CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: WINTER
“Itlookslikeyou’re with me today, Mouse.”
My feet pause on the steps as I look down to find Maximo waiting at the bottom. He’s wearing a pair of jeans this time but they’re just as tantalizing as the grey sweats he wore to the barbeque.
They’re back.
I was hoping that maybe Lucia had her weeks mixed up, even months, and that the Costas wouldn’t actually be coming back today.
It was more than wishful thinking on my part.
Maximo seems to have gotten tanner over the last week and it makes me wonder if they’d gone somewhere tropical to take care of their business. He’s wearing a pair of dark slacks but the short sleeved, baby blue button up seems to only put emphasis on the tan.
His gaze moves over me, taking in the black sundress with yellow sunflowers on the print. “Cute,” he mutters and there’s a certain amusement to his tone that makes me shift slightly. He places a hand on the banister, gesturing for me to move forward with the other hand.
I hesitate, before slowly making my way to him. The second I hit the second from last step his hand is touching the outside of my thigh. “I have to be honest, I like these little dresses, they give me better access to everything I want.” His hand slides up, stopping midway up my thigh. His gaze snaps to mine.
I swallow. “Are you the one picking them out then?” I wouldn’t be surprised if they pre picked all of my outfits before they left to go out of town, having Lucia issue them out to me.
It’s not about how I actually look in the outfits, it’s about the control.
I know that since I’ve been here the person who picks my outfit out has varied a couple of times. The hooker heels that always nearly broke my neck were Giovanni’s choice. The flats were Maximo’s blessing. All the ballgowns I’d worn in the past had been Vito’s pick and I have to admit they always fit me well, the colors complementing my skin.
Enzo is the only one who hasn’t chosen my outfits as far as I know and it has me curious what the stoic man would pick if he had the choice.
“Yes,” Maximo says, bringing my attention back to him. His hand is rubbing my leg now and I try not to let it show on my face how the touch is like fire, burning my skin. “Do you like what I’ve picked?” Despite the question, his voice is bored as if he doesn’t care about my answer one way or another.
Yes. “No,” I lie.
He smiles, his fingers pinching my thigh. I let out a yelp, trying to get away from his touch but he’s already released me. “You’re not a good liar,” he informs me.
I rub the burning ache in my thigh, glaring at him. He grins back at me.
Grabbing my hand, he pulls me down the two final steps and leads me out of the door as I continue to sulk. His car is parked in front of the steps, already running. He opens my door for me, pretending to be a gentleman.
I slide into the seat. By the time I’ve pulled my seatbelt on, he’s already sliding into his seat. His door is barely closed before he’s slamming on the gas. I crash back into my seat and I grab onto my seatbelt as I try to figure out if this is the first time I’ve ever ridden with Maximo. Fear hits me when I realize it is.
Holy hell, he’s going to kill us before we even get off of the property.
The gates manage to open just in time before he blows through them.
My eyes widen and I grip my arm rest. This isn’t how I imagined I was going to die, in a car wreck with Maximo Costa’s reckless ass driving, but I’m not surprised.
What does surprise me is when he flips the radio on and a pop song of all things comes on.
I frown, peering at the screen, thinking it has to be on a random radio station. But when I peer closer, it clearly says Bluetooth on the screen, right above Juicy by Doja Cat.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I look over at him, expecting him to change the up tempo song, but he’s just tapping his fingers along his steering wheel, nodding his head to the beat.
I find myself looking over at him every time a new pop song comes on and every time, he’s just as into it as the first song.
When he finally pulls the car to a stop at a gate, he’s gone through ten pop songs with not a single skip, not even when Justin Bieber came on. Meanwhile, I’m regretting ever thinking Lucia was a reckless driver.
She has nothing on Maximo.
He peers over at me and raises a brow. “What?” he asks.