A Beautiful Crime

Chapter 18

Carina POV

Curiosity.

I tell myself it's mere curiosity that caused me to take his hand and lead me to the unknown.

Curiosity.

It's a lie I try to tell myself, the bitter pill I am not being able to swallow.

The truth is, the maddening frustrating damning truth is complexity.

Bearing witness to the complexity of Don Constantine Donati has my hand placed in his. A perfect fit, as if our hands were made to be intertwined with one another's.

His natural olive tone against my fairer Sicilian complexion. Hands, despite being a Don, that are rough and calloused against my scarred skin.

In my bones I cannot deny how right his hand feels in mine.

Our hands have still not parted, even in the confines of his car with Pietro behind the wheel and a partition for privacy.

His thumb traces over the jagged scar on the outside of my hand. Beginning at the knuckle to my pinky and ending diagonally at the bone of my wrist.

Even I cannot touch my own scars. I always become nauseous when I do. So for him to not only touch my scar, but to run his thumb continuously back and forth in a soothing manner, it has me choking back cries as I'm about to come undone.

"I would ask," his voice is a soft caress, so pleasing to my ears, "but I am afraid I'll be met with one your beautiful lies."

My lips twist to hide my teasing smile. "I thought those were your favorite."

My eyes meet his and I shouldn't be stunned by what I see, not from what his character has shown me thus far. But when you have been surrounded by those who do not show affection nor protection it's jarring to see it in someone else.

And Constantine's eyes are burning with a fierce protectiveness. "Never when someone harms you."

It's the physical reaction that always betrays me. The shiver of delight that races down my spine. Those un-killable flutters swarming with a vengeance. The heat igniting my blood and my damn heart galloping.

For as much as my mind rebels my body yearns to be united with his.

"Would you?" Small. My voice comes out so small, and I wish it didn't. A vulnerability. A crack in the facade. Life coming from the supposed dead.

His eyes leave mine to look upon the scar on my hand. He stares intensely at it. As if he's thinking of all the ways possible for the man responsible to perish.

My breath catches in my throat when he raises my hand to his supple lips and with his eyes never leaving mine traces the scar with his tongue.

The heat isn't only in my blood, it unfurls in my lower abdomen with a blazing desire.

And just like Eve I'm ready to take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

My lips part. His eyes catch it. With his own pupils blown he controls his desire whereas I feel like I'm detonating.

He then places the most tender kiss on the center of my hand. "Never."

Feeling too much I snatch my hand away from his.

He allows me.

He even gives me the space my mind is desperate for. And although the space is small it feel as if an ocean is placed between us. My body immediately wants to close it.

To feel close to him again. To feel the heat of his skin and the comfort of his body. To hear his words sink deep in the marrow of my bones and have me feeling safe.