Flashback continues.
As Isabella's eyes met his, she recognized the piercing gaze from the café the customer from today who made her blush.
A jolt of surprise and blush shot through her, and she froze, the keys to the café clutched in her trembling hand.
He pushed off the car, closing the distance between.
He stopped a breath away, his presence a wall of heat and power that seemed to envelop her.
The scent of him—expensive cologne and the faint hint of cigarette smoke—was intoxicating.
Isabella's heart hammered in her chest, her pulse racing like a wild animal trapped in a cage. She took a step back, the cold brick of the café's.
Vincente's posture was one of relaxed dominance, his legs slightly apart and his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"You shouldn't be walking alone at this hour," he said, his voice calm yet dominating.
Isabella's eyes darted from his face to the car behind him, "I-I'm fine," she stammered, taking another step back, blushing hard.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he opened the sedan's door, the leather interior beckoning like a velvet trap. "I insist," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Get in."
She swallowed her fear. With trembling legs, she slid into the car.
The door shut with a thud, sealing her in the silent, leather-scented cocoon. Vincente slid in beside her, the space between them seemingly smaller than it had been moments ago.
"Don't bother," he said when she opened her mouth to give him her address. "I know where you live."
Her eyes widened in surprise and fear. "How?" she whispered.
Vincente smirked, the expression not quite reaching his cold eyes. "I know a lot of things," he said, "It's part of what makes me who I am."
She looked at him in terror, her heart racing like a caged bird's.
Vincente's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead as he drove, his jaw clenched.
Isabella sat stiffly beside him, her eyes darting from his strong profile to his hands gripping the steering wheel.
His fingers were long and tapered, adorned with the gleam of silver rings.
His knuckles were taut, the veins standing out against his skin as he shifted gears with an ease that spoke of years of practice.
Isabella's eyes snapped back to his face as he spoke, his words a velvet-covered thorn. "Are you done checking me out, cara?" (Beloved in Italians)
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, trying to compose herself.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the purr of the engine. "It's just..."
Vincente's eyes remained on the road, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "Just what?" he prompted, his voice a silky whisper.
Isabella took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "It's just that I didn't expect to see you here," she said, her voice shaky. "You're... you're a customer, and now..."
Vincente chuckled, the sound low and dark. "I'm more than just a customer, Isabella," he said, his eyes flicking to her briefly before returning to the road. "Much more."
Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt the weight of his words settle on her chest like a stone.
The sedan pulled up in front of a nondescript apartment building, the kind that blended into the urban landscape like a chameon.
The bricks were stained with the grime of time, and the neon lights from a nearby convenience store cast an eerie glow on the cracked sidewalk.
Isabella's hand hovered over the door handle, but before she could open the door, Vincente's hand shot out like lightning, his grip firm yet gentle on her wrist. "Don't," he murmured, his voice a dark melody.
Her eyes met his, and she felt the world around her fade away, leaving only the two of them in a bubble.
"Isabella," he murmured, his voice a caress that sent shivers down her spine. "I can't get you out of my head."
Her eyes searched his, finding a storm of emotions she didn't quite understand.
His gaze was intense, a mix of hunger and something else she couldn't quite place.
"Are you attracted to me?" she whispered boldly, her voice barely a breath.
Vincente leaned closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "Very," he said, his voice a dark promise.
Her pulse raced, and she felt the heat from his body seep into her own.
"Friday night," Vincente said. "Be ready at eight. I'll send a car for you."
Isabella's eyes widened at his command. She felt a thrill of fear mingled with excitement.
This wasn't a man who asked for dates; he took them. "But I—" she began, but he silenced her with a firm look.
"There is no but, cara," he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. "You will come with me."
Isabella swallowed hard. She nodded, unable to find the strength to refuse him since she also felt attracted to him "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.
With a final, lingering glance, she slipped from the sedan and hurried to the safety of her apartment building.
Her heart pounded in her chest like a caged bird desperate for escape.
Vincente watched her go, his eyes never leaving her retreating form until she disappeared into the shadows of the building's entrance.
His gaze remained fixed on the spot long after she was gone, as if trying to burn her image into his memory.
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