The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Chapter 154

The awkwardness and weird strained silence disappeared once the wine flowed more freely, and we found we had a lot of things we could talk about between movies. Alexi is funnier than I thought he could be, with a dry humour not unlike mine, a wicked childish streak that can be adorable when it shines through. He annoyed me immensely, more than once, and we bickered frequently, but he just swooped in and shut me up mid rage with a tongue in my mouth. He’s too good at doing it, like stealth snogging and you don’t see him coming at all. My legs gave out and body melted the second his lips glued to mine and I ceased to think about anything, except him.

This morning, however, in the cold light of day with a mega headache and fuzzy brain, waking up cosily by his side, all my doubts and fears dive right back in.

I shouldn’t forget who he is and what he can do. I have to be smart and keep my heart shielded until I suss out if this thing between us can work. There is a lot at risk, and my sanity is still in recovery from being burned by him before.

You don’t forget the wolf just because he wears sheep’s wool well. Alexi is still a demon under that pretty face, I just haven’t given him cause to show it yet. He is on the charm offensive because I’m something he wants. When the novelty wears off or I give him a reason to be mad, then we shall truly see who he really is.

The true proof of whether I can trust him will be when I disobey him and make him angrier than hell.

If he punishes me, I’m gone. That’s my hard limit. I won’t forgive him for inflicting pain on me, even if it is only emotional.

I just don’t know if I deliberately want to push it anymore, to see. A part of me tells me I’ll get my answers and then I can walk away unscathed. Then the other part of me is clinging onto this little ray of hope that just maybe, he will not disappoint me or hurt me like he keeps promising.

The guy I was with last night is someone I could truly fall head over heels in love with. Even though technically I already am. It’s complicated and my head and heart is a complete mess. I don’t know which way is up anymore and I’m dealing with a man who can be two completely different people, depending on where he is and what he wants. He wears many coats and can turn in the blink of an eye. I shouldn’t underestimate what he is capable of.

He is a cold killer with a serious sinister side.

I should never forget that.

He’s still asleep, nose against his own shoulder and looking sexily scruffy, lying face down and sprawled out like he owns the space around him. Like this, it’s easy to imagine a future with him and a chance at something that might work. A gentleman who made me feel like I would never have reason to fear or doubt him. A guy who gave me goosebumps and butterflies and bowled me over and flipped me upside down with this new side to him.

Therein lies his lure. Alexi can appear to be exactly what I want because he knows how to read and play me. He knows about me and my deepest secrets, therefore he knows how to be, and who to be if he wants to make me fall under his spell all over again. I still don’t trust him when I remember he is a wolf who can bend and change to manipulate what he wants out of people. Including me.

I watch him for a moment again, looking at him and pondering things. Torn in two and only seeing who was here with me all night.

We didn’t get under the duvet last night; I remember that much, both fully clothed we had one fur throw over us that we brought up here from the chairs. The wine went to my head, and within minutes of being curled up here against him, in this secret hiding hole he calls his sanctuary, I fell asleep like some trusting idiot and slept in his arms.

He is the first man I have ever done that with.

Felt at peace enough to sleep without fear. I didn’t wake from bad dreams either. In fact, I don’t think I dreamt at all, not once.

I move slowly to get up as I desperately need the loo, bladder fit to burst if I sit here much longer, making him come to a little as my weight makes the bed dip and then release, but all he does is move his face to the other side, slide his arm up under the pillow and fall back asleep. Lying on his stomach, so all I get is that sexy haircut and a peek of the dragon tattoo. Peaceful and angelic, like a true devil hiding all that evil out of sight. I watch him for a second until his breathing returns to heavy and steady; holding my breath before I get up to work my way downstairs to the bathroom with as little noise as possible.

As I slide up and out, my butt nudges the books on the shelf at the end of the bed and I clamber to grab the scattering objects before they thud to the ground and rouse him. I just want some alone time to get my shit together before he wakes up. I need the headspace and serenity of time alone now I’m on the way to being sober. I need to process and just have a minute to breathe.

I turn the books the right way up and try to slide them back into the shelves silently when the title of the first catches my eye and stops me pushing it in. It’s a psychology textbook about his personality condition and I impulsively tip it sideways to let the pages flip open for a quick nosey. That part of me that is eager to know more about what it means in terms of him as a person kicking in. I scan the words eagerly, desperate for more insight.

