That’s when I hear the grunting. What? Is it coming from my backyard. My heart pounds frantically as I walk to the window and peel back the curtain a little.
Moonlight bounces off his shirtless back as he digs in the dirt. Piling gigantic mounds up beside the soon-to-be pool foundation. I bite my lip as I watch him. I was never much of a lip-biter before Lex came along. Now the habit has set in.
Maybe I should just leave him to it …
But screw that. I called him Daddy because it was hot as hell. But I’m not going to act like some scared little girl. I amnota scared little girl.
I walk through the house before I can talk myself out of it. Open the back door.
He turns, the blue moonlight drenching his rippled torso. He spears the shovel into the dirt. His voice is low and gravelly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Helping,” he says fiercely. “Trying.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I can’t stand to see you struggle, Rose. You deserve a man who makes life easier for you.”
I wrap my arms around myself.
“Is this the part where you tell me to fuck off?” he snarls.
Slowly, I shake my head. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
He steps out of the hole. Walks toward me cautiously like he’s afraid of moving too fast, scared he’ll snap and spiral us into irrepressible lust.
“Never.” He takes my hands, moves his thumbs over my knuckles with shocking gentleness. But I can feel the lust trying to burst through. “I can’t stop thinking about you. But you were right to push me away.”
“Because you’re involved in organized crime?”
He leans down. His nose brushes mine. His eyes stare at me … no,intome, like he sees things nobody else ever has.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
He’s too close. I can’t stop myself.
This time, I’m the one who kisses him.
He groans as I stand on my tiptoes. Throw my arms over his shoulders. The desire in me swells and tries to take over. I almost let it.
“Wait.” I place my hand on his chest. His heart pounds heavily through his muscled chest. “If we’re going to do this, I want it to… mean something.”
Does that sound cheesy?
Unrealistic?
Am I asking for too much?
He obliterates my concerns when he says huskily, “You mean everything, Rose. Everything to me. You make me feel more than a man like me should be able to.”
A man like me.
But he still hasn’t told me what that is.
He hasn’t denied it either.
He cradles my face. Brushes his hand across my cheek.
