Scorned Love: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Scorned Fate)

I emerged from the boxing gym, dripping sweat and aggression. I fought two people, and no one wanted to be the third. They all told me to get laid.

Fuck them. Bunch of wusses.

I ran into my brother Renz coming out of the side entrance of Jabbin’ Java. It was eight on a Thursday evening. His brows drew together when he saw my face.

“How many did you beat up this time?” he asked.

“Not enough,” I shot back. “You wanna?”

“I’m good, brother.” He winked at me. Renz was younger than me by three years and married at eighteen. His daughter, Sam, just turned five. He was the first victim of the De Lucci Obsession curse…well, Dad was, but among the siblings, he succumbed the earliest. Since Matteo followed suit, the odds dictated that one of us should be spared.

Me.

I wasn’t sure if it applied to women. Bianca appeared to have gotten over her crush of Alessandro Rossi, but that sister of mine was sly and could just be throwing the family off so we wouldn’t get on her case.

We ascended the stairs in silence. I wasn’t in a talking mood and people close to me frequently picked up on that. Bianca called me the broodiest of the brood. Before Renz entered his unit on the second floor, he leaned against the doorframe. “You can use our spare bedroom just in case Bianca and her guests are too loud.”

My eyes automatically looked up to the third floor. “She has guests?”

“Xander and some folks from work.”

“Xander is here?” Is Ivy?

“Something about team building.”

I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips. “Team building, huh?” Bianca informed me there’d been ego and cattiness between the models. That was a good reason not to visit the third floor and I’d kept away. Compound that with the guilt that I’d cost them Olga’s support.

“I’m sure they need it. And I might take you up on that.”

Renz shot me a brief salute. I trudged up to the third floor. My phone was in my gym bag, which I left in the apartment. I didn’t want to check any messages while I beat the shit out of someone in the boxing ring. I wondered if Trevor left me any messages. This building was secure. He could have left Ivy and Bianca to their team building and come into the boxing gym. Maybe he and I could do a few rounds.

This excess irritation was like an electric current zipping through my body.

I notched my key to the keyhole. I could already hear Bianca and Xander and the chatter of other voices. I sighed. I would shower and leave. Maybe interest Renz in having a beer with me.

When I entered the loft, all talking ceased and I had the odd desire to retreat.

“You lose.” Bianca saw me and grinned triumphantly at Xander. “You lose. Pay up.”

There were other women—models I presumed, and I recognized Donateka’s business manager, Katie Quinn. But where was Ivy?

“What did he lose?” I asked.

“He thought you were Ivy’s secret date!”

Date? What date? Eight pairs of eyes watched my approach. I grabbed a bottled water from the pallet beside the coffee table and chugged that down to give me time to process that statement. “Why do you think that?”

“Come on, man,” Xander said. “It’s like a lit firecracker whenever you two are together. And let’s not forget the scene we interrupted the other Sunday.”

“I’m here, so it’s not me.” So who the fuck is it? “Is Trevor with her?”

“Yes,” Bianca answered. “And he’s not saying anything either.”

“He’ll answer to me.” I left them in the living room and stalked off to the bedroom. I dug up my phone and checked messages. Nothing from Trevor. Instead of fucking around messaging him, I called.

He answered on the fourth ring. “Hey.”

“Where are you?” It was loud around him. He was at a bar for sure.

“Hold up. It’s noisy in here.”

I tried to be patient and eased the death grip on my phone.

When the noise got muffled, he said, “Leroche Tavern.”

“Bianca said Ivy is on a date.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

Silence.

“You know, as the Archer-in-charge—”

“Edward Sinclair.”

“He sounds familiar. Wait. Are we talking Sinclair Media Group?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t he the black sheep?”

“Details are vague.”

Of course details were vague. They controlled the media on several continents, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Ivy was meeting with Edward.

“Glamourique is part of SMG.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Yep.”

“All right, I’m on my way.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’ll take over from here.” There was not enough information to pass judgment on what Ivy was doing. It could simply be a business meeting and I’d had my share of backroom deals.

“What do you—”

I ended the call and focused all my time on getting to Leroche Tavern as fast as possible.

I showered, packed an overnight duffel, and said a terse goodbye to Bianca and her guests, ignoring their questions. Luckily, the Maserati was in the alley behind the building and I dove into Manhattan traffic in no time.

