Chapter Five

They ran through the snow to her apartment. Inside, he drew her close and crushed his lips against hers. God, he tasted good. She snaked her hand down and cupped his cock through his jeans. Huge. She moaned in anticipation and he chuckled.

“That’s all for you, beautiful. Now get your clothes off.”

They stripped each other quickly, tumbling onto her bed. His body was hard and well-muscled, broad shoulders leading down to slim hips and strong legs. He ran his hands over her body, admiration clear in his eyes. “Sensational,” he murmured, then bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth.

“Wait … wait … I don’t have any protection …”

Without breaking contact with her breast, he leaned over and grabbed his jeans, pulling a condom out of his back pocket. Sunday relaxed, closing her eyes as his tongue flicked around her nipple, sending sweet sensations through her body.

Sunday stroked his long, thick cock against her belly, feeling it quiver and tremble under her touch, swelling in her hand. “You keep doing that, gorgeous, and I’ll have to fuck you before I do anything else.”

Sunday grinned at him and began to stroke harder. He groaned. “God, you dirty little girl …”

She tore the condom packet open and rolled it down his cock as he hitched her legs around his waist. “You’re gonna take this all, pretty girl.”

He thrust into her and Sunday almost screamed at the pure animal pleasure of it. They fucked hard, each clawing and biting at the other, kissing until their mouths were sore. God, it felt so good be fucked without inhibition, to know there were no feelings involved, to be this animal, this feral, this abandoned.

Eventually their fucking grew so rough, they tumbled to the floor, and he pinned her hands above her head as he drove her towards a body-shattering orgasm.

Sunday came hard, her back arching up, her belly pressing against his. A year’s worth of pent-up emotion poured out of her and tears streamed down her face as she cried out. Embarrassed, she turned her head away from him but he gently kissed them away without saying anything.

They lay side by side, panting, then, not needing words, they made love again, slowly, exploring the other’s body. She loved how his body was so much bigger than hers, his arms thickly banded with muscles cradling her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. She stroked her fingers down his face—he was so beautiful, he didn’t seem real—seeing the trouble in his eyes and wondering about it.

But, no. Don’t wonder that. Don’t wonder about him. Keep this as what it is… a wonderful, sensual, spectacular interlude. She pressed her lips to his, wanting to remember every inch of him because she knew in her heart—this was a one-time thing.

They made love into the early hours before Sunday was unable to keep her eyes open a moment longer.

In the morning, he was gone.

In the shower, Sunday flexed her muscles and felt the delicious ache of the recently fucked. Her thighs throbbed; her vagina was raw from the pounding of her lover’s huge cock. There were faint bite marks on her breasts, her shoulders. Her mouth was still tingling from his kiss.

And inside her, something had been released. Something she hadn’t known was there, a block. The lack of intimacy since Cory’s murder hadn’t been something she had thought about, but now, after last night, she realized how distant, physically, she had kept everyone else for the last year.

She drove up to the Giotto house, taking some fresh bread from the town bakery for Carmen, who thanked her and invited her to share a coffee with her. “I have some news. Not that it will directly affect you, but you should know.”

She indicated the stool and Sunday sat, watching her new friend curiously. “What’s up?”

“Well, River’s daughter will be coming to stay for a few weeks, is all, and Berry is adorable, but a handful.”

“Mr. Giotto has a daughter?”

“Five years old, but he’s only known her for a few years. I believe she was the product of a one-night stand.”

Sunday hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “It happens. So, Berry—and what a great name, huh?—she’s coming to stay for a few weeks?”

Carmen nodded. “River has promised me that he’ll do most of the heavy lifting, but I know him. There will be days when he’s in his studio and he forgets about everything, including Berry. Those days you might find yourself with a little helper.”

“I don’t mind that, as long as Mr. Giotto understands I’ll be distracted from work.”

Carmen grinned. “You can call him River, you know.”

“Do you think I’ll ever meet him?” Sunday had already imagined what he’d look like—gray-haired, grumpy. Daisy had said he was ‘old,’ but then Daisy was twenty-four. ‘Old’ could mean anyone over thirty.

