Chereads / Love Under Sinful Ties (L.U.S.T) / Chapter 9 - CHAPTER 8: Fractured Truths

Chapter 9 - CHAPTER 8: Fractured Truths

**Dahlia**

After clocking out for lunch, I made a point to shower and change before heading to the café. It helped—mostly. My hangover still lingered at the edges, but I felt human enough to face the world again.

I drove downtown, my nerves kicking up with each passing block. Parking a little further from the café than usual, I gave myself a moment to compose myself. From where I sat, I could see through the large front windows, and despite the bustling crowd, my eyes immediately landed on Antonio.

He stood out effortlessly, even in the busy café. Dressed casually in a simple white shirt and dark jeans, he still managed to look sinfully gorgeous. The shirt clung to him in all the right places, showing off those perfectly muscled arms, and for a brief moment, I forgot how mad I was supposed to be.

I watched him for a few minutes, unable to help myself. He'd arrived early—it was obvious from the way he sat, fidgeting ever so slightly, trying to look relaxed but failing miserably. Every few moments, he glanced at his watch, his brow furrowing with what I could only describe as nervous impatience. It was strange seeing him like this—so unlike the composed, confident man I remembered.

When he checked his watch for what had to be the eleventh time, I sighed, feeling a flicker of guilt. He looked like he was willing me to appear, and I couldn't decide if I was annoyed or sympathetic. Maybe both.

Finally, I climbed out of the car, locked it, and walked toward the café. The bell above the door jingled softly as I stepped inside, and the moment Antonio spotted me, his eyes widened. His reaction was so abrupt he nearly knocked over his coffee, scrambling to steady the cup before it spilled.

I bit back a laugh, my annoyance softening just slightly. Was this really the same man I'd met before? The awkward, almost boyish version of him was… endearing. Cute, even.

Still, I had a point to make. Acting as though I hadn't seen him, I let my gaze sweep the room, raising a brow as though searching for someone. I could feel his eyes on me, and I fought to keep a smirk from tugging at my lips. I was supposed to be mad at him, after all.

"Well, well, well. Look who's trying to redeem themselves," I said, my tone dripping with forced casualness as I approached the table.

Antonio stood abruptly, almost knocking over his coffee in the process. "Hey, Dahlia! You look… stunning!" he blurted, his voice cracking slightly.

I couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled out of me. His tone was pitched too high, like a nervous teenager whose voice hadn't quite settled. This wasn't the composed, confident Antonio I'd remembered. This version was awkward, endearing even, and it caught me off guard.

Making the most of his discomfort, I exaggerated my steps, letting my hips sway just a little more than usual as I sauntered over to the table. His eyes immediately followed the movement, and I couldn't tell if the look on his face was one of reverence or panic.

"Thanks, Antonio," I said smoothly, my voice dripping with a mix of charm and edge. My gaze deliberately ran up his exposed, tattooed arms, lingering just long enough to make him squirm. "You don't look so bad yourself."

As we sat down, I braced myself for him to launch into an explanation, but oddly, it didn't come. Instead, Antonio started rambling nervously, filling the space with talk about the weather, a new TV show he'd been watching, and even the café's coffee blend. I bit back my frustration, forcing myself to listen patiently even as I wanted to scream at him to cut the small talk and get to the point.

It was almost funny, really, watching a man like him—usually so composed and intimidating—stumble over his words like he was walking on a tightrope. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt, not when he looked this worked up.

Finally, he stopped, taking a deep breath before meeting my eyes. "Dahlia, I'm sorry," he said, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. "I was an idiot to walk away from you. You deserve so much better than someone like me, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it right."

I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I studied him, really looked at him. His usually straight shoulders were slumped, his forehead glistening with a faint sheen of nervous sweat. His hands rested on the table, but I noticed the slight tremble in them.

Whatever had him acting like this, it wasn't just nerves. Something deeper was weighing on him, and maybe this crowded café wasn't the best place to unpack it.

I softened my expression, reaching out to place my hand over his. "Antonio, I appreciate the apology. But let's not do this here. Can we take this conversation somewhere more… private?"

We left the café, walking side by side, his hand brushing against mine with just enough frequency to make me hyper-aware of the space between us. But with every step, the tension between us shifted. It was no longer rooted entirely in anger or the distance his absence had created. Now, there was something else—an undercurrent of desire, a current pulling us closer with every unspoken word, every breath we shared.

