.”
I raised a brow. “You do remember how messy my place is, right?”
She didn’t even blink. “Worth it.”
“Scarlett Stella Harper Lazzio!Ascolta tua mamma quando ti dice di mangiare?—”
A shiver rolled down my spine. The hairs on my neck rose, and I didn’t even have to turn around to know Théo had entered the room.
Théo.
Fuck.
A sigh caught in my throat as I realized I’d called him by his name in my head. It had always been Mister Asshole. LeRoy. Soldier.
I’d only said his name out loud once, a few days ago on the rooftop of my condo. And now? I almost wanted to whisper itagain. There was something filthy about how it felt rolling off my tongue.
Ilovedit.
“Good morning, Mister LeRoy,” my mother said sweetly. Her tone had gone from dagger to honey in the span of five seconds, all becausehehad walked in. “Please, join us. We haven’t had the chance to really get to know you these past few months.”
His steps closed the space between us until he stopped behind me. Close enough to make the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise.