Carmen sighed. “I hope so, sweetheart, I do. I know this might seem a strange situation to you but River has never been a very sociable person. He got worse after his mother died and his father remarried.” She lowered her voice. “His stepmother is a vile, vicious woman. Something happened between her and River and he was never the same.”

“God, how awful.”

Carmen nodded. “He would never tell anyone what happened, but it must have been pretty bad. He had bruises, but he wouldn’t tell his father.”

“How old was he when this happened?”

“Sixteen. It’s been twenty years and he still won’t talk about it.”

So ‘old’ was thirty-six? Sunday blinked, adjusting her image of her enigmatic employer. “That’s just awful. Is she still around?”

“Unfortunately, but thankfully, she lives in New York. She’d better not show her face here anytime soon.”

Sunday nodded, and soon she went back to her office to start work. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Carmel had told her and wondered if Ludovico’d had any idea his son was being abused by his wife. Sunday shook her head, angry for River. She had no time for men or women who abused kids. She gave into temptation and typed Ludo’s name into a search engine. She found pictures of a handsome, silver-haired man with a much younger woman—a woman Sunday recognized immediately. “No fucking way,” she hissed under her breath.

Angelina freaking Marshall. The Wicked Witch of the Upper East Side. Sunday smiled grimly. Suddenly, the abuse didn’t seem so surprising. Angelina was both feared and reviled, but her money, her position as the daughter of one of New York’s most powerful families, meant people fawned around her, regardless. Sunday or rather, Marley, had interviewed the woman once for a segment on the early show and had disliked her immensely. She’d nicknamed Angelina ‘Our Lady of Perpetual Victimhood’ after the woman had claimed to have suffered from several serious illnesses without any evidence of such poor health. When Marley had called her out on air, she’d made an enemy of the other woman. Angelina had called Marley’s boss, demanding Marley be fired. Jack, the station owner, had refused point blank. They didn’t pander to people like Angelina Marshall.

Now, Sunday wondered if Ludo had written about his ex-wife. She flicked through the diaries but found they stopped before River’s mother had died. Sunday chewed her lip. On a hunch, she went to find Carmen and asked her if there were more diaries.

“Oh yes, honey, there’ll be a few more volumes. River told me to give you a couple at a time so you didn’t feel overwhelmed.”

“Gotcha.”

“Any reason you asked?”

Yes. I know Angelina Marshall. “No, just wondered, as the two you gave me seem to only got to a certain date.”

Carmen wiped her hands. “Come with me.” She led her through the house and into a large study. “Now, don’t judge, but this is Ludo’s study. Not his actual study, you understand, but River had it copied exactly when he had the house built. Over here.”

She pointed to a bookcase that reached from floor to ceiling. Sunday almost moaned with happiness when she saw it. It looked a little like the library from Beauty and the Beast. She ran a flat hand over the spines of the books. “Heaven.”

Carmen chuckled. “I knew you were hiding your inner geek. River’s the same about libraries. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you want to borrow anything. And if you want more of Ludo’s diaries, have at them.”

Carmen left her to enjoy the library at her leisure. Sunday hoisted a few of Ludo’s diaries out and bore them back to her office. Her interest was piqued now, and she searched through them until she found the first mention of Angelina. Settling on the couch, she read for a few hours. The day soon went and although she had read nearly a whole journal, she had found nothing out of the ordinary. She marveled at Ludo’s attention to detail, though—the man documented everything except his bathroom habits, she found, and yet it was never boring. She decided she would have liked to know Ludovico Giotto very much. He was warm and humorous and obviously adored his first wife and his son.

Carmen had told her that today was her half-day off and so, at suppertime, Sunday packed her bag and walked through the silent house. There was something both comforting yet charged about the silence of the house. Outside, she stood for a moment, listening to the faint sound of snow falling and breathed in a lungful of the freezing air. Yes, she could get used to this peace.

