Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

This kind of ecstasy.

Somehow, that didn’t matter anymore. At that moment, I could barely think. I couldn’t judiciously weigh the pros and cons of falling in love with Vincent. I already was in love with Vincent. I think, in a way, I always had been.

The little girl in me, the wild-eyed dreamer, she had known. She had known all along that he was special. That he was noble and pure and good. That he was without equal. And right now, I couldn’t help but agree with her.

“I need to see you,” he growled before I was lifted up and turned over. I blinked at the speed at which it happened. I was flat on my back on the couch, staring up at Vincent. He was fully dressed, I noted, as he yanked his jacket off and threw it on the ground.

Dressed other than his shaft jutting proudly from his partially unfastened pants.

Vincent was known for his very expensive custom-fit suits, many of them bought in London. But all of that barely registered. I was staring into his dark, fathomless eyes as he climbed on top of me and pushed his cock back inside me again.

He closed his eyes in pleasure as he sank deep inside me. He said something under his breath that sounded like a prayer. Then he was kissing me, touching me, steadily circling his hips as he slowly fucked me into oblivion.

My dress was pushed up higher as he pulled my bra down to get at my nipples. I distinctly heard fabric tear. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. Not the past. Not even the future.

All I cared about was him, this moment. Our bodies worked feverishly together to reach a pinnacle that was fast approaching. I knew everything would change in that moment.

Everything had already changed.

My life was now before and after. Before I’d given in to this impossible love. After I’d given in. After we’d come together in such a profound way.

And despite the intense passion I felt for him, I knew I would still have no choice but to walk away. I had a feeling I would miss him forever. Love him forever.

Even if he ended up dead.

Especially if he ended up dead.

Vincent was it for me. I’d always known it on some level. And now there was no denying it.

“'Cesca . . .” He groaned. “I can’t stop.”

I knew what he was saying. He wasn’t wearing a condom. I wasn’t on the pill.

But it didn’t matter.

“Don’t even think about stopping,” I said, my voice unrecognizable. I sounded breathy, feminine, soft, nothing like the carefully crafted image of strength I usually projected. I was not the brazen, fiercely independent woman who had walked into the hotel room. I had put down the mantel willingly, dropped my façade without a second thought.

With Vincent, I was someone else entirely. I was his.

Chapter Fifteen

Vincent

My arms felt empty. The room felt empty, and she was still there. But I could feel her imminent departure ahead of the fact.

She wouldn’t let me hold her. I’d tried. After the frenzy had passed, I’d tried to hold her, to tell her how I felt.

But she’d cut me off without a word.

“I cannot do this, Vincent. This was a one-time thing.”

“Like hell it was,” I snarled as I watched her. She started trying to erase what I’d done to her. Straightening her hair and wiping the smeared lipstick from her mouth. Pulling her clothes back together. Hiding her glorious curves from me.

She just shook her head.

“Don’t go,” I said, hating everything about this. The feeling of watching her putting her clothes back on went against everything I wanted. Everything I needed.

What I needed was to take her into the bedroom and make love to her for hours. For days.

For years.

For the rest of my goddamn life.

“This is dangerous,” she said. “For both of us.”

“I don’t care,” I ground out. “I want you.”

She just shook her head as if she didn’t believe me, didn’t understand the depths of my emotions. I grabbed her shoulders and waited for her to look at me. But she wouldn’t. I resisted the urge to shake her.

“Look at me, Frankie. Look at me.”

She finally lifted those beautiful eyes of hers, and I cursed at the raw emotion I saw there, knowing the same emotions were reflected in my eyes.

“I love you, dammit. I have always loved you,” I snarled before pulling her in for a kiss. It wasn’t sweet or gentle. Neither were my words.

The truth was that the words sounded more like a curse. And they were.

We were both cursed with this impossible love for each other.

She kissed me back feverishly, but just for a moment. Not nearly for long enough. She pulled away violently. I was relieved to see she didn’t have a weapon this time.