Every night in his bed steals a little more of me. Every touch. Every whisperedcara. Every moment I wake to find him watching me like I’m something he never meant to want but can’t stop reaching for.
It pulls me further into the lie that this could ever last. That someone like him could ever choose someone like me. That I’m anything more than borrowed time. That I could ever walk away without feeling cracked open.
And the worst part?
I don’t even want to save myself anymore.
The truth is that loving him feels like standing barefoot on the edge of a cliff and knowing I’m going to jump anyway.
Lorenzo has kept his word and sent his men to Kansas City, chasing every lead and dismantling every threat that touched us that night. And I’ve kept mine by moving into his room. Intohim.
We make love any chance we get, which is why he’s showering in the middle of a Monday afternoon while I lie tangled in his sheets, my skin still warm from him, the scent of us clinging to the pillows. I should get up. I shouldmove.But my body feels boneless, drugged on him and how he makes me feel.
A faint wave of queasiness rolls through my stomach, but I ignore it. I skipped lunch again when he came home, pulling me into his arms. It happens a lot. But that’s what happens when time seems to melt whenever he’s near me.
I press my cheek deeper into the pillow, letting the warmth of him lull me back down while I pretend just for a moment that this isn’t temporary. That he isn’t engaged. That the world outside this room doesn’t exist.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand and I glance at the locked screen.
“Cesaro texted you,” I call out.
“Read it,” Lorenzo shouts back over the running water. “I’m shaving.”
I grin, stupidly content at how normal this is, and swipe open his phone.
Cesaro
Lead was a dead end, but we’re going to follow the one from the store owner.
I start to call out the message when three dots appear. Another text drops in.
Also, Dr. Lars wanted me to remind you to replace the next card of birth control pills for Miss Miller.
My smile fades.
Wait… what does that mean?
Replace the next card of birth control pills? For me?
The words blur. The air in my lungs turns heavy and metallic. I stare at the message, a sick chill running through me. Replace? Why would Lorenzo be the one doing that? Why would a doctor be reminding him? My mind races. My current card is almost empty. Maybe he noticed and reached out to Dr. Lars. God knows we have sex enough that we need the protection.
The water in the bathroom cuts off. A moment later, Lorenzo steps into the bedroom freshly shaved, a towel slung low on his hips, drops of water tracing down his chest. He looks devastating and dangerous and completely unaware that my world just tilted on its axis.
And I can’t decide if the trembling in my hands is from love or the first edge of fear.
“What’d he say?” he asks casually, like my heart isn’t caving in on itself.
“That the lead was a bust.” I swallow and force myself to hold his gaze. “And that Dr. Lars wanted to remind you to replace my birth control pills.” My pulse hammers. “What does that mean, Lorenzo? Why do you need to replace my birth control pills?”
If he were a lesser man, he’d flinch.
If he were innocent, he’d deny it.
If he were guilty, he’d lie.
Lorenzo Conti does none of those things. He simply turns away, walks to the closet, and reappears with black boxer briefs on, his slacks draped over his arm and his shirt hanging loosefrom his fingers like this is just another mundane moment in a quiet afternoon.
He doesn’t rush. Of course he doesn’t. He steps into his slacks, pulling them up his thick, powerful legs with measured calm, buttoning them as if this conversation doesn’t threaten to split us open.
