Page 10 of Vicious Temptation

“What do you want to know?” I prop one foot up on my knee, leaning back. “She’s Masseo D’Amelio’s daughter.”

“Pff.” She waves a hand. “That doesn’t mean anything to me. But if you’ve described her as a daughter, then she’s young, hm?”

I shift uncomfortably, wondering where this conversation is going, and think back to the collision with Bella in the hall. I don’t actually know how old she is. “In her early twenties, probably?” I guess.

“Mmhm.” Agnes snorts, flicking the duster in her hand over the mantle of the fireplace. “As I thought. And pretty, too?”

“I suppose.” I’ve tried not to think about just how pretty Bella D’Amelio is. It has no bearing on my interest in her. But pretty is too simple a word to describe how beautiful she was, even sobbing her eyes out. I can only imagine how she would look when she isn’t crying.

“So you’ve decided I need help, and you’re hiring a young, pretty daughter of some associate of yours to be that help?” Agnes turns to face me, a bemused look on her face as she puts her hands on her hips. “Am I getting that right?”

I narrow my eyes at her, taking another sip of my wine. “Don’t start, Agnes. It’s a job. Her father is trying to arrange a marriage for her, and she’s unhappy about it. So I’m offering her an alternative option.”

Agnes doesn’t look as if she’s entirely buying it.

“She needs an out. I need a nanny.” I blow out an exasperated breath. I often appreciate Agnes’ insight and wisdom, gained over the years, but tonight isn’t one of those nights. I know exactly what she’s thinking, and none of this has anything to do with a romantic interest in Bella D’Amelio.

I have no interest in a romantic relationship with anyone, ever again.

“Delilah took my heart with her, and you know that,” I tell Agnes quietly. The smirk drops from her mouth, as I knew it would when I brought up my late wife. A little bit of a cheap ploy, but she seemed to need reminding that in four years, I haven’t so much as gone on a real date with a woman. The occasional invite because I need someone on my arm to a business dinner or charity gala doesn’t count.

My business dinner with Bella tomorrow night will be the first dinner I’ve had alone with a woman in all that time.

“This helps both her and me,” I continue. “It solves a problem for both of us. That’s all.”

Agnes nods slowly. “And did she ask for help with this problem?”

I shake my head. “No. But I could tell she needed it.”

“Hmm.” Agnes sets the duster down, brushing her hands off on her pants. “When will you be deciding whether to hire her or not, then?”

“I’m supposed to meet with her tomorrow night. I’ll have a better idea of how she feels about it after that.”

Agnes gives me a long look, a hint of that amusement back in her eyes. “Well. I’m looking forward to hearing how that goes.” She glances up at the clock. “You’re right. It’s getting late, and Aldo is probably waiting up for me. See you tomorrow, Gabriel.”

“Good night.” I sit there, swirling the wine in my glass until she leaves, and then I let out a long sigh.

Bringing Bella here will mean changes. Good ones, I hope, but changes nonetheless. I feel that prick of anxiety again, the worry that I’m shaking things up in a household that otherwise runs smoothly. But I had a gut feeling, when she fled past me in that hallway, that this could be something good. And I’ve always done well, trusting my gut.

I finish the last of my wine, take the glass into the kitchen, and head upstairs to my bedroom. I moved out of the master suite four years ago, and into one of the other rooms on the upper floor. It’s another large bedroom with a balcony and a huge ensuite bathroom, so I’ve hardly noticed the difference. The most important part is that it’s not the room I shared with Delilah.

I didn’t want to buy a new house, afterward. We wanted the children to grow up here, to pass it on to them, and I didn’t want to undo that. But I also couldn’t even begin to heal, in any necessary way in order to continue being a good father, if I kept occupying the space that still reminded me of her in every aspect.

So I moved to a different room. The old one has been stripped and redone—it’s not as if I’ve kept it as a shrine to her or anything strange like that. It’s just an entirely different room now, and I’ve stayed in the one I chose. It’s felt better that way. Even after the redecoration, walking into that room felt like it brought back too many memories. And life is difficult enough now without making it harder on myself. I’m sure plenty of people would say that I should have forced myself past this already, but it’s impossible to force healing, in my opinion. And my life since then hasn’t afforded me a lot of opportunities to heal. If anything, I’ve lost more of myself and who I was even before Delilah since then.

I close the door behind me with a heavy sigh, feeling the tiredness from the day wash over me. I strip off my clothes and head to the shower, stepping under the multiple showerheads and feeling the hot spray pelt me from a variety of directions. I dip my head under the water, letting it wash over my scalp and ease my burgeoning headache.

For a brief moment, Bella slips back into my thoughts. It’s hard for her not to, considering how much of my day has been occupied by her, and considering that I’m going to meet her for dinner tomorrow. But for that brief moment, I think of how Agnes asked if she was pretty, and I remember her upturned face, those wide blue eyes staring up into mine.

Pretty doesn’t begin to cover it. Flawless skin, thick chestnut hair, that full mouth?—

My cock twitches when I think about her mouth, instantly rising, reminded of how long it’s been since I’ve felt lips wrapped around it. Since I’ve felt the heat of a soft, wet tongue, licking along my?—

I grit my teeth, instantly banishing the thought, ignoring my growing erection. Arousal isn’t a part of my life any longer, and it’s something I do my best to avoid. I can count the number of women I’ve slept with in the last four years on one hand, usually when the need for physical touch became so desperate that I started to wake in the night from wet dreams, aching for relief.

My cock throbs insistently, stiffening until the tip nearly brushes my navel. I’m aching for relief right now, but I push it down with the heel of my hand, urging it to soften. For one brief moment, I consider wrapping my hand around my length and easing the need myself, but I haven’t done that in a long time, either.

At least with someone else, I can try to lose myself in them, at least for a little while. It’s rare when I do, but the presence of another person keeps me from slipping into thoughts and memories that are more sad than arousing, leaving me feeling hollow and guilty after I come. That’s usually the result when I try to relieve it myself, and so I simply—don’t. The momentary pleasure and feeling of release aren’t enough to make up for the way I feel afterward, the memories and maudlin thoughts that usually come flooding in. My life is about managing my emotions these days, blocking off whatever gets in the way of what’s most important—providing for my family and ensuring that they don’t feel neglected. Letting myself wallow isn’t a part of that.