The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)
With the thought of “conjugal visits” sticking around like a bad aftertaste, I decided I needed some alcohol. So I went in search of some.
My head was in the fridge when I heard him behind me.
“Look at you, snooping through my shit. You’d think I was marrying you instead.”
His voice sent a shiver down my back, but I ignored it and grabbed a wine cooler off the shelf.
Closing the fridge, I turned around.
Nicolas stood on the other side of the island, his gaze on me as he dropped a folder next to Mamma’s appetizers. He must have come straight from work, because he only wore a black button-up shirt and pants. Not dressed for a party. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and I had the sudden desire to do it myself.
I leaned against the fridge. “Thank the good Lord for small miracles, huh?”
His gaze was averted as he took off his watch and set it on the island, but a small smile pulled on his lips.
My pulse pattered to an uneven beat. I’d come to the conclusion that even if I were to marry this man, he could give my heart nothing but tiny fissures and cracks—it didn’t know that, though. Or maybe it did, and the heart only took chances the brain would not. Thankfully, I’d always been a realist and usually reacted to the latter’s cues.
However, an entirely different part of me controlled my actions regarding him: base instincts. This was how the human species kept populating. Unyielding attraction and lust. And Mother Nature wouldn’t let me forget there was a male in his prime nearby.
We’d been doing something we shouldn’t have yesterday. It wasn’t like we’d crossed a direct line, but we’d undeniably dipped a couple toes on the other side. It would be much easier to dip a few more the next time. It was a dangerous slope, and I just needed to stay away from it completely.
I had no idea how he would regard me now—now that I’d asked him to disrespect me. I planned to pretend it had never happened, but my body hadn’t forgotten. It sang in his presence, my stupid heart warming and not knowing what was good for it.
As he came around the island, I tipped my wine cooler out to him in a gesture asking him to open it.
He watched me as if he definitely remembered I’d asked him to disrespect me yesterday and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise, though his expression was indifferent, like it was nothing new to him. I was positive it wasn’t. I’d had his phone for two minutes max and received a naked picture. I couldn’t imagine what I’d see if I had it all day.
He took the bottle from my hand and twisted off the cap. Right before he gave it back, he took a drink while looking at me all the while. My stomach erupted with butterflies from sharing with him, but I ignored the ridiculous feeling.
I swallowed when he returned it to me and headed to the sink. My brows knitted as I looked at the half-empty bottle. How did men take such big drinks?
Leaning on the fridge, with the bottle resting against my lips, I watched him wash his hands.
His eyes came my way, running from the hair I’d straightened and wore down, to my gold dress that stopped mid-thigh. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t like it at all. When his attention landed on my white heels, it traveled back up my body slowly, and I knew he was looking for the pink.
Danger. Playfulness. Fever. A mixture of them all filled my chest, trickling through my bloodstream and straight between my legs. Beneath the light pink thong that suddenly felt heavy, hot, and damp.
A little lightheaded, I scraped my teeth on the bottle, biting down.
His gaze darkened.
Was the air growing warmer?
Cazzo.
Brother-in-law. Brother. In. Law.
As my eyes fell downward, I paused.
The water was running pink.
He was washing blood off his hands.
“Good day at work?” My tone was sweet and sarcastic.
He flicked an amused gaze to me. “And look at how well you play wife. Starting to think I got the short end of the stick.”
My eyes followed his to see Adriana sitting on the floor, cross-legged in the corner, playing what looked like a game on her phone. She was at least dressed appropriately in a yellow halter dress and flats. It would take blackmail to get her in heels.