“No, it doesn’t.” My eyes narrowed. “That makes Adriana’s business yours, not mine. I have plenty of men in my life already.”
“Guess you got another.” His words were deep. Smooth. Final.
I opened my mouth to say something—something about how much I disliked him—but before I could work out my thoughts into coherent words, he told me, “Maybe rethink what you’re about to say.”
I closed my mouth. He was so confident, unconcerned, while my stomach twisted with worry for Tyler. The last thing anyone wanted was their full name on Nicolas Russo’s radar. Frustration clawed beneath my skin. He’d come and butted into my life like he had a right to. He would make a disaster of it.
I couldn’t keep it in.
“Have you always been unhinged? Or is your controlling, delusional nature a product of inadequacy?” I said it sweetly. Sweet as poison.
He continued tinkering with his part, his gaze staying focused like he hadn’t even heard me.
I had to admit, it felt good to get that off my chest. Great, actually—
A cool rush of shock flooded me as he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me within a foot of him. My heart was in my throat and my eyes squeezed shut, because I didn’t want to see how he was going to kill me. All I felt was warm skin and a tug on my dress, and then his hand slipped from my nape and he was gone.
After a couple seconds, I opened my eyes to see him walking away with a part in hand.
I stood there, frozen.
“Never really thought about it,” he drawled. “But I guess I’ve always been.”
Feeling something out of order, I glanced down.
My lips parted in disbelief. He cut my bikini strap.
I had a feeling this wasn’t even because of the comment; he just didn’t want me to go to that party.
Benito’s voice filtered into the garage, though I couldn’t see him over the car. “I used your kit under the sink to fix a couple stitches. Hope you don’t mind.”
I tried to catch my breath and collect myself while they talked for a moment. I slipped my bikini top off under my dress—it was worthless now. I wasn’t a girl who could go without a bra. Not to Benito’s standards, but close. I’d have to cross my arms the whole way home and tell my cousin my strap broke. He’d believe me, and he wouldn’t even notice anything. Men were oblivious.
“You ready, Elena?” Benito asked. “Let’s go.”
“Coming.”
As I passed Nicolas and noticed that Benito was preoccupied with texting next to his car, I tossed my bikini top under the hood. “Don’t psychopaths like souvenirs?”
The tiniest hint of amusement pulled on his lips, and one grease-stained hand fisted the white fabric before I left the garage.
Benito sat in the driver’s seat, sunglasses on. “Sorry I took so long. ‘Bout fucking passed out fixing a stitch.”
As I imagined, he never noticed my missing bikini top. Didn’t ask questions about the broken strap. He only took me home. But before we reached the red front door, his suspicious gaze burned my face. “What’s on your neck?”
I wiped the spot, coming away with a smudge of grease. Unease leaked into my blood. “Um, I don’t know.”
He didn’t respond, didn’t hear my heartbeat ricocheting in my chest. Though, something dark crossed his expression before I could disappear upstairs.
I didn’t ask to get manhandled by Nicolas Russo, by my sister’s fiancé. But the one unfortunate truth I was scared Benito might read on my face was . . . I liked it.
“I want to live my life, not record it.”
—Jackie Kennedy
I WAS BEGINNING TO THINK this attraction was my punishment for him. This was karma. While he had touched me, I’d wished for someone else, and that someone came in the form of my sister’s fiancé.
The rest of Sunday passed with nothing but humidity, icy air-conditioning, and thoughts on my mind. Before him, I was a virgin, had never even kissed a man. An entire world of lust and sex had always been there, but I was unaware until I’d stepped into a low-income apartment holding the hand of a man I hardly knew. He didn’t know the Sweet Abelli, and, to me, that was all that mattered.