His gaze locks on mine.
It’s dark.
Unflinching.
“I watched the house,” he corrects, voice low. “I watched the shoreline. I watched the world that took you away from me.”
My throat burns.
“And you didn’t—” I choke, trying to force the words out. “You didn’t come back.”
His eyes narrow, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. “I did. In every way that mattered.”
My breath catches in my chest, and suddenly I feel like I’m standing on unstable ground.
And it terrifies me.
“I don’t understand.”
His gaze drags down my face, slow. “You never did.” He steps closer. Close enough that his presence fills my air.
“Last night,” he says, voice low, and rough, “you kissed me.”
My pulse spikes, and I swallow hard. He watches my throat move like he’s cataloging it.
“Do you regret it?” he asks, quietly.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my teeth. I lift my chin, defiance instinctive. “I don’t know.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Honest?”
My breath shakes. “No. I don’t regret it.” I look out at the water again, then back at him.
“You’re . . . not who you were,” I whisper.
“Neither are you.”
Silence stretches.
Wind whips around us as his hands touch my shoulder and then turn me to face him. Then he brushes a strand of hair off my cheek.
My skin tingles where he touches.
“Come here,” he orders.
I don’t move. Because if I move, I might fall. He steps closer anyway, closing the distance.
Lorenzo wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
I whisper, “This is insane.”
“Yes,” he agrees, and then he kisses me.
Not devouring.
Not punishing.
