The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance) novel Chapter 154

The awkwardness and weird strained silence disappeared once the wine flowed more freely, and we found we had a lot of things we could talk about between movies. Alexi is funnier than I thought he could be, with a dry humour not unlike mine, a wicked childish streak that can be adorable when it shines through. He annoyed me immensely, more than once, and we bickered frequently, but he just swooped in and shut me up mid rage with a tongue in my mouth. He’s too good at doing it, like stealth snogging and you don’t see him coming at all. My legs gave out and body melted the second his lips glued to mine and I ceased to think about anything, except him.

This morning, however, in the cold light of day with a mega headache and fuzzy brain, waking up cosily by his side, all my doubts and fears dive right back in.

I shouldn’t forget who he is and what he can do. I have to be smart and keep my heart shielded until I suss out if this thing between us can work. There is a lot at risk, and my sanity is still in recovery from being burned by him before.

You don’t forget the wolf just because he wears sheep’s wool well. Alexi is still a demon under that pretty face, I just haven’t given him cause to show it yet. He is on the charm offensive because I’m something he wants. When the novelty wears off or I give him a reason to be mad, then we shall truly see who he really is.

The true proof of whether I can trust him will be when I disobey him and make him angrier than hell.

If he punishes me, I’m gone. That’s my hard limit. I won’t forgive him for inflicting pain on me, even if it is only emotional.

I just don’t know if I deliberately want to push it anymore, to see. A part of me tells me I’ll get my answers and then I can walk away unscathed. Then the other part of me is clinging onto this little ray of hope that just maybe, he will not disappoint me or hurt me like he keeps promising.

The guy I was with last night is someone I could truly fall head over heels in love with. Even though technically I already am. It’s complicated and my head and heart is a complete mess. I don’t know which way is up anymore and I’m dealing with a man who can be two completely different people, depending on where he is and what he wants. He wears many coats and can turn in the blink of an eye. I shouldn’t underestimate what he is capable of.

He is a cold killer with a serious sinister side.

I should never forget that.

He’s still asleep, nose against his own shoulder and looking sexily scruffy, lying face down and sprawled out like he owns the space around him. Like this, it’s easy to imagine a future with him and a chance at something that might work. A gentleman who made me feel like I would never have reason to fear or doubt him. A guy who gave me goosebumps and butterflies and bowled me over and flipped me upside down with this new side to him.

Therein lies his lure. Alexi can appear to be exactly what I want because he knows how to read and play me. He knows about me and my deepest secrets, therefore he knows how to be, and who to be if he wants to make me fall under his spell all over again. I still don’t trust him when I remember he is a wolf who can bend and change to manipulate what he wants out of people. Including me.

I watch him for a moment again, looking at him and pondering things. Torn in two and only seeing who was here with me all night.

We didn’t get under the duvet last night; I remember that much, both fully clothed we had one fur throw over us that we brought up here from the chairs. The wine went to my head, and within minutes of being curled up here against him, in this secret hiding hole he calls his sanctuary, I fell asleep like some trusting idiot and slept in his arms.

He is the first man I have ever done that with.

Felt at peace enough to sleep without fear. I didn’t wake from bad dreams either. In fact, I don’t think I dreamt at all, not once.

I move slowly to get up as I desperately need the loo, bladder fit to burst if I sit here much longer, making him come to a little as my weight makes the bed dip and then release, but all he does is move his face to the other side, slide his arm up under the pillow and fall back asleep. Lying on his stomach, so all I get is that sexy haircut and a peek of the dragon tattoo. Peaceful and angelic, like a true devil hiding all that evil out of sight. I watch him for a second until his breathing returns to heavy and steady; holding my breath before I get up to work my way downstairs to the bathroom with as little noise as possible.

As I slide up and out, my butt nudges the books on the shelf at the end of the bed and I clamber to grab the scattering objects before they thud to the ground and rouse him. I just want some alone time to get my shit together before he wakes up. I need the headspace and serenity of time alone now I’m on the way to being sober. I need to process and just have a minute to breathe.

I turn the books the right way up and try to slide them back into the shelves silently when the title of the first catches my eye and stops me pushing it in. It’s a psychology textbook about his personality condition and I impulsively tip it sideways to let the pages flip open for a quick nosey. That part of me that is eager to know more about what it means in terms of him as a person kicking in. I scan the words eagerly, desperate for more insight.

