The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

I had no idea what we were doing, but it was either go with him, or back inside where Oscar roamed free. It was an easy choice, though surprising considering I’d only seen one of them shoot their family member in the head.

Nicolas stopped near the corner of the house, released my hand, and leaned against the brick wall of my home. A second later, the orange flame of a lighter cast his face in gold tones as he lit a cigarette between his lips.

“You smoke?” It was a stupid question, as he was now blowing out a breath of smoke and watching me with a lazy expression.

“Sometimes,” was all he said, his shoulders tense. He glanced up to look at the security cameras above our heads. He was in a blind spot, leaning against the wall. I was probably front and center on the screen for Dominic to see. What would people think if I was, once again, caught alone with a man I shouldn’t be with? A rush of anxiety shot through me, and I stepped to the side and out of the camera’s view.

Nicolas’s gaze was heavy, angry even, and I wasn’t sure what I’d done to him. I glanced at the star-lit sky. It was beautiful, but I didn’t believe he’d brought me out here to enjoy it with him. In fact, it looked like he’d prefer I wasn’t here at all.

I sighed. “Why am I out here with you?”

The night was dark, but I still saw a bitter expression cross his face. “Saw that prick push you around, touch your ass. Was wondering if I could get away with the same.”

My heart stilled for a split second before I narrowed my eyes. I had my reasons for putting up with Oscar, but I didn’t have to deal with this from a brother-in-law. I took a step to leave, but a rough hand grabbed my wrist.

“Stay.” It wasn’t a suggestion but neither was it demanding. Why did he want me to stay when he was clearly angry with me? He was rude and confusing. And who told him he could hold my hand, pull me around, and make me feel warm all over? I imagined Nicolas Russo had gotten whatever he’d wanted since he was young, and, being the only child, he didn’t even have to share.

I let out a shallow breath and pulled my wrist out of his grip. It was stupid, but I was going to stay. I told myself it was only because I needed to get to know his character for my sister’s sake. Not because his mere presence made something hot unravel inside me.

I eyed his cigarette. It looked small and harmless in his hand. I didn’t know what it would look like in mine, but I was beginning to wonder.

He must have noticed my expression, because he pulled the cigarette from his lips and handed it out to me. He wanted to share? He watched me with that hooded, looking-into-the-sun expression, not saying a word. My pulse fluttered.

It’d been six months since I’d even touched a man—that must be why I was having such schoolgirl notions about handholding and cigarette-sharing. Male contact wasn’t a normal thing for me, and even before this ring graced my finger, it hadn’t been then.

I took the cigarette from him, and he watched me as I brought it to my lips and inhaled. The coughing was instantaneous, my eyes watering.

Dark amusement ghosted through his gaze before he reached forward and took it from me, his fingers brushing mine.

“I wasn’t finished,” I protested, still coughing a little bit. If I was going to smoke, I was going to do it right. Maybe I was a perfectionist, but I couldn’t leave anything halfway or poorly done.

I watched him put his lips on the cigarette where mine had been. Thank God it was dark, because my cheeks grew hot. This man had barely said anything to me that wasn’t rude, short, or demanding, yet my body reacted to everything he did like it was magic. Che palle. I was crushing on my future brother-in-law.

He handed it back to me. “Not so much this time.”

I listened to him and only inhaled a little bit. A couple of seconds passed before smoke smoothly escaped my parted lips. A languid rush filled my bloodstream, my head feeling light.

The breeze was warm, the song of the cicadas steady, while I shared a cigarette with a man I knew nothing about.

“My mamma’s going to kill me,” I said softly, followed by my cousins’ low laughter drifting on the light breeze.

Nicolas dropped the butt, blew out a breath of smoke, and stepped on it. “You tell your mamma everything?”

I looked up at the starry sky. The answer was no; I never told anyone much. Nothing that mattered anyway.

“She’ll smell the smoke,” I said, gazing at the constellations. I glanced at him to see he’d been watching me. I flushed, every inch of my skin growing hot.

“Come here.” Something soft and charming wove through his deep voice.

My heart skittered to a stop.

This was how this man got women: by only saying, “Come here,” in that tone. Nonetheless, I couldn’t say I felt cold when he was rude either.

I had always done what I was told, especially by the Made Men in my life, though not a single step I took in his direction was because of that. I was a moth moving toward the flame, until I stood close enough for my wings to ignite.

I held my breath when his hand rested on my waist. His grip tightened as he pulled me forward until my chest brushed his. My pulse beat in my throat, and his hand was so hot, spreading warmth to the pit of my stomach, that I hardly noticed him leaning in, brushing his face against my hair.

“No smoke.” The words were smooth with a rough edge.