Page 26 of My Sunfall

“It’s all so mysterious,” Gloria goes on, “it’s like he’s following you around. Do you know him, perhaps? Is he family, a cousin maybe?”

“He’s not family. He’s nobody, just a customer,” I snap a little too loudly.

They both look at me with a calculating gleam in their eyes. I toss a bottle of milk in my basket so hard it crushes the loaf of bread underneath.

“He drinks coffee, pays and leaves, that’s it,” I grit out through clenched teeth.

“And he waits for you outside the grocery store?” Gloria’s brows lift.

Before I can come up with a plausible explanation, her friend the widow chimes in. “If that man were following me, I wouldn’t be complaining. And I certainly wouldn’t make him wait.” They both cackle, and I throw a hasty goodbye over my shoulder as I all but flee from them and their gossip.

By the time I reach the register, my hands are shaking so bad I struggle to pull out my purse. But apparently fate isn’t finished with me. The cashier, a young girl barely out of high school, leans closer, eyes glued to the windows.

“Um… Ms. Bailey?” she whispers, “do you know the guy outside?”

“No,” I snap. What’s her name again? Lorie… No Lauren. She’s the older sister of one of the girls I teach, and I’ve seen her a few times when she picked her sister up from my classes.

But she doesn’t buy it for a second, she’s practically glowing, cheeks pink and eyes bright as she fumbles with the register. “Because…wow! He’s like, ridiculously hot. And he hasn’t taken his eyes off the store since you walked in.”

I want to sink into the floor.

“Is he your boyfriend or something?” she asks tentatively.

I almost drop my grocery bag. “What? No!”

She hesitates then blurts out, “Do you think you could…um…give him my number? He’s parked right behind your car, so you’ll see him, anyway.” She scribbles her number on the back of a receipt and shoves it into my hands with a shy smile.

I nod, dumbstruck.

Perfect. Just great. Now I’m playing middle-woman for my stalker and his teenage crush fan club. Rage doesn’t cover the feeling of red-hot lava coursing through my bloodstream when I march out of the store. Lucas straightens and takes a step forward toward me as soon as he spots me. I stomp right up to him and slap the piece of paper against his chest.

“Congratulations, you’ve got a fan club.”

His eyes briefly flick to the store then to the slip of paper in his hand. He slowly crumbles it in his fist and lets it fall on the asphalt, eyes locked on mine. For a beat neither of us speaks, then I pull myself together and stomp to my car. But before I can open the car door, he is standing behind me, crowding me against my car door and cages me in with both arms braced against the roof. He’s not touching me, but I am trapped, nevertheless. My pulse beats loudly in my ears as I slowly turn around.

“You think I’m here for anyone else?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice, as he leans closer. His eyes are burning through me with dark intensity.

For what feels like a lifetime, his gaze holds mine, making my knees go weak and my chest heave with every strained breath. Then my anger surges again. “I don’t know what you are here for, and I don’t care. Get out of my way,” I hiss, shoving at his chest.

And he lets me push him away, standing there, unbothered, while I yank open the car door and throw my purchases on the passenger seat before sliding in the driver seat and slamming the door shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him still standing there when I drive off, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles hurt, face flaming and heart racing.

Damn him.

Chapter Seventeen

Chiara

I hit the punching bag in a steady rhythm, alternating between jabs and hooks, each punch heightening my frustration instead of easing it. I finished my Friday class and still felt restless, so I stayed to throw a few punches at the leather bag. My breath comes out in hard pants, my knuckles sting through the leather of the gloves, and sweat is dripping down my temples, but I can’t stop. It’s easier fighting that bag than processing the mess in my head, than thinking about him. I imagine his face on the bag and hit harder, my body trembling from the impact. For more than a week, I have been a knot of pent-up rage, and all because of this man. I want to punch his perfect face, make him suffer, hurt him like he hurt me. I don’t recognize myself anymore and it makes me even angrier.

A deep voice cuts through the steady thud of my fists. “Careful, cara mia. Keep hitting like this and you’ll hurt your wrist.”

I freeze mid-swing and my heart stops. I turn my head even though I already know who I will see standing there.

Lucas leans casually against the doorframe, clad in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, the sleeves clinging to his biceps like a second skin. I have never seen him in jeans and a T-shirt before, and the sight is…unsettling. His broad chest and shoulders look even wider under the clingy material, giving him a threatening air. The short sleeves hide nothing of his unfairly ripped arms where muscle and sinew shift under his bronze skin. He looks annoyingly handsome.

I gulp, feeling suddenly flustered. I lift my gaze to his, and find his eyes locked on me, burning like blue flames, tracking every rise and fall of my chest. I swallow again and straighten, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

He pushes off the doorframe and steps closer, unhurried and predatory. “Visiting, nothing more.”