Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
CHLOE
I scramble from the bed and tiptoe to the kitchen. Anabelle sits on a chair, scooping chocolate ice cream.
“Man or period?”
She shoots me a glare, and I shrug.
“What has you smiling?” A prick.
“Nothing.”
“Your phone rang.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Chloe, you’re acting strange.” I snatch her ice cream and take a spoonful.
“I’ve never seen that dreamy expression.”
“Shut up, I am just tired.”
“Why don’t you sleep instead of grinning like a fool at your phone.”
I huff and rush back to my room, her laughter echoing around me. I don’t have a dreamy expression, and definitely not because of the king prick himself. No way. An unknown number calls, and my thumb sweeps on accept instead of decline, and I groan. The fact I can make out who it is between his breaths versus anyone else’s freaks me out, and I lower my voice to silky seduction. “Baby, I need you inside me, you made me so wet.”
I bite down on my lower lip, the anger in his breathing noticeable, and I suppress a smile. The dick deserves what’s coming to him.
“Chloe, I swear if you don’t say it’s a joke, I’ll hunt you down.”
“You have no idea where I live.”
“Say it.”
Instead, I hang up and snap a picture of my underwear and type.
“See, I am not wet—not yet anyway.”
The dots appear then vanish. When I realize he won’t answer, a pang of disappointment hits me. I toss and turn and drag my blanket to my chin right when my phone chimes.
Filip: I am downstairs.
I shoot upright and fly to my window, and my mouth drops.
Me: Are you crazy?
Filip: Come downstairs.
Me: Go away.
Filip: I can’t hear you.
His smirk shines brighter than the lamps from the street. I scamper back and climb into bed while he writes.
Filip: I’ll stay right here.
No, he won’t.
Filip: In the cold.
I scowl.
Filip: I am going to catch a cold and it will be your fault.
Is he for real?
I gather a jacket and run down the stairs. When his eyes find me, the relief I spot in his expression makes my heart twitch. Traitorous muscle.
“Happy now?”
“I am sorry,” he says as I approach. It’s quite refreshing to hear a man apologize. No one ever apologized before him, and this knowledge hurts like hell. He gathers me in his arms and places a soft kiss on the top of my head. Why am I so weak for him? I rub my nose on his and the chilly wind nips at our skin.
“Come on,” he says and opens the car door for me. I slide inside and when he sits in the driver’s seat, he starts the engine and some warmth seeps through, heating my legs and back.
“It’s late, and I am in pajamas,” I say.
“My mother would kill me if she knew I’d come over in the middle of the night and practically blackmailed you to meet me. She always said to respect the boundaries of others. But I can’t with you, and it drives me crazy. Before you told me it was one in the morning, I had no idea.” He drags a hand down his face and lays his head back. “Chloe, this is so new to me.”
“You drive me mad too.”
He chuckles and leans over and kisses me. His lips flood my entire being with a warm and fuzzy feeling. He presses his forehead to mine, and we breathe, heavy, full of implications. We’re so different, yet on the most primal level we connect. I caress his smooth, sculpted jaw, and he leans his face into my palm.
“How did you find out my address?”
“Damien.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I called Sophia, she called Damien telling him how she wanted to surprise you.”
“And he believed her?”
“It’s Sophia. Sophia makes no one question her motives.”
“So, you two?”
“No, never.” His face turns pale and contorts in disgust. When he shudders, I throw my head back and burst into laughter. He’s funny, and my heart stands no chance.
“I won’t lie to you. You just have to ask.”
“It’s dangerous to ask, no one is prepared to hear what the other has to say, more what we want to hear.”
“I love that mouth of yours,” he says, pulling me to him and crashing his sinful lips on mine.
“I won’t have sex in the car with you.”
“Yes, the windows aren’t tinted.”
“Even if they were.”
“Is this a challenge?”
“You’re spoiled rotten.”
“Of course I am. I was my parents’ child, while Bria was always Damien’s, which is fucked up, but it’s not an exaggeration.”
“I am sure you suffered greatly.” I press my hand to my chest in faux sympathy, and he flashes those pearly white teeth.
“Fuck no, I loved the attention.”
“Why doesn’t it surprise me.”
“You can spoil me too.”
“Just how would I spoil you?” He leans his head on my lap, the gesture so intimate, so full of trust, but the mischief never vanishes from his eyes.
“You could caress my head before I fall asleep. Definitely make me pancakes, but the puffy ones. My mom has the recipe for them, nothing tastes better, and they must be served with strawberry jam. And you could wake me up by kissing my lips or even lower.”
I slap his abdomen, and he chuckles, bearing a boyish grin. I am so screwed.
“That’s all?”
“Yes, it’s you spoiling me, you should come up with suggestions.”
The nerve of him. My spoiled, rich prick. Time with him flies while I try to stay awake, but when I can’t suppress my yawn, I say, “Time for me to go.”
He pouts, and I shake my head at him. He really is used to getting what he wants.
“I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“You bet.” I inch forward to peck him on the lips, but end up straddling him, my fingers wavering through his hair, his arms wrapped around me.
“Don’t let me fuck this up,” he pleads, and my heart squeezes. It’s as if we both know it will be him to ruin things between us.
“For casual sex, you think a lot,” I add, trying to infuse some lightness, but when his eyes find mine, the seriousness and determination shows that nothing about this is casual. I close my eyes. Everybody I have ever loved didn’t love me back, why am I allowing this?
I scramble out of his car and rush to the door, not looking back. Afraid that what dangles in front of me—what I have always wanted—Filip will snatch it away.
