A Hunger for the Forbidden(22)

But he hadn’t. Because he hadn’t deserved that kind of comfort. That kind of oblivion. He’d forced himself to face it.

This … this he couldn’t face.

He took another shot of whiskey and let it burn all the way down. It didn’t burn as much at this point in the evening, which was something of a disappointment. He looked down at the shot glass and frowned. Then he picked it up and threw it against the wall, watching the glass burst.

Now that was satisfying.

He chuckled and lifted the bottle to his lips. Dio, in his current state he almost felt happy. Why the hell didn’t he drink more?

“Matteo?”

He turned and saw Alessia standing in the doorway. Alessia. He wanted her. More than his next breath. He wanted those long legs wrapped around his waist, wanted to hear her husky voice whispering dirty things in his ear.

He didn’t think she’d ever done that, whispered dirty things in his ear, but he could imagine it, and he wanted it. Dio, did he want it.

“Come here, wife,” he said, pushing away from the bar, his movements unsteady.

“Are you drunk?”

“I should be. If I’m not … if I’m not there’s something very wrong with this whiskey.”

Her dark eyes were filled with some kind of emotion. Something strong and deep. He couldn’t decipher it. He didn’t want to.

“Why are you drunk?”

“Because I’ve been drinking. Alcohol. A lot of it.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, could be because today I acquired a wife and I can’t say I ever particularly wanted one.”

“Thank you. I’m so glad to hear that, after the ceremony.”

“You would have changed your mind? You can’t. It’s all over the papers, in the news all over the world. You’re carrying a Corretti. You, a Battaglia. It’s news, cara. Not since Romeo and Juliet has there been such a scandal.”

“I’m not going to stab myself for you just because you’ve poisoned your damn self, so you can stop making those parallels anytime.”

“Come to me, Alessia.”

She took a step toward him, her movements unsteady, her lips turned down into a sulky frown. He wanted to kiss the expression off her face.

“You left your hair down,” he said, reaching out and taking a dark lock between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the glossy strands. “You’re so beautiful. An angel. That was the first thing I thought when I saw you.”

She blinked rapidly. “When?”

“When we were children. I had always been told you Battaglias were monsters. Demons. And I couldn’t resist the chance to peek. And there you were, running around your father’s garden. You were maybe eleven. You were dirty and your hair was tangled, but I thought you looked like heaven. You were smiling. You always smile.” He frowned, looking at her face again. “You don’t smile as much now.”

“I haven’t had a lot of reasons to smile.”

“Have you ever?”

“No. But I’ve made them. Because someone had to smile. Someone had to teach the children how to smile.”

“And it had to be you?”

“There was no one else.”

“So you carry the weight of the world, little one?”

“You should know something about that, Matteo.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps a little something.” He didn’t feel so much like he was carrying it now.

He took her arm and tugged her forward, her dark eyes wide. “I want you,” he said.

Not waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. Hard. She remained immobile beneath his mouth, her lips stiff, her entire body stiff. He pulled her more firmly against him, let her feel the evidence of his arousal, let her feel all of the frustration and need that had been building inside of him for the past three months.

“Did he kiss you like this?” he asked, pressing a heated kiss to her neck, her collarbone.

She shook her head. “N-no.”

“Good. I would have had to kill him.”

“Stop saying things like that.”

“Why?” he asked. “You and I both know that I could, Alessia. On your behalf, I could. I might not even be able to stop myself.” He kissed her again, his heart pounding hard, blood pouring hot and fast through his veins.

“Matteo, stop,” she said, pulling away from him.