Chapter 8

The first night in the mansion of that idiot and my new stepfather was pure hell.

Every time the hardwood floor creaked in the hallway, I froze in bed, staring at the ceiling with my heart in my throat, waiting for my bedroom door to swing open. It didn't, but Mateo’s warning kept echoing in my head like a persistent echo: “Whenever you want to pick a fight and talk trash to me... I’m going to shut you up with a kiss.”

«Arrogant bastard.»

By six in the morning, I couldn't handle the claustrophobia of my four walls anymore. I threw on a pair of athletic shorts and a loose gray t-shirt, set on heading down to the kitchen for a strong cup of coffee and slipping out for a run before the rest of the house woke up.

Big mistake.

As I stepped into the kitchen, illuminated by the cold light of dawn, I found Mateo with his back to me, leaning against the granite island. Wearing a full set of clothes seemed to be a concept he was allergic to in this house: he wore only gray sweat shorts, shirtless and barefoot. He was drinking water straight from a glass pitcher, droplets trailing down his chin and sliding across the ridges of his abs.

I froze at the entrance. I tried to turn around without making a sound, but the squeak of my sneaker gave me away.

—You're up early, “little brother” —Mateo said without turning around, setting the pitcher down on the granite.

He turned slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were half-lidded with sleep, giving him a dangerously lazy, relaxed look.

—I'm going out —I said in the coldest voice I could muster, avoiding looking anywhere below his neck.

—For a run? —He crossed his arms, accentuating the muscles in his shoulders—. How studious. I thought you preferred contact sports.

A rush of heat shot straight to my ears.

—Shut up, Mateo. My parents are going to come down any second.

—“Your” parents aren't —he corrected, taking a slow step toward the kitchen island, closing the distance—. “Our” parents. Get used to the phrasing, Lucas. Unless, of course, you want your mom coming down and catching us chatting... this up close.

He took two more steps. The kitchen was massive, but suddenly the air felt suffocatingly thin. I stood my ground, refusing to take a step back and show weakness, even though my pulse was racing out of control. Mateo stopped right on the other side of the island, leaning over the granite counter toward me. The scent of his minty toothpaste mixed with the warmth of his freshly awakened skin completely enveloped me.

—You have an infuriating habit of pushing my buttons —I muttered, clenching my fists at my sides—. Sofi was right. You're just an egomaniac who only thinks with what's between his legs.

Huge mistake. Dropping Sofi’s name in his face was like throwing a lit match into a gasoline tank.

Mateo's smirking smile vanished instantly. His dark eyes turned shadowy, hard as the rink's ice. In one swift, unpredictable movement, he rounded the kitchen island, grabbed the back of my neck with one hand, and slammed me backward against the stainless-steel refrigerator.

The metallic thud echoed loudly in the silent kitchen.

—I warned you yesterday what would happen if you talked trash to me again, Lucas —he whispered against my lips, so close I could feel the humidity of his breath. His body was pinned against mine, trapping me with zero room to maneuver. His thigh slipped between mine, establishing an absolute dominance that made me choke back a gasp.

—Let go of me... —I managed to say, but the threat held no real weight. My hands, instead of shoving him away, dug into his bare sides, feeling the searing heat of his tensed muscles.

—Or what? You gonna scream? —Mateo challenged, brushing his nose against mine, sliding his free hand down my waist and slipping it under my gray t-shirt. His rough palm brushed against my bare skin, making me flinch involuntarily—. Scream. Give your mom the perfect welcome to her new life.

He was about to kiss me. I could see the hungry, possessive glint in his pupils. My heart hammered wildly against his chest, caught between the sheer panic of getting caught and a sudden, paralyzing surge of desire that turned my legs to lead.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps and a dry cough resounded from upstairs, followed by Carlos calling out for my mother.

The spell shattered instantly.

Mateo didn't release me right away. He took two agonizing seconds to stare at my mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb firmly over my bottom lip—as if erasing a mark—and then pulled away with infuriating slowness, just as the footsteps started coming down the stairs.

He casually adjusted his shorts, flashed me one last look dripping with promise, and strolled toward the coffee machine.

—Good morning, Dad —Mateo said in the most normal tone imaginable as Carlos walked into the kitchen—. I was just telling Lucas that we should head to practice together today. You know... to start building some teamwork.

I stayed glued to the fridge, trying to catch my breath, feeling the phantom heat of Mateo's thumb burning on my lip and knowing, with absolute certainty, that living under the same roof as him was going to completely destroy me.