Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

I giggle like a woman unhinged as we move into a spacious laundry room done in pale olive. I’m fascinated by the fresh, clean smell and dark wood cubbies topped by five iron hooks, where he’s got baseball caps, a beanie, and a brown belt hanging. He carries me into a narrow hall. I’m overwhelmed by the contemporary feel of sleek hardwood and crisp crown molding, by the art that’s everywhere, and by the knowledge this is his home. Every time I wonder where he is or what he’s doing, Luca is here.

There’s a kitchen with black granite counters and pale gray cabinets that stretch almost to the ceiling. I note double ovens and an interesting chandelier before we’re in a gorgeous living room. Fireplace and dark brown leather couches, a rug that looks like fur… I spot a dining nook which has a wall that’s dominated by a single canvas—something dark and abstract.

I nuzzle his throat, wiggling my butt in his arms.

“Put me down…so I can see your beautiful home.”

He grins wickedly down at me, hugs me tighter, and takes long strides down another hall, which has tall, gorgeous, slightly rounded ceilings. It smells like clean linen. This is his house. Then he turns toward a tall, thin door, which he nudges open with his foot, and we’re in his room.

The walls are gray, and the floor is that same walnut hardwood, covered by a massive, Oriental rug. His king-sized bed is done in navy, beige, and gray. But it’s the walls that really draw my eye. Above his bed, between two windows, over a suede-looking couch, there are abstract rose paintings.

I glance up, and he’s smiling this little smile—it’s that twitch of a smile he does—and I think maybe he’s embarrassed. But he blinks down at me, holding my gaze with his blue one, and he looks somber. Like I’m a priest and he’s confessing.

I touch the base of his throat. “I love it,” I whisper.

There’s the twitch again, and then he won’t look down at me again as he says, “You want bed or bath, la mia rosa?”

“How do I decide?”

“You feeling warm or cold?”

“A little cold.”

“Let’s come in here then.”

He walks to a door to the left of the bed, between a tall, mahogany-looking dresser and what I think might be a record player. He nudges the door open, and we move into a sleek bathroom with what just might be the largest walk-in shower I’ve ever seen, and a deep, bowl-shaped tub that would hold both him and me with ease.

He sets me on the rug, turns the tub on, and takes one of my hands.

“You good in here if I do a few things?”

I nod, trying not to feel disappointed.

“I’ll step into my room,” he says. “You hand me your clothes through the door and I’ll start the wash.”

That makes me grin—with mostly relief. “You’re stepping out for me to undress?”

“You are someone else’s wife.” His voice is rough, but he looks like he’s trying to tease. He ruffles my hair, and I know for sure that he is.

I wrap my arms around his lean waist, resting my forehead against his chest. “I hope your mother knew she raised a good man.”

His low laugh echoes as his palm smooths down the back of my hair. “Elise…” I feel his chest move as he laughs. “Have I brainwashed you?”

“You’re good. I don’t know how it makes sense, but I still think it does.”

He says nothing, just breathes deeply. “I know you probably don’t want to get too close to my disease-ridden self, so I think it is a good idea for me to pass you my clothes through the door.” I wiggle my brows. “Don’t want to tempt you into Illsville.”

He winks, and as he steps away, I think he looks awkward. Then he’s moving toward the counter. He turns back to me with a tall bottle filled with liquid. There are pearls at the bottom. “Isa brought this back from Paris. Smells like…something you might like.” He gives me a silly little look as I peer closer.

“Thank you.”

He pours some into the tub and waggles his brows before stepping out. A minute later, I hand him my clothes through the door crack. God, I hope he doesn’t get too near my sweaty undies.I’m so relaxed that I’m nearly asleep when I hear something. I look up, finding him just inside the door, clearly in motion, with one leg in front of the other, as if he paused mid-step.

“Sneaking around,” I murmur with a smile.

“Checking in.” He brings his legs together, standing up straight with his hands behind his back like a solider, sans salute. He looks slightly bashful. I notice my water’s cool.

“Wait, how long have I been in here?”

“About forty minutes.”

“Wow, I didn’t even realize.”