Dark Heart (Dark Heart 1)

“Oh shit, I think the cops are here!”

We scramble over the balcony’s side just as the bedroom door bursts open. Somehow, we both make it down the rope ladder and through the yard—where everyone is running, screaming—and then to the sailboat. There’s a hatch that’s unlocked, so we drop into the inside of it.

I hear shrieking, and the smacking sound of shoe soles on grass quickens. Someone blows a shrill whistle.

“They have whistles?” I hiss.

Luca laughs quietly.

When we dropped in through the hatch, we landed in the front, on a hard, triangular bed. Or at least I think that it’s a bed. Luca locks the hatch and then he wraps an arm around me. We hear a helicopter taking off from the pad near the boat.

“If cops get on here,” Luca whispers near my ear, “I’ll go out by myself, and you can hide.”

He presses his cheek against the top of my hair, and I can feel his chest expand as he drags in a big breath. For a moment, we’re just quiet. I can feel the boat rock slightly. He hugs me a little tighter, and I curl against him.

“I hope Ree and Dani are okay,” I whisper.

“Pray to Saint Jude.”

I lean back a little, giving me a view of his face, swathed in shadows. “Why St. Jude?”

“You’re not Catholic.” His lips twitch.

“No, I am. Kind of. We go to a Catholic church on holidays. My mom’s from Bangladesh, but she’s an atheist.”

I can tell from his face that he’s not sure what to say to that.

“I’m not an atheist,” I clarify. “I’m down with praying. What will St. Jude do for me?” I ask him in a teasing tone.

“Patron saint of lost causes.” Luca’s eyes dance as he flashes me a crooked smile.

“Hmm. You smell good,” I whisper near his chin.

He kisses my temple. “You do.” He gives me a little sniff. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.” I laugh at how insane this all is.

“I could always smell it when I walked behind you.”

“What?” That makes us both laugh.

“Seriously. It’s the best smell ever.”

“I wear perfume,” I whisper, “but I’m not telling you what kind it is.”

He shakes his head. “That’s evil, O’Hara.”

His cheek presses against mine. We’re partway lying down, looking into each other’s eyes. He shifts a little, and I reach for the waistband of his pants.

“You are, with these blue jeans.”

I trace a finger over his denim-clad thigh.

“Don’t say that.” His voice is husky.

I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want a repeat of what happened on the balcony. Even as I’m thinking that, I can feel him breathing heavier.

“Why are you so nice to me, Luca Galante?”

When I look into his eyes, I notice they look almost shut. Like he’s relaxed or falling asleep.

“I don’t know, Elise O’Hara. I like you.”

“You do?” I whisper.

His lips curve into a lazy-looking smile. “I’ve always liked you.”

“Always. That sounds like a long time.”

“Since my first day of school at MM,” he says softly. He glances up at the hatch in the roof before he goes on. “I was walking to the office. You went in before me, and I heard you talking about your schedule. You were doing something, working with the special ed department. Sounded like maybe helping one of the other students. So I noticed that. Also, you were hot.”

I nod, ducking my head so he doesn’t see how giddy I am. “I’m a buddy for a younger girl. It’s one of my classes.”

We’re facing one another, inhaling each other’s breath, and his smells like peppermints. I hope mine smells like spearmint gum. His eyes gleam like gemstones as they hold mine, but they aren’t hard. They’re molten soft.

His lips brush mine, feather gentle. I kiss him back as best I can, which I’m scared isn’t very good—but then I think it must be, because he kisses me back, hard and hungry.

I shiver when his tongue strokes mine, and when we break apart, he’s breathing hard. I’m breathing harder. It’s like a switch flipped, and now I just want more, more, more. His hand is cupping my head, his grip firm and warm. Our lips meet again and my hands start roving up and down him, soft palms on his hard chest, fingertips catching in his blue jean belt loop. I grip the waist of his jeans between two fingers, jolted when I feel the heat of his skin against my knuckles.

His mouth leaves mine as his body shudders and I freeze, worried I did something wrong. But then his lips find mine again, and his hand on my nape slides down to my lower back, and he seals me against him—just our upper bodies, though. And I want more.

Naughty fingers. They stroke his hot skin, the soft skin over his hard abs. Every time a fingertip skates around, he groans and kind of bucks against me. We try to swallow one another while my fingers delve a little deeper, down to where his skin is hotter, softer. I reach the juncture of his thigh, and when I stroke there, finally he snaps and moves his hips in my direction. As soon as he does, his mouth is off mine, and he leans back.