Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 12

I was confident Amelie would use my number at some point, but I hadn’t expected it quite so quickly. I’m relieved she’s finally starting to take her safety seriously. One of these days, though, we’ll have words about why she didn’t report a stalker the very instant she suspected someone was watching her. I haven’t pushed the issue, but I haven’t forgotten, either.

I take a slow walk around the block to disguise the fact that my ass was already sitting in the theater when she texted. I wish I’d been able to see her face when she read my texts. I bet her expression was priceless. I like knowing I can rile her. She sure as fuck has the power to get under my skin more than she should.

When I round to the front of the building, she comes out to greet me before I have a chance to go inside.

“Let’s talk,” I say coarsely as I take her hand and move us to the brick wall beside the door. I make sure to position us so that I’m caging her in against the wall. She needs to know I’m not playing.

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to give me the truth.”

“I wasn’t exactly lying.”

I level her with a withering stare.

“I didn’t see anyone,” she says in an attempt to weasel out of a reprimand. “And that man following me could have been a random creep off the street—that doesn’t make him a stalker. I just realized I need to be a little more careful. You said to reach out, so I did.” She widens her eyes in her best Bambi impression.

Fuck if it doesn’t work.

She’s still lying to me, but I can’t be too upset. She did reach out and text, after all, and she hardly knows me. But she’s hiding the fact that she has a stalker. I saw her sense my presence. She knew she was being watched, so why hide that fact? Why not admit to me someone’s been watching her for weeks? It makes no sense.

Then it hits me.

Could this be a normal occurrence for her? Being on stage could draw all kinds of lunatics to fantasize about her. My fingers curl into tight, angry fists.

Better not be the fucking case because I’ll carve out the eyes of anyone who steps a toe out of line.

“That sort of thing happen often?” I ask gruffly.

“Someone following me? No. Not at all.”

I let a steadying breath out through my nose and place my hands on either side of her head. I let my body list forward until there’s nothing but a breath of air between us. “Would you tell me if it did?”

“Probably not,” she says on a hushed breath. “For all I know, you could be the biggest bad. You didn’t even bat an eye about going after that man.”

“I’m not afraid of a creep like that.”

“Most people would be.”

I bring my lips closer to her ear. “I’m not most people.” I let the words draw out slowly. Seductively.

Her shuddering inhale of air presses her chest against mine. I have to pretend my palms are glued to the brick to keep from pulling her body flush with mine.

“So I’ve gathered. Who are you, Isaac? I don’t even know your last name.”

I pull back so that I’m gazing into her forested stare again. “My name won’t tell you anything about the man I am.”

“That punch told me plenty.” She arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “You know how to fight.”

“Lucky for you, since you have a stalker problem.” A smug grin teases at my lips.

“I don’t have a stalker problem,” she repeats, this time more forcefully. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t be any concern of yours.” Her attempt to be firm with me is precious.

I lift my hand away from the wall and trail my knuckles gently down the side of her neck, around her shoulder, and down her arm until I reach her wrist. At my touch, her pulse point flits like a drunken butterfly. My hand encircles her wrist, so delicate and breakable, and lifts it between us so that the ink still marking her skin is visible. I use my other hand to trail my fingers over her porcelain skin.

“The second you chose me, you made it my concern,” I explain in a voice ravaged with emotion.

“I chose you?” she asks, baffled.

I nod. “You did. You reached out to me when you could have called literally anyone else in the world.”

“I tried others, but they were busy,” she cuts in defensively, but the jab lacks strength. She knows it’s an excuse as much as I do.

I lift her wrist to my lips and press three claiming kisses slowly along her flushed skin. “You chose me, Amelie. And that’s a decision that can never be undone.”

Her lips part in disbelief. She wants to argue, but I don’t give her the opportunity. I twine my fingers in hers and guide us down the sidewalk toward my car. “Now that we have that settled, I’m taking you home.”