Abby’s POV
The Maybach sped through the night, the chaotic shouts of the reporters finally fading into the background.
The sudden, thick silence in the car was almost louder than the noise had been.
“Matteo…” I whispered his name, my voice barely a breath.
I glanced at him.
His handsome profile was cast in shadow, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the road.
He was so serious, and for the first time, I realized I had absolutely no idea what was going on in his mind.
It was strange.
In my past life, I’d heard all the rumors.
I’d hated him from afar, believing he was rude, arrogant, and dismissive of women.
But sitting here now…
he felt a thousand times safer than Nicholas.
Nicholas, who was sweet to every woman, treating them all with the same fake, cloying, equal-opportunity charm.
“Abby.”
He finally spoke, his voice a low sigh.
He glanced at me as we stopped at a red light.
It was a quick, intense look.
His eyes landed on my lips, dashed up to my eyes, then dropped back to my lips again before he tore his gaze away and focused back on the road.
“Why me?”
I scoffed, though it came out as a shaky, nervous sound.
“Why you?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice flat, all business.
“Why choose me? There are plenty of good-looking men out there. Men who are younger. Men who are your age.”
He finally turned his head to look at me fully, his gaze unreadable but heavy.
“You do know you’re twenty, right?”
He wasn’t just asking.
He was testing me, trying to make me realize how absurd, how desperate, my decision must look from the outside.
A playful smile—one that felt more 25 than 20—touched my lips.
I turned in my seat and, in a move that was intended provocation, I rested my hand high on his thigh.
The muscle there went rigid under my palm.
“Because you’re hot,” I said, my voice a low purr.
“And I’ve… always had a soft spot for older, handsome men.” I gave his leg a tiny, almost imperceptible squeeze.
“Plus… I canceled the engagement and fell right into your arms, didn’t I?”
His gaze zipped down to my hand—just for a second—before snapping back to the road.
His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“You can’t start something you can’t finish, Abby,” he warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
The Maybach screeched to a halt, and he yanked the car over onto the gravel shoulder.
I looked around, my heart suddenly beating for a completely different reason.
This road was fucking deserted.
No lights, no buildings, no other cars.
Just darkness and the sound of the engine idling.
If he were a psychopath, I thought wildly, this is where he’d kill me, and no one would ever find me.
Before I could even process that thought, he unbuckled my seatbelt.
Then, without a word of warning, his hands were on me.
He grabbed my waist, his grip firm and impossibly strong, and pulled.
I gasped, a small, shocked sound, as I was lifted clean out of my seat and deposited onto his lap, straddling him, facing him.
My mind went blank.
The sudden intimacy of it was overwhelming.
I’d never done anything like this with Nicholas, not even when we were engaged.
In my past life, my first time—my only time—had been with Nicholas on our wedding night.
Which meant…
oh god.
Technically, now that I was reborn, I was still a virgin.
And I was sitting on the lap of Matteo Romano.
The hot daddy!
His body was all hard muscle and heat beneath me, and his voice was a low, rough growl right by my ear.
“Now, tell me. Why me?”
That fucking question again.
I leaned back just enough to meet his intense, dark gaze. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“I’ve already accepted your betrothal gift, Matteo.” I made a point of tapping the diamond bracelet on my wrist.
“Are you backing out now? Without my permission?”
A low sound rumbled in his chest, half-amused, half-dangerous.
“Then tell me,” he whispered, his own breath hitching as I instinctively shifted, “what makes you so dead set on becoming Mrs. Romano, hmm?”
Oh.
Oh, god.
I didn’t have to guess how he was feeling.
I could feel the hard, growing ridge of him pressing right against my center.
My body, this virgin body, had no idea what to do with that information, but my 25-year-old mind knew exactly what it was.
My 25-year-old self took over.
My hands, which had been braced on his shoulders, trailed up, my fingers linking behind his neck.
I leaned in, my lips almost brushing his, and I bit my lower lip.
“I can feel you, Matteo,” I whispered, my voice suddenly breathy.
“Under me.”
He didn’t blush.
He tensed.
His jaw clenched, and his hands on my hips tightened, his thumbs pressing almost painfully into the bone.
His voice was a harsh grate.
“I’m engaged to another woman, Abby.”
His eyes drilled into mine, testing me.
“Do you want me to cancel that engagement for you?”
I didn’t hesitate.
I didn’t even blink.
“Yes.”
The word was sharp and absolute.
“She’ll ruin you. She is the gold digger I was talking about.” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper.
“With me, your family gets an ally. I have the Hayes Trust. I am not after your money.”
A dark, dangerous glint entered his eyes.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and his voice became a seductive, mocking purr.
“Then what are you after? My body?”