It has a lot of highlighted lines and notes in handwriting I recognise as his, and I feel like I’m being way too intrusive. Highlighted paragraphs on self-therapy and such. A few lists scrawled in the margins of techniques to self-calm and a lot of website links. Proof that he tries to change how he is, a little ray of hope for my confused soul.

I close it and push it back in beside a black leather-bound book, heart racing slightly in case he sees me going through this stuff and I pause to examine it. Interest piqued because it seems out of place among textbooks. It looks like a journal and when I pull it out and open it, I find that it is.

Alexi has his counsellors name inside the cover on a little contacts sticker and I wonder if this is a therapy journal, when they make you write out your feelings and thoughts. I’ve never had a psychiatry appointment, but a couple of my regulars did and were very open about the process, sharing their diaries and leaving them in plain sight. Apparently, it’s a common way to give the doctor insight into your thoughts and feelings and is a healthy way to help you vent the things you might not otherwise say.

I push it back and stare at it for a second, feeling like I’m crossing a boundary, and this is a gross invasion of his privacy.

Alexi read my journals so it would only be fair to read what might be an insight into his head, somehow though I know he wouldn’t like it, even if he has already been there and done that. He trusts me enough to tell me about this stuff, it’s a step too far to take that knowledge for myself.

I let it go, sort the books back into place and get up quickly, leaving it be and knowing it’s the right choice. If he wants me to know, then he will let me read it on his terms. I don’t glance back in case the urge is stronger than my willpower and make my way downstairs to his bathroom. Head swirling with the fact he seeks out ways to better himself. That says a lot about how his head works.

Of course, I’m curious about him, but I don’t want to snoop this way. I want him to tell me, answer any questions I have, and it wouldn’t hurt to do some research online about ADHD and this disorder. Maybe that’s all the information I’ll need. Maybe I’ll get answers beyond anything I expected to get, just by learning about it in a way he won’t need to know about.

I slide into the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly tiptoeing into the small tiled room. The bathroom matches the rest of this studio loft apartment in that it’s rustic and very far away from money and grandeur. He has a tub with a shower over it, shielded with a simple white shower curtain and industrial fixtures and fittings. The basic bare necessities in here, toilet, sink with very few toiletries and no real décor or trinkets to style it. A functional bathroom owned by a dude with very little concern for home furnishings when taking a dump or shaving his face.

It’s more Alexi than I realised. His bathroom at the club may be modern and sexy but it’s as stark as this with nothing personal and not a lot of grooming products on show. He likes uncluttered simple routines to get ready, nothing changed there.

I think about getting cleaned up before he wakes when I catch sight of myself in the mirror over the sink as I turn around and close the door. My reflection is pitiful, and I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge with smudgy makeup and obvious sign of alcohol abuse. I look a fright and I definitely do not want him to see me looking this shit this morning. The old me would never be caught dead looking this hellish in the presence of a man.

I know he has seen me looking worse in the past. Tear stained, drunk, soaking wet and even sick, but none of those times did I think I had a chance in hell of anything with him. It’s different now. Knowing there’s something real between us that could grow, I’m suddenly very self-conscious with how I look around him. Deep down I want him to want me and I can’t exactly pull off seduction when I look like this.

A hangover is not a good look, it’s like junkie chic after an overdose. Something I left on the streets of Hackney when I bought my first designer dress.

I barely get a chance to wash my face when I catch wind of his footsteps on the metal stairway, softly padding down towards me and quickly pat it dry to make myself presentable. Brushing my fingers through my hair quickly, trying to fluff it out and tame the wild bed head. Acting like some desperate teen whose crush just came sauntering in and cursing myself for such juvenile behaviour. I have more skill than this, more experience in playing men, and I need to stop putting him on some higher pedestal. No man has ever got me in a tizzy the way he does and it’s uncool. Lame as hell.

He is male; therefore, the fundamental basics are the same. He is no different to any other man I have ever seduced and coerced, only this one has an actual invested interest in me that should make him easier to sway.

Well, it would if he wasn’t Alexi Carrero.