Between the period I ended the call to Trevor and my arrival at Leroche Tavern, forty-five minutes had passed. I parked the Maserati a couple of blocks up and hoofed it the rest of the way.

The place was packed, but I spotted Trevor immediately at the corner of the bar.

He waved me over. When I got to him, he already had an ice-cold beer waiting for me.

Good man. It was a hot and humid August and I was wearing a suit, no tie. “Figured you’d need this.”

Thankful, I accepted the chilled mug. My clothes seemed to trap steam in my body, a byproduct of my earlier workout without the proper cool down and my brief jog to the restaurant. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of my temple and made its way to the inside of my collar.

The sea of people jostled us to the side. I shot a stranger a killing look. Trevor pulled me to the side. Maybe I should have stayed home because clearly, I was still worked up. “What time did you guys arrive?”

“Seven thirty.”

I scanned the area. “She’s in the back room with him?”

“Yup.”

I shook my left sleeve and checked my watch. It was past nine. They were probably going to take another hour. “What do you have on Edward Sinclair?”

“Not much,” Trevor said. “She informed me last minute.”

Of course she did.

“Did she say anything about how she met him?”

“Only that he was an old friend.”

Old friend. What was it Ivy said, it was a euphemism for fuck buddy? That term rankled me this time. It didn’t sit well when the shoe was on the other foot, and I was annoyed as fuck about why it bothered me. And why the hell was I here?

“You okay there, man?” There was amusement in Trevor’s tone, a smirk on his mouth I wanted to swipe off his face.

Ivy Wu had crept under my skin, and I didn’t like it one bit. I’d been trying to rationalize my preoccupation with her in the past ten days. Ten days since she’d proven that there was more to her than the frivolous woman I thought she was.

“Of course I am,” I lied.

“I wasn’t sure what you meant when you said you were taking over.”

“I’ll take her home and be her bodyguard for the night.” I gave the tavern’s hallway a long look. “You sure they’re in there?”

“Yes, I installed a tracker on her phone.”

“Okay.” I drained my beer and grabbed a glass of water that was at the corner of the bar. “You should go. I don’t want to give her a choice to balk that I’m her security for the evening.”

“What? I can’t stay and watch the fireworks?”

Was that how Ivy and I appeared to other people? Xander made a similar comment. The last time we argued, I had her pinned against the door of my office. I wanted to do more. Kiss the shit out of her. Toss up her skirts and make her come, make her beg until she stopped looking at me with disdain.

“Go home.”

“You’re no fun.” Trevor closed out our tab with the bartender. But before he left, he said, “I won’t get too comfortable tonight.”

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t.” There was a fifty-fifty percent chance Ivy was going to be stubborn about the change of bodyguards.

It would be another hour before she and Sinclair made an appearance. Hell, I nearly missed them because I had to take a piss.

I was surprised how much older he looked beside Ivy. I wasn’t one to judge. Dad was eleven years older than Mom and they made it work. Edward had a hand at the small of her back and they had their heads close together in that certain way that told a story of an intimate past.

My back molars ground together.

The question of who he was to her burned in my chest. I didn’t bother returning to the bar, but met them on the way there. She was looking for Trevor, but when she saw me, confusion hit her first, and then undisguised annoyance.

That’s right, princess. I’m your close-contact bodyguard for the night.

“Where’s Trevor?”

I ignored her and held my hand out to the man whose face I wanted to smash. “Nico De Lucci.”

Edward’s face was guarded when he shook my hand. “Edward Sinclair.”

“I know,” I said. There was the usual firm grip exchanged between two men trying to out-alpha the other. His eyes narrowed, and I would have enjoyed a dick fight if it weren’t for the strong instinct to rip Ivy away from his side.

But was she safer with me?

Yes. She fucking was.

“Come on.” I clasped her arm and pulled her toward the door.

“Wait a minute, where’s Trevor?” Ivy dug in her heels, not budging.

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?” Edward demanded, glaring at me. “Looks like she doesn’t want to leave with you, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy.” Then I speared Ivy with an implacable look. “He got called away. You got me for the night.”

Her mouth pressed together mutinously and our eyes locked for a few seconds. Man, I didn’t want to cause a scene in a Michelin star restaurant, but I was this close to tossing her over my shoulder.

I could see the moment she relented. Her shoulders snapped back and she stood taller. She turned to Edward. “He’s fine. Not as nice as Trevor, but it’s his job.”

