When my hand slides under her shirt to rest on her ribs, she startles, pulling back and breaking the kiss. I’m surprised to find her eyes wide with panic.
“I can’t do this,” she hurries to say, peeling herself out of my hold.
“What are you talking about? You’re an adult. You can be with whoever you want.”
“No, I can’t.” Her words are firm, even a touch exasperated, as if it should be obvious.
I coax her back toward me, not wanting to let her put distance between us. “Little firefly, you want this. I know you do. The way your body responds to me—there’s no faking that.”
Distress creases her forehead and draws her brows together. “No, DiAngelo. I don’t want this. I don’t want you because I still love Craig.” She gulps in a breath of air as though she’s fighting something, but I have no idea what it is. I’m too busy recovering from a proverbial punch to the gut.
She’s still in love with her dead husband?
Could that be possible when she responds to me the way she does? We’ve never talked about him. My eyes drift to the empty ring finger on her left hand. She doesn’t wear her wedding band or have the hint of a tan line. On top of that, I’ve only spotted a single photo of the two of them together in her apartment. Those don’t seem like the actions of a woman who’s clinging to the past.
I think it’s fear, not love, that’s stopping her.
She’s afraid of being hurt, which means I need to prove to her that I’m safe. That being with me is worth the risk.
I’m the home she’s been looking for. I know it.
“Come here.” I gently take her hand and pull her into my arms. I cup her head against my chest and wait until I feel her accept me. Once her heart rate calms and her arms are soothingly wrapped around my middle, I lay out a map of what’s going to happen. She needs certainty, so that’s what I’ll give her.
“It’s been a long day. Neither of us needs to be making any big decisions at the moment. We’re going to shower and eat, then we’ll see what tomorrow brings. Okay?”
She nods against my chest.
“Good girl.” I press a kiss to the crown of her head before ending the hug and taking her hand again. I lead her back to her bathroom. Bonny is close at our heels. I start the shower water for Terina and hang a clean towel on the rod next to the shower, then instruct Bonny to lie down and stay. “When I’m done with my shower, I’ll get started on dinner. Take your time.”
I start to turn when her fingers snag in the waist of my shirt.
“What about your head?”
I peer in the vanity mirror and try to angle my head to see the wound. “It stopped bleeding, so it’s probably fine.”
“Let me have a look,” she says softly.
I’d topple a building for her if she asked in that voice. Letting her look at my head is a no-brainer. I rest my butt against the vanity countertop and fold myself enough that she can get a good look.
Her fingers gingerly sift through my curls to identify the source of the blood while I try not to stare at her incredible chest inches from my face.
“Looks like a chunk of skin was gouged out, but I don’t think it’s deep enough to need stitches.” She pauses as I lift upright again. “Make sure you clean it out really well despite the burn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I tease lightly.
Amusement creases the corners of her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest as she waits for me to leave and give herprivacy. I oblige, heading to the guest bathroom to take a quick shower. The cut stings like a bitch but doesn’t bleed much once it’s dry.
After I’m done, I get dinner started, calling Renzo while I’m at it.
“Michael Savin? The name is familiar,” he muses after I tell him about the bar scene. “If I recall, he has some personal connection with the Genoveses who run the family, rather than the Lucciano Family in general. We could reach out to them if we need to.”
“Let’s see what comes of my visit to the bar. He may come to us. I’d rather not go asking for favors unless necessary.”
“True. Hey, how’s Terina holding up?”
He must be a mind reader because at that very moment, she appears in the living room with her wet hair piled on her head, wearing sexy-as-hell pink pajamas. Not the kind meant to be racy. The long, flowy pants paired with a camisole top are sweetly feminine, making her look almost edible.
My eyes hold hers captive as I delight at the way her cheeks blush from my devouring stare.