Once again, the feeling of being watched came over her. She looked toward the far end of the house and smiled. “Why don’t you come talk to me?” she said out loud, out into the silence, but there was no answer. Who are you? “Whatever she did to you, I’d like to make her pay for it.” Sunday said that softly, to herself.

Even after everything had happened to her, she still went out, made new friends, had experiences. She could not imagine being so scarred by something that she would disappear into exile.

Isn’t that just what you’ve done though?

Not by choice.

Sunday got into her truck and drove back into town. She saw the coffeehouse was still open and stopped to say hi to Daisy.

Her friend seemed delighted to see her. “Hiya. Americano?”

“I’m in the mood for hot chocolate, actually. I need the sugar.”

Daisy grinned and nodded to a chair. “Grab a pew. I’ll bring it over.”

Sunday sat, dumping her purse on the floor next to her. She nodded at Aria, who smiled blandly but didn’t come over. She was talking to a handsome young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes, who looked at Sunday with interest. Aria murmured something to him and they both laughed, and Sunday felt her face flush. What was this, ninth grade?

Daisy brought over two cups of hot chocolate and sat down, flashing an annoyed glance at her stepsister. “Ignore her,” she told Sunday, “she never grew up. So, how’s things? Settling in? Met River yet?”

Sunday smiled at her new friend. “Good. Yes and no. The mysterious Mr. Giotto remains a stranger. I did meet Cleo at the diner last night.” For some reason, she didn’t want to mention the delectable stranger whom she had taken home. That was for her alone, her dirty little secret.

Daisy was grinning. “I love Cleo. She’s so effortlessly cool. I’m a dork and yet she still decided I was to be her best friend. She’s from New York, you know?”

“I didn’t.” A small curl of unease started in Sunday’s stomach—would Cleo recognize her? Daisy didn’t notice her disquiet.

“Well, anyway, so the job is going okay? I’m not surprised River’s hiding out.”

“What’s he like? I know he’s thirty-six and an artist but that’s all I know.” Sunday knew she shouldn’t be pumping Daisy for information, that she was drawing on their tentative friendship, but she couldn’t help herself. Since finding out about River’s stepmother … she felt she had to know more.

“Gorgeous-looking, but also a little …” Daisy searched for the right word. “Not sinister, but rather … oh bugger, I’m trying to find the right word. Brooding. He always has this troubled look about him. I like him; he tells it how it is and can’t be bothered with games.” She shot a glance over to her sister. “Probably why he and Aria didn’t last. Anyway, he keeps himself to himself, as you know. Once upon a time, he would come have coffee, chat with some locals, but those days are gone. Shame.” She studied Sunday. “And you really haven’t seen him?”

Sunday shook her head. “I have met Luke Maslany, though.”

Daisy’s smile widened. “Oh, I love Luke. He’s like a big teddy bear. I have such a crush on him.”

“You should ask him out,” Sunday told and Daisy laughed.

“Right … He’s a big-deal doctor, and I’m a coffee shop owner.”

“So? Luke seems pretty down to earth to me, and there’s nothing wrong with owning a coffeehouse. You’re an entrepreneur. This place is wonderful. I’m sure I wouldn’t feel so welcome anyplace else.”

“You are sweet. But really, Luke is way out of my league.”

Sunday looked at Daisy incredulously. Daisy was gorgeous, all soft curves and warmth. “No one is out of your league, honey.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Sweet talker. How about you? Any boyfriends? Or girlfriends? I shouldn’t presume.”

Sunday grinned. “Dude, if I were into girls, I’d be hitting on you right now.” They both laughed. “But no. No boyfriend. Not for a while now.”

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?” Daisy said, reading Sunday’s expression, and she nodded.

“Yeah. But for another time.”

“Gotcha.”

As Sunday walked back to her apartment, she glanced over at the diner, wondering if her erstwhile lover would turn up there again tonight. She had already decided she wouldn’t be there. Last night had been wild, crazy, and exhilarating—and a one-off. She didn’t need the complication, however much she craved that touch again.

Nope.

No way.