It has a lot of highlighted lines and notes in handwriting I recognise as his, and I feel like I’m being way too intrusive. Highlighted paragraphs on self-therapy and such. A few lists scrawled in the margins of techniques to self-calm and a lot of website links. Proof that he tries to change how he is, a little ray of hope for my confused soul.

I close it and push it back in beside a black leather-bound book, heart racing slightly in case he sees me going through this stuff and I pause to examine it. Interest piqued because it seems out of place

among textbooks. It looks like a journal and when I pull it out and open it, I find that it is.

Alexi has his counsellors name inside the cover on a little contacts sticker and I wonder if this is a therapy journal, when they make you write out your feelings and thoughts. I’ve never had a psychiatry appointment, but a couple of my regulars did and were very open about the process, sharing their diaries and leaving them in plain sight. Apparently, it’s a common way to give the doctor insight into your thoughts and feelings and is a healthy way to help you vent the things you might not otherwise say.

I push it back and stare at it for a second, feeling like I’m crossing a boundary, and this is a gross invasion of his privacy.

Alexi read my journals so it would only be fair to read what might be an insight into his head, somehow though I know he wouldn’t like it, even if he has already been there and done that. He trusts me enough to tell me about this stuff, it’s a step too far to take that knowledge for myself.

I let it go, sort the books back into place and get up quickly, leaving it be and knowing it’s the right choice. If he wants me to know, then he will let me read it on his terms. I don’t glance back in case the urge is stronger than my willpower and make my way downstairs to his bathroom. Head swirling with the fact he seeks out ways to better himself. That says a lot about how his head works.

Of course, I’m curious about him, but I don’t want to snoop this way. I want him to tell me, answer any questions I have, and it wouldn’t hurt to do some research online about ADHD and this disorder. Maybe that’s all the information I’ll need. Maybe I’ll get answers beyond anything I expected to get, just by learning about it in a way he won’t need to know about.

I slide into the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly tiptoeing into the small tiled room. The bathroom matches the rest of this studio loft apartment in that it’s rustic and very far away from money and grandeur. He has a tub with a shower over it, shielded with a simple white shower curtain and industrial

fixtures and fittings. The basic bare necessities in here, toilet, sink with very few toiletries and no real décor or trinkets to style it. A functional bathroom owned by a dude with very little concern for home furnishings when taking a dump or shaving his face.

It’s more Alexi than I realised. His bathroom at the club may be modern and sexy but it’s as stark as this with nothing personal and not a lot of grooming products on show. He likes uncluttered simple routines to get ready, nothing changed there.

I think about getting cleaned up before he wakes when I catch sight of myself in the mirror over the sink as I turn around and close the door. My reflection is pitiful, and I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge with smudgy makeup and obvious sign of alcohol abuse. I look a fright and I definitely do not want him to see me looking this shit this morning. The old me would never be caught dead looking this hellish in the presence of a man.

I know he has seen me looking worse in the past. Tear stained, drunk, soaking wet and even sick, but none of those times did I think I had a chance in hell of anything with him. It’s different now. Knowing there’s something real between us that could grow, I’m suddenly very self-conscious with how I look around him. Deep down I want him to want me and I can’t exactly pull off seduction when I look like this.

A hangover is not a good look, it’s like junkie chic after an overdose. Something I left on the streets of Hackney when I bought my first designer dress.

I barely get a chance to wash my face when I catch wind of his footsteps on the metal stairway, softly padding down towards me and quickly pat it dry to make myself presentable. Brushing my fingers through my hair quickly, trying to fluff it out and tame the wild bed head. Acting like some desperate teen whose crush just came sauntering in and cursing myself for such juvenile behaviour. I have more skill than this, more experience in playing men, and I need to stop putting him on some higher pedestal. No man has ever got me in a tizzy the way he does and it’s uncool. Lame as hell.

He is male; therefore, the fundamental basics are the same. He is no different to any other man I have ever seduced and coerced, only this one has an actual invested interest in me that should make him easier to sway.

Well, it would if he wasn’t Alexi Carrero.

The fact remains, I need to stop overthinking and just be calm around him; do what I would normally do to entice a sexy beast with pale eyes and a soulless aura that draws you to the underworld with him. Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Be me. I mean he fell for me, without my trying. I need to have more faith in that. Stop panicking that I won’t match up to his expectations when really, he knows all the worst of me, and it hasn’t sent him running for the hills at all.

I’m makeup free, rosy-cheeked and a little blushed from using cold water to wake myself up and not exactly the cat liner temptress I normally am. I look like a very young and innocent me, who is completely out of her depth.