At this, my mouth twitched. Way to go putting me in my place, princess.

“Nico De Lucci.” He gave me a scrutinizing once-over. “You sound familiar.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” I shot back and tried to pull Ivy away again.

She managed to get out, “Call me.”

“Oh.” Edward looked at me when he said, “I will.”

I dragged her out of the restaurant and into the oppressive night air. She yanked her arm from my hold and tried to walk ahead of me. I let her go a couple of steps before I said, “You’re going the wrong way.”

“But this is…” She huffed in realization. “Where?”

I pointed in the opposite direction she was walking. She stomped past me.

“Don’t break your heel,” I murmured and walked alongside her. She was wearing one of their popular oversized blazers and a tight skirt.

“Fuck you, De Lucci.”

“You wish.” An urge to put my hand on the small of her back or hold her hand had me shoving them in my trouser pockets instead. Though the former was something Trevor would have done if she’d been teetering on her heels, I doubted she’d welcome that gesture from me since she was fuming. My sole objective was to get her safely into the Maserati without breaking an ankle because she was arguing with me and not watching where she was going.

She was gorgeous as hell, strutting in those sky-high heels. They clacked against the pavement like a tempo to her irritation. I couldn’t help but hang back and check the line of her legs. Mile-long legs made sexier by her heels. Heels I imagined digging into my back as I pounded her against the wall. Fuck. I needed to keep my X-rated thoughts of Ivy under control. They’d gone into overdrive ever since I wondered at the nakedness beneath that robe.

She must have sensed my interest and I trusted Ivy to call me out on it.

“Stop looking at my ass, perv.”

“I was actually appreciating your legs.” I was nothing but honest. Why deny it? We might even relieve this ridiculous sexual tension between us.

One fuck.

As hard as we hated each other.

No. I didn’t really hate her as a person, just the way she made me suffer with wanting to fuck her and only her. My cock had been in a deep freeze for months; I was relieved when it roared to life upon seeing the fight tape. But why did it have to be Ivy? Because, technically, she was off-limits.

She stopped and faced me. “Is there something wrong with my ass?”

“That’s a trick question.” Luckily, the Maserati was up ahead, so I bleeped the locks. She could forget her question. I had no clue how to handle her and I was clearly improvising as I went.

“Get in.” I opened the passenger door.

“You’re incredibly high-handed,” she muttered, but did as she was told. I was thrumming with enough energy to throw an SUV and she probably felt it.

I closed the door, and rounded the vehicle and slid in behind the wheel.

“Why are you really here?” she asked. “I’m beginning to think you’re deliberately sabotaging the show just so your sister won’t be in it.”

The accusation was so absurd, I barked a laugh. I gunned the Maserati and pulled into traffic. I was still chuckling when our vehicle reached the corner of Twentieth and Park. I made the turn to SoHo. “About Olga, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think she was that important to your campaign.”

“She was Xander’s muse.”

“Why not Tracy? She’s got a following too.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you’re aware of her social media following.”

I snorted. “She made sure I knew she had more followers than you.”

“It’s not a competition. We have different audiences.”

“So Sinclair, I presume, is an ace in your pocket to get the editor of Glamourique to give you a chance.”

“He promised to put in a good word for me, but it’s not a sure thing. Marie Pierre has enough clout to make her own decisions. He also told me of a movie in development that could use some of our pieces.”

I didn’t like the idea. Not the idea of Ivy getting more exposure. Getting mentioned in prestige shows SMG was known for was good publicity. It was more the idea of Sinclair being around Ivy.

“How did you meet?”

“A work event.” I could detect evasion from a mile.

“How long have you known him?”

“What’s this interrogation?” she snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

“I’m responsible for your safety.”

“Bullshit,” she retorted. “Trevor didn’t ask these questions.”

“Yes, you gave him the ‘old friend’ response. So does this mean you’ve been fuck buddies?”

“I refuse to dignify that question with an answer.”

They were not casual fuck buddies. I did some surface-level digging on Ivy’s past relationships from sources that were available publicly. She dated tattooed bad boys. Jeans-and-T-shirt guys like rockers. She had a type, and it wasn’t Edward Sinclair. Yet the way they walked side by side in the restaurant implied a previous intimate relationship. He was familiar with her, and the way she leaned into him made me want to snatch her away.

