“It’s scary how short life is,” she speaks in a sobering tone, still looking directly through the window in front of us. “It’s fragile, so easily broken.” Her words have a slight slur, but she’s keeping herself upright, her focus on the road ahead. I sneak glances over at her, taking in the sadness painted on her expression.
“Yes, I know.” My answer is clipped, and I don’t mean to be rude because I know why she’s brought it up, but I’m not sure how to deal with my attraction to her. We’re forbidden—by rules, by the place I work. And she’s barely fucking legal. She’s not mine to claim.
“My parents taught me to pray to God. They told me he’s good and he’ll keep me safe always, and then, guess what he does? He takes the only person who ever loved me away.” Her voice sounds so damn sad I have second thoughts about what I want, about the plan.
I cast a glance over at her and notice the tears that trickle from her eyes.
“I mean, my aunt loves me, but I’m not hers. She didn’t give birth to me.” A sob falls from her lips, and I want nothing more than to hold her, to tell her life goes on, but I can’t. I don’t.
After her breakdown, the silence that fills the car is stifling. Perhaps I should tell her I lost my father too. Maybe I can console her, but that would mean touching her, feeling her, and I can’t do that. A man only has so much restraint, and right now, mine is flimsy with her so close.
I don’t have to ask where she lives. I recall her address from the folder Dawson left on my desk and find the house easily. It’s smaller than mine, but it’s not a place to be frowned upon. Sitting on six acres more or less of land, the gardens are vast. The three-level mansion is built in a modern style with open brick in a soft brown and cream-colored awnings. The windows are all lit up with a golden glow, and I wonder why her aunt needs something this big for just the two of them.
I pull to a stop outside the gate, then turn to Arabella. Her eyes are glassy, her lips swollen and pouty, which has my mind filling with illicit thoughts.
“Look, you’re young, and I know how much it hurts to lose people you love, people you thought would always be around. But you must remember, they wouldn’t want you throwing your life away.” My words seem to hang in the air between us. Her eyes search my face from my eyes down to my lips, and each time she glances at my mouth, I notice how her pupils dilate. I want nothing more than to steal her mouth with mine. But I sit back, as far away from her as I possibly can in the car.
“Don’t pretend to care after being such an asshole back at the party,” she spits with fire blazing in every word. “I don’t like fake people, smiling to my face and scowling at my back, and for the record, I don’t want people treating me with kid gloves.” Her eyes lock on mine. She watches me for a long while.
“I’m no gentleman, Arabella,” I whisper, never dropping my gaze, holding hers hostage for a moment too long. I want her to look right into me. I want her to see the dark parts of me I know will scare her away.
“I don’t run away as easily as other girls might, Mr. Donati,” she informs me with a soft smile on her lips. They curve upward at the corners, and her eyes shine with a challenge that has me leaning forward. A gasp tumbles from those plump lips as they part with surprise at my actions.
I lift my hand, tangling my fingers through the long locks of her hair, feeling the softness of the golden tresses, and I grip them harshly. I earn myself another dick-jolting whimper.
“Don’t tempt me, little deviant,” I growl, low and feral, and she shivers at my words. “This isn’t a game. No matter how much you try, I won’t allow you to run this show. And to be clear, I’m not always one for breaking rules, but with you, I might make an exception.”
This time, only the corner of her mouth turns into a grin. Her tongue darts out, licking her lower lip, wetting it just like I want to. “I’m not afraid of men like you,” she tells me. “I’ve seen my fair share of bad men, and they don’t scare me.”
“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Arabella,” I warn her once more, wanting her to fear me. I need her to, or I’ll end up doing something I really shouldn’t be doing—claiming her lips with my own.
She leans forward, her mouth inches from mine, and I can practically taste her purity. “What if I wasn’t playing a game?” she challenges, her hot breath caressing over my face, and my cock hardens in my slacks. The zipper causing pain in my crotch from just how fucking hard she’s making me. I release her hair but grip her face between my thumb and forefinger, holding her close.
“A deviant with angel’s wings,” I muse. “You have no idea what you’re doing. Playing adult games, and you’re only a nineteen-year-old girl. I was being nice giving you a lift home, but—”
“I thought you weren’t nice. Make up your mind about what you want, Mr. Donati.” She whispers my name with condescending sweetness. “Thank you for the lift. I’ll see you in class on Monday.” She tugs free, pushing open the passenger door, and shutting it