“You in there?” Alexi taps the bathroom door gently, making my heart flip over with nerves and I open it rather than answer, smiling shyly, getting hit with just how good he looks ruffled and sleep creased in his clothes. He doesn’t seem to have any hang-ups on me seeing him straight out of bed, anyway. Not that he should. It’s inhuman how good he looks.

He’s still too fuckable by any standard, even with slight dark circles and a lot of morning stubble. Just my luck I would bag the one man in the world who looks hotter with a hangover, not worse, all while I look like crap.

His stubble is about 3mm away from beard stage and I reach out and run my fingers across his chin impulsively as soon as he gets close, as though I’m an inquisitive child eager to feel this crazy phenomenon that grows fast on that tanned face. I guess it’s because he’s olive-skinned and foreign with black hair that erupts at the speed of light. He must shave twice a day to keep that baby-faced

clean-shaven look he usually sports. I hate to admit, but I like this just as much. It highlights that sexy square jaw and masculine look he so effortlessly has. Makes him even more rugged and badass and has the same knee-weakening effect as when he is in a power suit sat at his desk.

“Good morning to you too.” He laughs in a carefree, cute, gorgeous dimpled way at my childish groping and leans in to kiss me gently on the lips. Chaste and closed mouth, but it does stupidly weird things to my insides, and I know that the longer I’m around this version of him, the harder I’m falling. Kissing is now our thing, after last night, it seems. I’m not complaining; I sort of like the affection it shows from him. His need to just touch me in such an intimate way. Softening me and bringing back that dreamy quality to being around him.

He’s potent, infectious, and I was stupid to believe I could resist him. I fell in love when he was at his worst, I have no chance of staying unaffected when he is trying to be his best for me. Not when he is like this.

“Morning. We slept late.” I pull my hands back, away from being a little too eager on that face and brush my clothes down, aware of his closeness and able to inspect my plain face more readily. Self- conscious of my appearance and lack of ability to keep him at arm’s length after such a cosy and full- on night with him. Dismissing the gushy feelings invoked by a sweet greeting kiss.

Last night I had wanted him so badly, throwing caution to the wind and pawing at him mercilessly. If he had pushed me up against a wall and tried for sex, I’m pretty sure my knickers would have fallen by themselves. I know I came stupidly close to just begging him to fuck me and throwing all caution to the wind. Stupid move by a stupid girl fuelled with booze and high on finally getting the man she wanted all along.

Today, however, I’m back to shy, sober and reserved and feeling like maybe I need to put a little distance back between us. Sensible head on. I let it go too far and I’m putting myself on a limb I’m not sure can take the weight yet. I need to reel back and bring some distance into play. It’s not smart to

jump in with both feet when dealing with a man who likes to set things on fire for amusement. I don’t have an ambition for being burned, even a little. I don’t have the constitution to survive it anymore.

“I’m starving. Want to go somewhere for …” He doesn’t get to finish as his cell phone sends off weird little beeps interrupting us, and he pulls it out of his back pocket, frowning at the screen with a dark look before putting it to his ear. His whole manner tensing, and that flicker of his other side is immediate.

It’s odd how I can tell. The change in him is so sudden and clear to me now. That colder, harder, dominant aura closing over him as soon as the other world touches him, and I shiver at its appearance.

“Santagato, how can I help you?” His voice dispels all hints of warm and tender and it’s that cold, devil, sinister air, mirrored on his face as he visually closes up. This is Alexi Carrero moving in and it’s transfixing to watch the instant shift in him. It’s also a necessary reminder that he’s still this person outside of these walls, and something I was forgetting all too quickly. Love drunk on a version that was new and alluring.

I stare at him warily, curiosity piqued because that man is calling him, but I know he has been waiting for him to reach out. He still owes Alexi a favour and maybe now he wants to get it dealt with, so it no longer hangs over his head. He is a lot like Alexi in that he hates not being in control of things.

I just watch silently, crossing my arms across my chest and feeling oddly fragile today. Stuck in the bathroom as he is still in the doorway so I can’t really go anywhere else and wait it out. Alexi doesn’t seem to care that I’m listening in either.

“How important is it, as I’m busy right now?” Alexi sounds stern, a hostile tone to that normally husky voice and definitely not friendly at all. His body language stiffens up, and he just seems very unapproachable and blank.

I stand still as he listens to the voice on the other end, his gaze narrowing on me and he frowns harder, lifting his arm to check his wristwatch and then runs a hand over his brow and through his hair before scratching his scalp in an agitated manner. Restlessness. Frustration, maybe? Not a good sign either way.

