She gulps and slaps my hand away, bending over the table to grab the cup of tea.
Rounding the chaise, I lean down on my side, waiting for her to finish drinking the soothing concoction.
Then, I slide my arms around her waist, bringing her closer to me.
Lying in my arms, she mumbles, “Such a gentleman.”
“Never pretended to be one. You were always a little rebel. Falling for the bad boy.”
“You mean criminal.”
“Didn’t stop you, and what was your line of business again?”
She glares at me. “I should have married Conrad instead.”
“Watch out, Zara, I’ve killed men for less,” I say earnestly.
She gestures at me with her hand. “You need little incentive.”
“True, but you saw me in action. What do you think I would do to competition?”
“He kisses better.”
Gripping her chin, I bring our mouths an inch apart. “Don’t come crying when I deliver his lips so you can remember how fucking good they kissed you,” I grit out. Jesus, she fucking loves to undo me at the seams.
“I would never forgive you.”
“You don’t want to forgive me anyway, so what the fuck do I have to lose?” I snap and storm out, going into the living room.
At the bar, I pour myself a glass of whiskey, needing something strong to keep me anchored. Fuck, she can push me to the edge like no one else. I lift the glass halfway to my mouth but decide against it. She can’t drink to forget her sorrows either. It’s the least I can do.
I hurl it across the room, and the glass smashes against the wall, shattering into hundreds of mini crystals on the floor just like my chances at redemption.
“It should bring me immense pleasure to torture you, yet it hurts me too,” she sighs, and I grip the edge of the bar, not knowing what to do.
“I hate that I want to hate you and can’t,” she screams so loudly it pierces my ears and punctures my heart.
Cocking my head, I seek her eyes. “I know, mi sol. I know. But even if I were sorry for everything else, I can’t be sorry for that.”
“Don’t kill him, okay? I lied. I felt nothing. One kiss from you, and I light up.”
It brings me back from the clutches of despair, and I release the bar as if it were the only thing keeping me sane.
Her delicate feet pad on the floor, her voice softening. “You didn’t drink.”
“You can’t drink.”
She nods, avoiding my gaze. “My anemia.”
“Yeah, your anemia.” My head hangs, and I close my eyes for a moment. “I can’t be sorry for that either. Don’t hate me for that too.”
She places her palm on my arm. “I was there too… It takes two.”
I catch every fear displayed on her face—sheer vulnerability and raw agony.
“I don’t like you turning your back on me. I should want it, should be doing everything in my power to make you leave and never return, but it triggers me. The image of you walking away crushes me.”
I palm her face and lower my forehead to hers. “I never walked away, mi sol, but I had to leave so you could live.”
