Chapter 4 Gone by Dawn

Niccolo saw as she sauntered back to her desk, that same confident swagger consuming his mind for the past three nights.

Three days.

Three damn days since she had left his suite before the sun had risen.

No note. No name.

Just her scent freshly breathed into the sheets and the echo of her moan reverberating in his head.

He had not even seen her face in the full light that night, but the way she touched him-was not because she was scared, like she wanted to do something more self-destructive just to feel something again-incredibly branded him.

And Niccolo Moretti, however, did not get branded.

By anyone.

Until her.

He spent two days sifting through security tapes, a day combing through club records, and less than an hour gathering what there was to know about Aria Bennett.

Everything he could find-his name, his address, his history of employment-his blood type if he'd wanted it.

Not exactly obsessed, but-

Because she had walked out-or rather, that was, what she had done. Not that people did that to him.

Niccolo didn't chase; he claimed.

Now with her at arm's length, the only question was how much longer could he keep his hands off her?

---

Aria tried shifting her focus back to the files piled on her desk.

Invoice reports. Emails. Calendar updates. Things that, under normal circumstances, Aria would handle just fine.

But today, those hands shook just slightly whenever he answered the calls in his firm Italian-accented voice.

Now some one is speaking Italian on the other side of his office where he was still using low, firm, and dangerous. Couldn't understand the words but got the general gist that someone was having a very bad day.

She sighed heavily and tapped on the keyboard, hoping to shrug off all the jitters creeping down her spine, because that place-and him even more-seemed more turbulent than it looked.

A storm brewing behind polished glass.

But the money paid-off real. The job was real. My bank account has never looked more promising.

And yet, with every moment he caught gazing into her direction, one couldn't help breathing that heavy air, as if it were going to shatter if she breathed too deeply.

---

That afternoon, Aria set the file on Niccolo's desk. He sat on the desk with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. The shirt was crisp white; there was something primal, however, in the way he sat-as if he were the king of a very dark kingdom.

"You've been unusually quiet today," he said, not looking up.

"I thought you liked your employees focused."

"I like my employees to speak when spoken to."

She tensed and forced herself to meet his gaze. "You mean, I should have flirted with you in between meetings?"

He smirked. "Would you?"

"No."

"Shame."

A pause lingered in the air. Tension pulsed between them like a third presence occupying the room.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

Aria blinked. "Excuse me?"

"That night," he said, his voice low. "You left without a word."

She swallowed. "Because it was just one night."

"Was it?"

She hated how her body betrayed her whenever she heard the weight in his voice.

"I'm not one of your toys," she said, her voice a bit sharper than she meant to.

"No," he said. "You're not. That's why you're here."

---

At the end of the day, Aria's nerves were all taut. Stepping out of the building just before the sunset which now threw pink and blue over the soft hues of the sky, with aching legs thanks to the heels, and with a mind clouded by too many things unspoken.

She considered taking the subway home-some ground normalcy-but she saw that a black car was already waiting patently at the curb.

The same driver opened the door without a word.

Aria hesitated.

Niccolò had promised professionalism. He had given her a contract with rules and boundaries. Today had felt anything but professional.

Besides, it's chilly outside; she was tired; that car seat looked warm.

She got in.

Back again in the office, Niccolò stood at the window against which she first had to come inside.

He let his sight watch the vehicle moving away. Purse strings tightened in his jaw-and his side hand became a hefty fist.

Unbeknownst to her, indeed, it did create a certain thing in him when she walked out that night-scratching something open. Something dark, dirty, buried long ago. He did not like things he could not control.

And Aria Bennett?

She had already gotten under his skin.

In fact, that night, Aria could not sleep.

There she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, replaying every glance, every word, and every moment spent in that office.

There was something about Niccolò that wasn't just dangerous-it was consuming.

He did not walk into a room; he claimed it. One look and she felt like everything else disappeared-and that terrified her.

Part of her liked it.

She turned and buried her face in her pillow, groaning.

"Pull yourself together, Aria."

But her thoughts weren't listening, who were still back in that office, back in the suite, back in the heat of his hands on her skin.

Somewhere in the city, he was still thinking about her too.