For Angelo (Full-Length Standalone Italian Billionaire Romance) Page 7

  Angelo was asking one of the staff for an extra straw, and she frowned. Did he want some of her milkshake but didn’t want to take a sip using her straw? She hadn’t thought he was the fussy type.

  Angelo faced her again when he had his extra straw in hand. “Our second condition,” he told her as he reached for her milkshake, placing it between them.

  He put his straw in. “Shall we share?”

  “Oh.” She was bemused. “That’s the second condition?”

  “Partly,” Angelo murmured, his smile revealing nothing.

  Okaaaay.

  She nervously took hold of her straw and almost choked on her milkshake when Angelo did the same, which brought his face inordinately close—

  Too close actually, she thought, and she sipped on her straw so fast that her brain froze.

  She immediately pulled back with a groan, her eyes squeezing shut at the pain.

  “Brain freeze?” Angelo murmured sympathetically.

  “Yes.” Gosh, her brain. She opened her eyes when the pain finally receded, saying awkwardly, “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s nothing. You looked very cute while in pain,” Angelo said charmingly.

  “Umm…” If it had been anyone else, she would have probably thought she was dealing with a psycho. But since this was her sadistic future lover, she could only smile weakly at him.

  And that was when she noticed the milk marks around his mouth.

  “You, umm—”

  “What is it?” Angelo asked innocently even knowing full well what it was.

  She pointed to his mouth.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Umm, you’ve got milk there.” She circled her mouth to let him know where the marks were.

  “Where?”

  Perplexed, she pointed to his mouth. “There.” Where else would it be but around his mouth?

  “Here?” He pointed to his cheek.

  “Umm…” Could milkshake turn geniuses into idiots? She took a napkin from the holder and handed it to him. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” He took the napkin and placed it on the table.

  Oh. Maybe milkshakes could dumb certain people down.

  She looked at Angelo and was even more confused when she saw he was laughing at her with his eyes.

  And then Angelo leaned forward. “Can you help me?”

  Become smarter? she wondered.

  But out loud, all she said was, “Sure.”

  “Can you lick it off, tesoro?”

  She stared at him.

  He stared back at her.

  Did he just say—

  Her jaw dropped open, but when he only gazed at her steadily, she finally found her voice, stuttering, “I couldn’t possibly…”

  Angelo raised a brow, and his voice was sly when he asked, “Even if this is the second condition?”

  Oh.

  Her jaw snapped shut.

  What. A. Sadist.

  “If you want to stay with me,” she heard her fallen angel murmur, “then you should be ready to play these games with me.” His tone was light, but his gaze was serious.

  “If you can do this…” His tone lowered, and the way he was gazing at her made Lane’s heart beat so loud she was terrified the entire diner might hear it.

  “I can promise you we’ll play games like this…”

  Her toes curled hard, and oh, she could feel her entire body starting to ache in a strange, painfully beautiful way.

  “Every day.”

  Oooooooh.

  Gosh.

  He was seducing her.

  And she was being seduced.

  She couldn’t say anything, could only swallow convulsively before she started to lean forward.

  Angelo remained still, his gaze watchful and challenging.

  Oh gosh, she was so close to him again, so darn close that the ache in her body grew, demanding for something that she didn’t know how to explain—

  “But if you can’t do it…”

  She watched in horror as his thin, beautiful lips parted, as if he was prepared to lick the milk marks off on his own—

  Nooooo!

  Her tongue was suddenly touching the corner of his lip, and she heard Angelo suck his breath in.

  She was shocked, too, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She didn’t know how it happened, knew only that it had, and now there was no turning back.

  Trembling with a mixture of fear and growing excitement, Lane slowly licked a circle around his mouth. She found herself gripping the edge of the table as she licked him, feeling like she needed to hold on to something to keep her upright.

  Was she really doing this?

  With so many people around?

  And to Angelo Valencia?

  There was only one answer to it.

  Yes.

  It was ‘yes’ to all those questions, and the knowledge that she had done it, at his request—

  She suddenly felt reckless, and the way his silvery gaze glittered with need when she finished licking the last drop of milk emboldened her even more, and she heard herself say huskily, “I think I missed a spot?”

  Angelo stared at her, and she held her breath anxiously, wondering if she had just turned him off. What if her shyness was his fetish, or what if he didn’t like overly aggressive girls—

  Oh, this silence was so tormenting, making her body physically ache at the agony of waiting—

  And again, Lane realized a few moments too late it was exactly why her fallen angel wasn’t saying a thing.

  Her eyes flew to his, and his lips curved, like he had been waiting for her to realize he had been playing the sadist…because she was a masochist.

  And then he was saying, “Yes, my Lane. I think you did miss a spot.”

  Oooooh.

  “I d-did?”

  His heated gaze caressed her. “You should try again.”

  And she did.

  ****

  He still hadn’t stopped grinning, and she still hadn’t stopped blushing.

  “I can’t believe I did that.” The words came out an embarrassed wail even though it was already the seventh time she had uttered them in the past ten minutes.