“Okay, princess. If you’ll feel more comfortable answering Trevor, then I’ll draft the questions he can ask you.”

“You can shove those questions where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Choosing violence, I see.”

She made an irritated sound and turned in her seat to give the busy nightlife her attention. I decided it was best not to annoy her while I was driving. Though I seemed to find amusement in our sparring, I wasn’t sure if she did. And I didn’t want to make her mad to the point she’d do a fatal kung fu death touch on me.

The guys couldn’t stop talking about it.

From Dom’s reports, Al Scavo had visited the mob doctor three days in a row for a check-up following the incident.

A grin tugged at my lips, but I suppressed the chuckle. If only Ivy knew the havoc she’d caused. It had been quiet in the Rossi camp. No one complained. A blow to their ego for sure, but our informants hadn’t raised a single alarm about a retaliation.

I drove the Maserati into her building’s basement and pulled into one of her parking spaces.

As usual, Ivy couldn’t get away from me fast enough and hopped out of the SUV before I turned off the engine.

“You should wait for your bodyguard to come get you,” I told her, a tad irritably. “Are you like this with Trevor?”

“Trevor is my real bodyguard.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” I mocked.

We stepped into the elevator that would take us to the lobby. She glared at me. “You’ve become the bane of my existence.”

The elevator doors slid open and she flounced off. I followed her leisurely, as usual enjoying the shape of her legs. This time, I noted her ass. It was small, pert, and high. She stopped midway to the express elevator and leaned into me like she was about to tell me a secret.

“If you’re trying to make me self-conscious, it won’t work.”

My eyes dropped to her lips. The action elicited a hitch in her breathing. “Oh my God, stop that.”

She jabbed the call button with such force, I worried she’d sprain a finger. When our car arrived, she stepped in and punched the button to close. I rolled my eyes and got in just in time. The doors jarred and reopened before they closed behind me.

“So mature. There’s no use trying to get rid of me. I have complete access to your loft.”

“You know what you sound like, De Lucci?”

Ah, princess, with each statement of defiance, you’re making me harder. It was a struggle to keep blood in my brain so I could think. The vision of her legs in high heels. Her measured barbs. Those lips that mouthed off made me imagine stuffing my cock between them to make her choke on her disdain. “You’re going to tell me, anyway.”

“You sound like a stalker.”

“Well, most security people are.”

She emitted a pfft sound. “You’re like no close protection officer I’ve ever encountered. None of them leer at me the way you do.”

“I take offense to leering. I do not leer.”

“I could hire my own bodyguard and not have to deal with you.”

“They wouldn’t have the intel we have and we’re not willing to share it with outsiders.”

She kept her eyes glued to the numbers, zooming up to the top floor. “So? They’ll find that information elsewhere. You think you’re so special?”

“Is that a challenge?” My voice deepened, turned gravelly. There was no disguising the insult in her last statement, although the reference to which of my abilities was vague. She must be attuned to the change in my tone and glanced at me, her eyes widening in—surprise? Alarm?

I held her eyes.

The sound of the elevator letting us know we’d reached her floor broke our eye contact. When the doors slid open, she stormed ahead. I didn’t bring my duffel of things and made a note to return to the SUV later, but when Ivy brought out her keys, I took them from her and let us in.

She was fuming. And I derived immense satisfaction from riling her up.

We hadn’t said a word to each other since my question.

She hadn’t answered me as she put down her purse on the foyer table.

“You and I don’t mix,” she gritted finally. “We might end up killing each other and there’s no one here to help me dispose of a body.”

I barked a derisive laugh and stepped closer. She didn’t back away. I stared at her. Good. Because the bristling aggression I’d been holding back since I left the boxing gym had only one outlet.

A hard fuck.

“You’re sure you would win?”

“You’ve seen the evidence of what I can do.”

“You and I both know we’re not talking about fucking kung fu.”

Her throat bobbed. “Enlighten me.”

I erased all personal space between us and backed her against the console. I could smell her desire. It bled from her pores.

“We’re talking about real fucking.” I lowered my head. “My mouth on you. My cock in your cunt.”

“So, you’re talking about killing each other with sex?”

“Is there any other kind expected from two people who irritate the ever-loving fuck out of each other?”

Her eyes flashed in contempt. “You’re all talk, De Lucci, how about—”

Fuck it.

I slammed my mouth on hers.