Of Blood and Bone (The Minaldi Legacy #1)(32)
Author: Courtney Cole

He smiles a grim smile and for a flickering, fleeting moment, I see something in his eyes, something vulnerable. And then it is gone.

“I think I owe you an explanation,” he tells me instead of agreeing.  “I have an engagement tonight, but I would like to sit down with you tomorrow.  It’s the least I can do, since you are living in my home.”

I am surprised at his sudden willingness to talk to me, but I don’t question it. I nod instead.

“Of course.”

He smiles and my heart flutters.  He is more handsome than any one man has the right to be.

“Until tomorrow.”

And he walks away.  His spicy cologne lingers in the hall behind him.

Chapter Eighteen

At 7:00 p.m., I find myself alone in the large formal dining room.

It appears that Luca was unable to be here, detained by yet another conference call. Apparently, his job keeps him very busy. I appealed to Adrian for company and he told me that he never eats in here.  They have traditions here at Chessarae and this is one of them. No matter how good of friends he and Luca are, the servants do not eat with the Minaldis. I find it strange, but I must respect traditions.

The quiet in this enormous room is smothering.

My fingers drum restlessly on the gleaming mahogany tabletop as I wait for the first course, a chilled cucumber bisque. It is garnished with shaved cucumber rinds and looks almost too beautiful to eat.  I thank the butler who delivers it, then lift a spoonful to my lips. It is as delicious as it is beautiful.

I wish that Luca was here so that I could talk to him about the things that his mother said earlier, the hurtful things that I know must have crushed him.  It worries me that he has continually borne the brunt of her delusions and anger without ever having an outlet to process those feelings.  I know we’ll discuss it tomorrow, but I’m impatient to try and help him.  In my head, I see the little boy that Luca must have been at one time and it saddens me.  This is not a good atmosphere to have grown up in.  

I finish the next four courses then retreat into my room, comfortably full and just slightly tipsy from wine.  The solitude in my room is startling at first; the quiet is so still that it almost roars in my ears.  I open the balcony doors and the crash of the sea against the shore provides a quiet and rhythmic background noise as  I answer emails from my mother and my father, then work for a bit on my thesis project.  My dissertation is coming along nicely, although I know that I need a few more subjects for research material.  I make a note to go into Valetta sometime this week.

I’m finally tired, and I ready myself for bed.  After I brush my teeth, I cover my bare legs with a cashmere throw while I read a book to relax.  I know I’ll never sleep until my mind is calmed.  The wine didn’t help with that, which is unusual.

I read for several chapters before I sigh and set it aside.

I can’t focus on the book.  Normally, I would find it incredibly interesting, but not so tonight.  Tonight, all I can see in my head is a pair of dark eyes; dark eyes that are churning with so much unspoken emotion.  Dark eyes that are an enigma that I can’t solve.  They are at first hard and calculating, then impassive, then soft and gentle.  I want to uncover what they really are, but I can’t get close enough.  It’s frustrating.

I finally sigh and give up, putting the book away and turning off the crystal-encrusted light.  I can hear the sea through the open doors and I focus on that, trying to allow it to lull me to sleep.   I visualize the clean sea air covering my body and then focus on relaxing every single body part, attempting to will myself into sleep.

No such luck.

I am wide awake and staring at the ceiling, watching the moonlight glimmer off of the crystal in the chandelier above me.  Each perfectly cut piece of glass sparkles with the light of the moon.  It is fascinating.

And then my door opens. 

I hear the heavy wood swinging quietly over the thick, plush rug covering the stone floor.  I’m startled at first, until I look up to find Luca.  I exhale a sigh of relief before a rush of excitement thrills through me.  He’s here.  In my bedroom.

He is standing in the dark shadows of my room, his face somber.  He is rigid and alert, not the picture of casual elegance that I have come to expect from him.  I look into his eyes and there is an expression there that I haven’t seen before.  The light is gone from them and he is staring woodenly at me.  I instantly decide he must be drunk.

“Luca, are you alright?”

I sit up in bed and pull the covers around me.  The nightgown I’m wearing tonight is barely-there silk, practically indecent.  A person can see right through it.

Luca doesn’t answer.  He’s still leaning against the door, staring at me with the strangest expression and his eyes are so flat that they don’t even glitter.  A chill runs down my spine and my heart thuds against my ribcage.

My son is evil.

Melina’s words spring unbidden into my mind.  And I’m being foolish.  Luca is many things, but evil isn’t one of them.

“Luca?”

He strides across the room and is next to the bed in six steps.

I stare up at him.  His eyes meet mine but I don’t see anything familiar there.  He’s not himself; he’s not anyone I know.   His chiseled features are taut, his expression so empty.  It’s startling and causes my heart to thunder against my ribs.

“Luca,” I whisper.  But he still doesn’t answer.

And then he moves and is everywhere.  He is above me and around me on the bed, his spicy scent enveloping me in the night.  His strong legs straddle me and his mouth is suddenly on mine, rough and hot.  He tastes of Scotch and man and his teeth bite into my lip.

What the hell?

I am braced against him, as my heart pounds loudly against his, as his hard thigh slides along mine.  This is so unexpected and shocking.  I can’t wrap my mind around what is happening, even though time seems to be passing in slow motion.

Luca’s hands clench me tightly and I am sure that I will have bruises in the form of his fingers tomorrow on my arms.  But before I can pry them away, he moves them, ravaging my br**sts. 

At first he is much too hard, too harsh and strong. But then he relents, his fingertips sliding into gentleness as he palms my ni**les, then moves in a circle around them. His fingers are long and strong.  Sensations shoot through me, stemming between my legs and spreading through my belly.   I can feel him, hard against me, as his erection lodges against me, tucked into the juncture of my thighs.  He is rock hard.