  “But you did, and I liked it very much, my Lane.” His voice was arrogant and complacent at the same time, and she quickly pressed her hands to her cheeks, hoping she could stop them from blushing.

  She should find his arrogance insulting, she knew, but she didn’t.

  And she was beginning to feel that was okay.

  “We’re here,” Angelo murmured as they made it to the university’s parking lot. He unlocked the trunk of his car and placed her bag in it. Closing it, he turned to see Lane frozen in her spot, a look of horror on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded right away.

  Lane couldn’t answer, couldn’t stop staring at Angelo’s ride.

  She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but one thing she was absolutely sure of was that his car was expensive.

  Extremely expensive, she corrected herself numbly, considering that it wasn’t just an ordinary car but some kind of super fancy sports car.

  “Tesoro?”

  She slowly lifted her gaze to Angelo.

  Her fallen angel, who turned out to be extremely rich—

  Oh, how could she have failed to consider that?

  How could she so be stupid, thinking that he had been chosen to mentor their class just because he was smart and good at his work?

  Lane swallowed. “Sorry. I’m just…” She gave up explaining and said instead, “I d-didn’t change my mind.” She mentally begged him to leave it at that.

  But he didn’t.

  “Then what is it? What’s wrong?” He came close, and she had the painful urge to back away from him.

  Angelo’s gaze narrowed at the increasing pallor of her face. “Tell me what’s wrong.” And was he merely imagining things, or did she truly look like she was thinking of running away from him?

  It didn’t make a
ny sense.

  His jaw clenching, he said again, “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

  He saw her glance at his car.

  “Is it the car? You have some kind of trauma with cars? You had a car accident in the past? Is that it?”

  She only looked at him, unshed tears in her eyes.

  “What is it, my Lane? Tell me.”

  Tell him, he said.

  She wanted to laugh and cry. He always made things sound so easy. And maybe they were, but not this time.

  Tell him that she was a weirdo who was afraid of rich people…like him?

  Tell him that she had been in a mental hospital because of that?

  Tell him that it all started because of how her grandfather treated her mother like she was nothing but a brainless bimbo who could be bought to do whatever he wanted?

  She heard herself say shakily, “Yes. I had a car accident.”

  And she wondered how many more lies she would have to say before the night was over.

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you want to freshen up or have a tour of the house before we have dinner?”

  “Whichever is fine.”

  “You’re my guest. It’s all about you.”

  “Well, anything is okay, really.”

  Angelo stared at Lane, and Lane stared at anywhere but him.

  It had been like this since she had seen his car, and he had a feeling it would keep getting worse. Frustration ate him. He wasn’t used to not doing anything to solve a problem, but how could he solve this when he wasn’t even sure what was wrong?

  He said finally, “Let’s have the tour then.” From his experience, most women liked being toured inside homes.

  Unfortunately, Lane proved to be unlike most women.

  By the time they made it to the dining room, she seemed paler and weaker, like he had made her run a marathon at gunpoint.

  Angelo’s frustration grew, but he strove to keep his polite mask in place as he pulled her chair for her.

  “Thank you.” Lane mumbled the words without looking at Angelo. Taking her seat, she felt like slumping in relief. The tour of his home had made her feel like she was near her breaking point. Angelo’s place was even more palatial than she feared, and its elegance only made it even more intimidating. Everything was so beautifully understated, and she knew from what Nellie taught her that the subtler the décor was, the more expensive it usually was.

  She tried not to be so obvious as she willed herself to breathe normally. You’re going to get used to this, she told herself. Christopoulos University wasn’t just bigger, it had thousands of rich people, too, but she had succeeded in acclimatizing herself to it.

  She would be able to do the same here.

  It was just a matter of time.

  As someone started serving them salad, she couldn’t help stealing a look at Angelo.

  He looked stiff and tense, and her heart cracked a little at the sight.

  He probably thought she was some kind of psycho, the way she had blown hot and cold at him without reason.

  And she couldn’t blame him, could she?

  She started eating her salad mechanically, hoping to distract herself, but her worries only grew in proportion to the increasingly tense silence between them.

  The second course was served, and again she tried stealing a look at him from behind the waiter—

  The expression on his face was forbidding, and she started to panic. He was going to change his mind after this. She was sure of it. He was going to make up some excuse and before she knew it, he would be gone from her life.

  And it would be permanent this time if she didn’t do something about it.

  She took a deep breath.

  “W-why d-do y-you h-have s-so m-many s-security?”

  That she spoke was a surprise, but it was the way the words stumbled out of her mouth that was even more surprising.

  She sounded like she was being forced to speak to him, and he didn’t understand it at all.

  Wondering if her trauma involved some kind of encounter with the authorities as well, he told her that the security was merely a precautionary measure.

  “I s-see.” Lane tried not to sound so miserable. Weren’t house alarms enough precautionary measures for him? Was he so rich that he needed practically the entire police department living with him?