By the time we reached his apartment, my heart was pounding for reasons I couldn't fully articulate. Antonio fumbled with his keys, his usually steady hands betraying his nerves as he struggled to fit the key into the lock.

I stepped closer, the heat between us palpable. Gently, I plucked the keys from his hand, letting my fingers brush against his. "Let me do it," I said, my voice coming out lower, huskier than I intended.

The lock clicked open, and we stepped inside. Antonio closed the door behind us, the sound of the lock clicking into place reverberating in the quiet space.

I had every intention of talking, of confronting him and demanding the answers he owed me. But the charged atmosphere between us made it impossible to focus on rational thoughts. It was suffocating, intoxicating, and impossible to ignore.

That damn shirt wasn't helping, either—the way it clung to him, highlighting his frame, was a distraction that was begging to be removed.

When I turned to face him, the words slipped out before I could stop them. My gaze locked with his, and my voice dipped into a sultry tone I didn't recognize. "So, Antonio," I said, every syllable deliberate and heavy with meaning, "what do you want to do to me?"

In the span of a single heartbeat, the space separating us disappeared entirely. From that moment, everything became a blur—a haze of heated touches and unspoken need.

Desire surged through me like a tidal wave, relentless and all-consuming, dragging me under until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't focus on anything but him.

Somehow, we made it to his bed, though I had no recollection of how. Antonio's lips trailed along my neck, warm and demanding, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands gripped my waist firmly, like he was holding on for dear life, pulling me closer, erasing every inch of distance between us.

I was completely lost in the moment, in the intensity of him—the way he moved, the way his breath felt against my skin, the low, guttural sound that rumbled in his throat.

And then, my phone started ringing.

The shrill vibration sliced through the haze like a slap, yanking me out of the moment and slamming me back into reality.

I let out a frustrated groan, dropping my forehead to his shoulder as I cursed the universe silently. It wasn't just cock-blocking me; it was mocking me at this point.

"I'm sorry," I said breathlessly, reluctantly pulling back from him. My heart was still racing, my skin still buzzing from the lingering electricity between us.

Antonio shifted back, freeing me from where he had caged me in on his bed. His hands slid from my waist with an almost painful reluctance, the heat of his touch lingering on my skin. His dark eyes locked onto mine, searching for something—maybe an answer, maybe a reassurance I couldn't give. For a moment, I swore I saw a flicker of disappointment cross his face, so brief it might have been my imagination.

"Go ahead," he said softly and nodded, his voice rough but understanding, though the tension in his posture betrayed his reluctance.

I reached for my phone, my fingers tightening around it as I pressed it to my ear. "Yes?" I hissed into the receiver, unable to entirely mask the irritation in my voice, though I tried to sound professional.

On the other end, Officer Radley's voice was steady but carried an unmistakable heaviness that did not ever bring good news. "Chief, I think you need to get back to the station as soon as possible," she began. "I found a connection—something that links the Scarlet Blinders to the Corenzas. And… you're not going to like it. We've got a body. And on another note, there's some new information about the guy you asked me to look into. I'd rather explain it all in person."

Her words landed like a physical blow, sending a chill racing down my spine. "Be there in ten," I said, my voice clipped as I hung up, the warmth from moments ago evaporating like it had never been there.

When I turned back to Antonio, his gaze was already fixed on me. His dark eyes were a mix of concern and something deeper—something that made my chest tighten.

"I have to go," I said, forcing the words out despite the knot in my throat. My voice sounded strained, and I hated how obvious it was.

"What's going on, Dahlia?" he asked, his voice firm, brow furrowed in worry.

I shook my head, avoiding his gaze as I began gathering my things. "I'll explain later," I muttered, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

I could feel the weight of his eyes on me as I moved toward the door. Every instinct screamed at me to stop, to turn around, to say something—anything—that might ease the tension in the room. But I couldn't. Not now. Not with Radley's words echoing in my head and the growing sense of dread tightening its grip on my chest.

The moment I stepped outside, the air felt sharper, colder, biting against my skin. I hurried to my car, my thoughts a chaotic mess as I replayed Radley's ominous tone.

Whatever awaited me back at the station, I had a sinking feeling it was about to turn everything upside down—my work, my personal life, and the fragile thread of connection I was trying to rebuild with Antonio.