It’s the version I see every day at the club. The version I was only too willing to forget existed when blinded by sweet words and charming behaviour. A slap to my senses that this right here is all part of what I’m getting, and I should wise up. This is who he will be for much of the time, he can’t change who he is.

“Yeah, sure. I can meet you at Club Carrero in thirty minutes. We can talk there.” His frown moves to a full-on scowl, a hint of something sinister that sends shivers through me and then he nods.

“That’s fine by me. See you there.” He doesn’t wait for goodbyes but hangs up and pushes his phone back behind him quickly. Eyes coming to mine and lightening up slightly. That mist of dark fading away to just a light fog. An explanation poised on those lips, but I intervene.

“I heard. I guess we are leaving?” I point out, strangely disappointed that we are leaving so soon. Not that we had anything planned that I’m aware of, but I like the version of him when he’s untouched by his job and empire. Alexi away from all of that and tucked up in this little bolthole. I can’t get enough of him. I wish we could stay here forever, just the two of us wrapped up in this make-believe little nook where his soft side happily dwells. Far from the real us, where things have hope and love is a possibility.

Part of me worries that a return to normal will be the return of his usual self; when I’ve only just started to peel back the many layers to get to the real Alexi, the one he doesn’t show to the outside world.

“I had plans for us today, but we will have to rain check. I don’t know how long this will take; you know I’ve been waiting to hear from him.” He walks past me, towards the kitchenette and rummages in

cupboards for instant coffee and pulls out two mugs, even though I don’t drink it. I feel so rough though, I will, just to perk up a little and get my head straight. Remove the foul taste from my mouth and maybe dull the body fatigue with a caffeine injection. Deflated suddenly that the real world is beckoning us back to it and I’m not ready to go.

I want us to stay here and just repeat last night.

“I need to call Mico to come pick us up and get Jackson to bring the trailer for my bike later. I’m in no fit state to drive. Some sexy woman got me drunk and then tried to torture me to death with heavy petting.” He throws me a cheeky grin; full-on Hollywood charm and I relax a little. Smiling back softly at the reminder of last night, the signs he is still in there and not fully converting to demon Mafia boss just yet, and shrug innocently.

“I was testing to see if you really meant it when you said you would respect the sex boundary.” I walk forward to shadow him in the kitchen area and watch him get the cups ready while filling the electric kettle. Being a complete liar and not willing to admit that I just wanted to jump his bones and forget all about celibacy when fuelled on booze and light-headed with lust. I would have to be dead to not get turned on by a hot Italian sticking his tongue down my throat while he pressed his six-pack and large erection against me.

“I passed with flying colours, even if it almost killed me.” That smirk and wicked gleam intensify, seemingly pleased with his act of chivalry and I just eye roll. Amused with him.

“I’ll be the judge of that, New York.” I point out dryly, not letting him know that I’m crazily impressed and thankful that he kept his hands to himself, even if I stupidly acted like a wanton slut who was aching to be fucked by him. He showed me I could trust him.

“We didn’t have sex; therefore, I get an A-plus.”

“Hmm, I’m thinking maybe a B-minus, seeing as there was to be no kissing unless I instigated and you most definitely put your tongue in my mouth uninvited, several times.” I nudge him with my shoulder, moving up beside him and lean against him gently, resting my head against his arm as he watches the kettle boil. Needing contact and feeling brave enough to take it. There is a new atmosphere between us this morning and touchy-feely, invading each other’s space seems like an okay thing. An unwritten rule that now we have no boundary to touching. He just carries on as though resting against him is the most normal thing in the world. I guess being stuck to each other all evening and sleeping side by side has added a new dimension.

“You instigated the first time, so that was me covered for the duration of the date.” Cocky mode started though.

“That’s not how it works.” I lift my head and give him my best imitation of a frosty look but I’m not mad at all. He kissed me until my face itched with stubble rash last night, and then some. And the smokin’ hot twenty-minute make-out session in the corridor downstairs, where he most definitely groped my breasts and squeezed my arse while pinning me to a wall with his erection, was the sexiest twenty minutes I have ever experienced in my life. I never knew the prelude to no sex could make me hornier than hell. I was so wound up I was almost leg humping him like a crazed dog in heat.

Alexi makes me feel desirable on crazy levels. Beautiful and powerful. I never imagined he would possess that sort of power over me and make me feel that way in a million years. Like I’m the single most perfect woman on the planet.