Violet Addiction by Kirsty Dallas Page B

I’m not sure if it would ever be whole again. Not a single day passed where Cain wasn’t in my thoughts, and that frustrated me to no end. How were you meant to move on from someone when you simply couldn’t let them go? When your thoughts refused to give them up? Cain knew I had been in the hospital, and he had contacted Harry soon after I settled into Hope Built. He didn’t want specifics; he just wanted to know if I was alright. Harry had told him I wasn’t alright, but I would be. He had kept his promise and never told Cain the extent of my fall from grace. Cain had obviously been satisfied with Harry’s vague interpretation of my stability and health, as there hadn’t been a peep from him since. I wasn’t angry at Cain for leaving; I had pushed him to leave and had no one to blame but myself. His moving on to the life he deserved was a good thing, but it still hurt. Human emotions were tricky like that.
    Feminine laughter to my right caught my attention, and I tactfully eyed the three women who sat drinking pretty colored drinks from swanky glasses. Alcohol was on my no-go list. My addiction to cocaine seemed to go hand in hand with alcohol, and there was no way I was going to tempt that fate for the want of a pretty, sweet drink. I unscrewed the lid off my water bottle and took a ‘take that’ gulp of water, before roughly screwing the lid back on and tossing it to the sand at my side. Deep masculine laughter accompanied the cocktail swarming women. I cast another inconspicuous look and took in the form of a tall, muscular man in a pair of cargo shorts and tight fitting shirt. He was laughing with the women in an almost cordial manner as he briskly walked by. He raised his head, and my heart skipped a beat as steady dark brown eyes settled on mine. He had the classic features of an Italian. His skin was touched with an almost golden-like hue, a dark stubble dusted his jaw line, his dark hair finger combed off his forehead. He was definitely a few years older than me, perhaps even as many as ten, but he was far too handsome to warrant an age-gap protest. Oh yeah, he was easy on the eyes, and unlike the almost casual pleasantries he had exchanged with the women beside me, his gaze turned intense, his smile seductive as he approached my deck chair. I really needed to find out the Italian term for that.
    “Buon giorno, signorina,” he purred as he slowed his pace. He was quite obviously Italian, his accent falling in a beautiful cadence from his lips.
    “Buon giorno,” I replied in a calm voice that did not betray my racing heart.
    “E 'una bella giornata per la spiaggia.” He had me now; my Italian was reserved to hello, goodbye, and how fast I could pull up Google Translate on my phone.
    “English?” I shrugged helplessly.
    “Americana?” His eyes lit up.
    “Si,” I replied, realizing that I did, in fact, know more than two words in Italian. Did bruschetta count? Because that would make it four, I thought proudly.
    “Beautiful day for the beach,” the stunning stranger said with a thick Italian accent.
    “It is. It’s been like this for three weeks now. I assume this is normal and you locals are used to it though; you probably take it for granted after all these years.” To my surprise, Mr. Tall, Dark, And Handsome squatted down beside me.
    “I’ve learned not to take anything for granted in this life, Tesoro,” he crooned, holding out his hand. “Peiro Marchiano.”
    I took his much larger hand in my small one, but rather than shake it, Peiro took the back of my hand to his lips and gave my skin a gentle kiss, his eyes never leaving mine. I almost sighed out loud. He was quite the charmer. He didn’t hold a flame to Cain, but he was certainly a nice distraction.
    “Violet,” I said with a sigh.
    Peiro reluctantly let go of my hand. “So different,” he whispered, his eyes taking in my appearance.
    I barely managed not to squirm under his scrutiny. I would have found his inspection