Oh.
His cologne wraps around me. His breath is warm against my face, and his eyes, God, his eyes are searching mine like he's trying to crack open my skull and read my thoughts directly.
"Do you still love him?"
The question hits me like a slap.
"What?"
"Jack." Nico's voice is low. "Do you still love him?"
I stare up at him, genuinely confused. Why would he—why does he care?—
"Answer me, Kristen."
His tone brooks no argument. This is the Nico who gives orders and expects them followed. The Nico who probably makes grown men piss themselves in fear.
But I'm not afraid of him. I'm confused. And maybe a little pissed off.
"Why are you asking me this?"
"Because I need to know."
"Why?"
His jaw flexes. A muscle ticks beneath the skin. "Because I heard you on the phone with him. Because you were married to him. Because—" He stops. Swallows. Like the words are physically painful.
And then it clicks.
Nico Sartori is jealous.
The realization rolls through me like thunder. This man is jealous. Of Jack. Because of me.
"You can't be serious," I whisper.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
He doesn't. He looks like he's barely holding himself together. Like something inside him is cracking and he's furious about it.
"Nico, I'm—" I laugh, but it comes out broken. "I'm nobody. I'm your housekeeper. I'm a single mom with a mountain of debt and an ex who won't stop calling. I'm not someone you get jealous over."
His expression shifts.
"You can't mean that," he says quietly.
"I do."
"No." He leans closer. His nose nearly brushes mine. "You're hot."
My breath catches.
"You're smart."
Stop.
"You're caring."
Please.
