“I was afraid. That part of my life is separate—it always has been. After the first time we were together, I wanted to let myself have the fantasy. I didn’t want to risk losing what we shared at Fantasia if you knew it was me.”
He took a step toward me. “Pull up your shirt.”
“No." I held my hand out. ,"Please. Let it go.”
“Riley. Don’t fucking deny me. I shouldn’t have left you alone that night. I was ashamed of myself for losing control. Now do as I say and let me see.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke.
Seeing the pain in his eyes, I nodded and closed my eyes. I unbuttoned my top and slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor. My skin was crisscrossed with angry red welts that were littered all the way down my abdomen and dipped beneath my skirt.
“Fuck.” He stepped forward and reached out. I hissed as his fingers traced the swollen flesh. Vincenzo pressed his palm against my belly, and I flinched.
“Stop.”
“Did you clean these?” The softness in his tone had me opening my eyes to look at him.
“Yes.”
He pulled his hand free and stepped back. “Not good enough. Put your shirt back on. We’re leaving.”
“What? We can’t just leave in the middle of dinner service, Vincenzo.”
He grabbed his keys and pulled the door open. “Yes. We can. The other chefs are more than capable of finishing up and if not, then I will close the fucking restaurant. I need to see to those marks, and I can’t do it here.”
“No. I’m fine, just tender is all. I’ll be ok.”
He leaned forward, his face inches from mine. “This is why you were out sick?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
Reaching down, he fisted my shirt and handed it to me. “Get your things. I won’t take no for an answer.”
I shook my head, knowing I would not win this argument. “Fine.” I tugged the white blouse back on and followed him out into the restaurant.
He briefed the other line chefs, telling them I hurt myself when I slipped in the kitchen, and that he was taking me to be looked at. After grabbing my bag, he shocked me by scooping me off my feet and carrying me outside.
“It’s not ideal, but we’ll take my bike. Think you can hold on, or will it hurt too much?”
I straddled the bike behind him and gripped his waist. “I think I can manage. How far is your place?”
“Not far. Hold on.” Vincenzo flicked his eyes over his shoulders as I wrapped my arms around his waist. Once he was certain I was secured behind him, he took off, navigating the streets of Vegas until he pulled into a one-story bungalow.
“Your house is beautiful.” I tugged the helmet from my head and cradled it in my arm.
He kicked the bike stand down and killed the engine. “Thank you. My father had it built for me.”
He eased me off the back, setting our helmets on the seat, and carried me inside. I couldn’t believe how magnificent the inside was. I honestly didn’t expect such a stunning house from a bachelor.
“Take off your shirt, Riley.” His voice cut through the silence, snapping my attention to him.
“Don’t you think we should talk first?”
“We can talk, as I tend to your skin.” I followed him down the hall and into what I assumed was his master bedroom. The gray walls were offset by a massive four-post bed covered in a black duvet.
“Vincenzo, why am I here?”
“I fucked up, Riley. I lost control and I hurt you. I need to do this, or I will never forgive myself.” He moved into the bathroom and gathered some supplies.
“You wouldn’t have even known it was me if I hadn’t slipped.”