Of Blood and Bone (The Minaldi Legacy #1)(11)
Author: Courtney Cole

But as I walk through the aisles of the busy open air market, I put Luca out of my mind.  He clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me.  I’ll make a point to arrange a follow-up meeting with him later for research reasons, but only for that.  I just need to see if he is as intriguing as I previously thought.  And if my evaluation of his personality is correct.

But even now, if I’m honest, the mere thought of meeting with him again is exciting.  His dark good looks are a night and day difference from Adrian’s cheerful demeanor.   And that dark thread in Luca, the darkness that I see passing over his face… it draws me in.  And I know that my research is not the reason that I want to see him again.

Chapter Six

Luca

I stare out the window of the car, idly watching the green landscape blur past.

“Do you want to go straight home?”

Adrian is looking at me in the rear-view mirror and I nod.

“Yes, please.”

I return my attention to the outdoors, to the farms and wildlife and beaches that fly past us; the stone and sand and greenery.  Adrian always drives too quickly when he chauffeurs for me but I don’t mind.  I’m a fast driver myself and I’m distracted today anyway.

I seldom allow myself to become bothered by things like emotions and sentiment.  I can’t.  Not if I want to remain sane, if that’s what I am. And I suppose that notion is debatable.  But regardless, whether I am sane or not, I cannot become wrapped up in worrying about the reactions of those around me.

But the look on Evangeline’s face as I turned away in the street… it bothers me.  It’s nagging at me. I wanted nothing more than to approach her, to draw her to me like she drew me to her last night in my dream.  But I can’t do that.  And I have no way of telling her so without sounding like a deranged lunatic.  I can just hear that conversation right now.

I’m sorry, Dr. Talbot, I’d really like to get to know you better, maybe even f**k you, but I’m a monster and can’t get near you.

Yes.  I can see where that would go over well.  And why have I been reduced to feeling such base instincts around this woman?  I can’t seem to control my thoughts.

But it doesn’t look like she’s faring any better.

For a psychiatrist, Evangeline Talbot isn’t good at concealing her feelings. She wears them on her face for the whole world to see. I recognized that trait in her yesterday.  And today, I could see that she wanted to talk to me, she wants to get to know me better.  I can tell that she feels the same attraction for me that I feel for her.  I can’t explain it, but it is certainly there. The electricity between us is almost a tangible thing.  It is that strong.

In fact, it has almost taken on a life of its own.

“Luca, are you alright?”

Adrian interrupts my thoughts and as I glance at him, I find his forehead is wrinkled with concern.  I smile.  He has known me since we were boys and his family has worked for mine for generations.  He certainly knows me well.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.  “Just distracted.  What are your plans for the day?”

Adrian turns the wheel fluidly as he guides the Mercedes along the winding coastal road. He drives with ease, just like he does everything else.  Everything is easy for him.  People, love, life. I’ve been envious of that more times than I can count.

“Unless you need me for something else, I am planning on servicing your Jag this morning, then I am helping Tegan repair a broken stall in the stables this afternoon.  If you don’t think you’ll have a late night tonight, I have plans to keep.”

“And miles to go before you sleep?” I smile as I recite a line from a favorite poem.  Adrian shakes his head and laughs.  He has never been an academic, so he probably has no idea who I am quoting.   “Robert Frost,” I tell him.  He rolls his eyes.

To be fair, Adrian has never needed to be academic.  His charm got him through school and when his charm couldn’t accomplish something, I tutored him. He always knew that his plan in life was to work for my family, like his father before him.  He is never serious and usually has plans in town on the weekends.  It is nothing new.  He loves the bustle and life of the city.  I do not.

“That’s fine,” I tell him absently, answering his question.  “I don’t intend to have a late night.”

Adrian noses the car through the massive iron gates leading to Chessarae and up the long manicured drive.  The difference as we pass onto the property is immediate.  It is quiet here, as though the property itself recognizes my need for serenity.  I know it is a silly thought, but it is entertaining to believe that the land itself recognizes something within me, a need for peace and solitude.

“Will you be visiting your mother this morning?”

Adrian asks this seriously as the car draws to a stop and I open my door.  I grit my teeth.  It’s Friday again.  Already.

I nod curtly and he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to, you know,” he tells me.  “I don’t know anyone else in their right mind who would.  It’s not like she would know the difference anyway.”

“I would,” I tell him.  And I leave him with the car as I turn and make my way into the house.

As I walk through the doors, an instant feeling of reverence passes through my body, as it always does when I return home.  This home, this mansion, is a thousand years old.  It was built by the Knights of Malta back when they first occupied the country, when their strength was at its peak.  The interior, of course, has been redecorated many times throughout the years, but the exterior has remained the same.  Heavy stone blocks create a formidable presence.  It is ancient and permanent.

And it is mine.

I wind my way through the house and push through the heavy mahogany doors to my study.  Each door is carved with the dignified crest of the Knights.  Although my family has never belonged to the order, we have left their imprint on Chessarae in homage to their rich history.  It gives the house character.

I walk straight to the bar that sits behind my desk.  If I am visiting my mother today, as I always do on Fridays, I will require sustenance.   My particular brand of sustenance comes in the form of forty-year old Scotch.  I pour a glass, neat.  I down it in one gulp.  I savor the familiar burn in my mouth and then pour another.