  Oh. So she had heard him right earlier. He had told her about this in the car, and she had assumed that he meant he’d be throwing a party tomorrow. “Isn’t it a b-bit too late?”

  “My parties usually start at ten.”

  “R-really?”

  Her shocked expression was comical, and he welcomed the sight. This was infinitely better than having her look at him like he was an axe murderer about to decapitate her at any moment.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to any frat party.”

  She shook her head.

  “Really.”

  “R-really.” And this time she was able to smile, with the way he was looking at her like she had just admitted to him she was a living saint in disguise.

  She watched him take out his phone. “I have a call to take.”

  Her heart sank. “Right,” she said dully. It had started then, the excuses that would eventually turn into a necessity to kick her out of his home.

  His gaze narrowed at her tone. “I’m not lying.”

  “I didn’t say you were,” Lane muttered, heartbreak making her voice sharp and sheer disappointment making her fear of him somewhat fade. She knew she was being unfair to Angelo. He didn’t know what was wrong with her. He had every right to think she was a psycho to get rid of.

  But—

  Couldn’t he be more patient?

  Was she that easy to throw away?

  “It’s my mother who’s calling.”

  Sure it was, she thought.

  Angelo expelled his breath in a frustrated hiss.

  She found it insulting, like he was making it seem she was too much trouble, and she snapped, “Just take your fake call!”

  “I told you—”

  “Your phone didn’t even ring, you dishonest—”

  “Because it’s on silent mode, you crazy woman!” And in a furious gesture, he showed his phone to her.

  The first thing she saw was the caller’s photo and name flashing on the screen.

  Madre.

  That was…mother in Italian, wasn’t it?

  Lane turned red.

  Seeing it, he said silkily, “May I take the call now?”

  She said in a small voice, “Sorry.” She looked up at him. “And I don’t blame you for thinking I’m an insane woman.” She paused, then said in the saddest tone he had ever heard, “I really am crazy, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that.”

  Angelo couldn’t help it.

  A laugh escaped him, but he abruptly swallowed the sound back. Fuck, he thought. Now, she’d probably fly in a rage—

  But when he looked at her, it was to see her staring at him like he was a knight in shining armor.

  What the hell?

  Lane was reeling.

  Oh, that laugh.

  That laugh!

  Angelo’s laugh had worked like a wakeup call, shocking Lane back to her senses as it reminded her who Angelo was.

  He was a rich man, yes, but more than that—

  He was her fallen angel.

  And she had been silly to forget that.

  He might be rich, and she might be afraid of him now, but she knew suddenly with absolute certainty that the fear would eventually go away and everything would be back to the way it was supposed to be.

  Angelo Valencia torturing her, and Lane wanting to be tortured.

  “Tesoro?” When she looked up at him, he told her solemnly, “I’m starting to think you’re right.”

  “Oh?”

  “You are crazy.”

  A nervous laugh escaped her. “Sorry. I know I made you worry, but I promise, I’m alright now.”

 
“Perhaps you need a doctor—”

  “You mean a shrink, don’t you?” she teased.

  He didn’t smile back, only saying seriously, “Anything – anyone – you need, tesoro, you only have to tell me. I want my Lane back, the one who couldn’t stop licking my mouth despite everyone in the diner staring at her.”

  Oh.

  GOSH.

  She couldn’t speak right away, with her heart feeling like it was bursting at the words. Swallowing, she said, “T-that Lane’s 90% back now. I just need more time to be…completely back. Okay?” And Lane held her breath, knowing that they both knew what she was really asking for was a second chance.

  A moment passed.

  Then Angelo said, “You may prove it to me later.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “We’ll have milkshake for dessert.”

  She blushed.

  Angelo laughed as he came to his feet. “I truly need to take this call, tesoro.” He paused. “You’ll be alright here alone?”

  She nodded.

  But still he hesitated to leave. “Perhaps it’s better if I have the security with you inside here, just in case your trauma comes back.”

  “Angelo,” she protested. “It’s not necessary—”

  But he was already nodding decisively. “Yes, I think it is better.”

  And before she knew it, he was gone, and the bodyguards stationed outside were inside the dining room with her.

  Unsure of the proper etiquette for dealing with personal security, she said awkwardly, “Hello.”

  The two men appeared surprised.

  “Good evening, signorina,” the shorter, burly guard said, and his older, grey-haired partner echoed his greeting.

  And that was that.

  One minute turned into two, and Lane started feeling suffocated again.

  In the past two years, therapy and being part of the Mortimer family had helped her come a long way in terms of handling a trauma. She had learned to be more strategic and practical, and by mentally preparing herself for every wealthy-looking place she needed to visit, Lane had been able to control her body’s instinctive reaction.

  Before her enrolment in CU, Lane had watched countless videos of the university on YouTube and spent hours memorizing its layout. Knowing where the exits helped calm her down, and when classes finally started, Lane’s efforts had paid off. She had only broken down at the end of the day. It was a major feat, considering she used to have panic attacks at the mere sight of anyone carrying a Hermes bag.