running for his life when he knew perfectly well he was standing still. Maya was so elegant, so composed, and he hated it. She pivoted around on one of those heels that did things to her legs he wanted to get down on his knees to taste and started for the door.
“Hold that thought,” Charlie growled at Sebastian, finally shutting up the other man midway through a long lecture on the life and times of Daniel St. George, who had somehow found himself in a bar in Houston, Texas, long enough to make Charlie all those years ago. Back when Charlie’s mother had been young and hot instead of beaten down and bitter.
Charlie set off after Maya, not really caring if the entire village and half the Amalfi coast saw him chasing after a woman for the first time ever. All he cared about was that he caught up to her—and he didn’t want to ask himself why that was.
He already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.
He caught up to her out in the hushed hotel lobby, with its piped-in music and designer fragrances. He skirted the over-the-top Christmas trees, the kind of thing that usually put his teeth on edge given how little holiday cheer he’d experienced in his time, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that now.
“Maya.”
His voice was a command. He didn’t bother to pretend otherwise.
And still, he was surprised when she obeyed.
She turned slowly, as if she wanted to torture him with the perfection of her figure. All those lean, stacked curves, enough to make his mouth water and his hands twitch of their own accord.
But he wasn’t dumb enough to pretend he couldn’t see the fury in her dark eyes when she fixed them on him.
“I have no one to blame but myself,” she said, her voice somehow thick and crisp at once. Not loud enough to disturb the self-conscious fanciness of this lobby but pointed enough to slice him in half. “What handyman lounges around for half an afternoon and a whole long night with a guest? Or answers the door half-naked when he orders room service? Or orders room service in the first place? There were red flags all around that I guess I ignored.”
“I didn’t lie to you.” He sounded much rougher than he should have. But he wasn’t planning to think on that, either. “I never told you I was a handyman. You assumed it all on your own.”
“You let me assume it,” she fired back. But then shook her head, cutting herself off. She even slashed her hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. You and I both know that you could have told me the truth. You didn’t want to. And it only makes you more of a liar.”
“It’s not a secret,” he growled, and maybe the reason he was so pissed off by this was because there was a part of him that knew she had a point. He’d liked that she didn’t know who he was. Even back in Texas, he hadn’t been anonymous. He’d liked the novelty. But he didn’t like defending that choice. “Everyone in this village knows I own the hotel. You would have known it, too, if you bothered to look. My face is in the brochure sitting on your living room table.”
She let out a laughing sort of sound that contained absolutely no humor. Charlie drew closer to her, his hands at his sides—not in fists, though he was pissed enough, and not on her, either, which was what he really wanted.
“You know what? I’ve already had this conversation,” she said, with another one of those laughs that weren’t laughs. And this time when she shook her head, it was very clearly at him. Not at herself. “I’m not having it again.”
“The fact that you made an assumption about me is not my problem,” he heard himself saying, like he was arguing the point.
Maya made a sniffing sound, dismissive and rude. “Okay.”
And she didn’t wait for him to react to that. She turned around again, setting off at a much faster clip than before.
Charlie’s jaw hurt, and he realized he was gritting his teeth like he wanted to break them all off. And his hands had stopped pretending to be civilized, curled into fists he knew were useless in this. Unless he wanted to punch himself in the face.
He didn’t understand what was happening inside him, because he hadn’t lied. Not directly. He’d let her think what she wanted to think—how was that on him?
His heart was kicking at him again, but he ignored it. And he should have let her walk right off into whatever temper tantrum she wanted to have, because that wasn’t on him, either.
But no matter how self-righteous he felt about it, there he was following after Maya like he wasn’t in control of his own feet. Like he was a puppet on a string and she’d yanked him close so he could fall into line behind her.
His worst nightmare, basically. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
She made it across the lobby, then pushed out through the doors into the dark December night.
And Charlie was right there, following behind her like he couldn’t bear to let her out of his sight.
What the hell was happening to him?
Outside, the village was brightly lit and deserted this time of year. Anyone who wanted to experience the holidays in coastal Italian splendor was tucked up inside somewhere, enjoying the more sedate pace in the area’s otherwise well-trafficked tourist areas. It was as if he and Maya were the only people left in the world—not an image that helped him get a hold of himself.
He didn’t know how to feel the things that moved around inside him. He would much rather feel her instead.
“Is this what you do every time you’re pissed off about something?” He fired the words at her, his voice louder than the sound her heels made against the stones of the ancient square, and all of it echoing back at him in case he’d missed the part where he was being a dick. “At some point you’re going to have to stop running away from the things you don’t like, Maya. Don’t you think?”
She whirled on him then, and he didn’t realize until he saw the sheer, undiluted fury on her face that he’d expected her to be crying. Upset, anyway. Not like she wanted to rip him apart with her own two hands.
“I’m not running away from anything. And I told you I don’t want to repeat this conversation.”
“Babe. I don’t know what you think is happening here, but we haven’t had this conversation before.”
She made that scornful noise that wasn’t a laugh again, and Charlie liked it even less out here where there were no witnesses but the manic Christmas lights. And he couldn’t pretend she wasn’t doing it at him.
“You might not have had this conversation, but I have. Let me jump right over the gaslighting and get to the good stuff.”
“Gaslighting?”
But she ignored that. “I’m not going to stand here and take responsibility for your deceitful behavior. That’s on you. You knew what I thought, you chose to let me keep thinking it and the only thing I can assume is that you took some sick pleasure in imagining I thought you might lose a job you didn’t even have.”
This time when she laughed it was a hard, brittle sound that seemed to crack through the cold air. Or maybe that was just his rib cage, shattering into pieces. To spite him.
“The difference between you and me, Charlie, is that I haven’t lied to you about anything. I’m a wide-open book. Canceled wedding. Cheating fiancé. Best friend who it turns out probably wasn’t much of a friend at all. And this trip to Italy that was supposed to be my honeymoon. I’m not hiding anything from you.” Maya shook her head, her cloud of curls dancing slightly with the movement. “You can’t say the same.”
“We’ve fucked a few times,” he gritted out. “What makes you think you deserve to know my life story?”
And he couldn’t have said why the disappointed look she aimed at him then made that shattering sensation in his chest that much worse.
“It’s