“Can I come in?” I asked a little too forcefully.
He stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. He followed my every step with his gaze, never taking it off me until he shut the door.
“Is this about the other night?” There was no waver in his voice, no expression on his face, but inside him sat a heavy dread.
“No.” I tried to keep the bite out of my words, but his emotions frustrated me to no end. I pulled his letter from my pocket and held it up. “It’s about this.”
“I only wanted to explain myself and apologize again. I’m sorry?—”
“Stop!” I threw out my hands. “Stop apologizing!
“I understand you’re mad.”
“You’re right.” I approached him and smacked the letter against his bare chest, keeping my skin from touching his. “I am.”
“I—”
“No. It’s my turn to explain myself.”
His addictive clove scent wrapped around me, seducing me to come closer. I backed away. His letter fell between us onto the plush gold rug.
“Of course I wish you had told me, when it actually mattered, about my mom.” He flinched. I continued. “Of course I want her here with me right now. Of course I wish she weren’t a disembodied soul floating around Hell, waiting to dissolve into nothingness without any hope of an afterlife!” I yelled at him. “But that’s not why I’m mad at you!”
Confusion tugged at his face and lightened his unending fear, lessening the desire to stop my tirade and run into his arms.
I jabbed my finger at the letter on the ornate rug. “Do you honestly believe I think your life is worthless?”
His expression tightened.
“Because you must. Otherwise, I have no idea why you’d think I’d hate you after you told me the truth.”
Ronen crossed his arms, his forearms flexing as he squeezed his fists. “What I did was unforgivable.”
I took one step forward. “No. What you did was protect yourself.” Another step. “My father threatened your life, and you were put in an impossible situation.”
“But your mother died because?—”
“Becauseshechose to save us.” From the very beginning, it was her choice. Ronen and I both played a part in it—me more so than him—but in the end, it didn’t matter. My mom willingly gave her life so we’d live another day.
“If I?—”
“Stop arguing with me!” I snapped.
He closed his mouth, lifting a brow. I took another step, placing myself two feet in front of him. So close. But not close enough.
“Do you know what frustrates me even more than you thinking I hate you?” I asked, my voice lowering as I crept forward.
He dropped his arms, his throat bobbing. “No.”
“That you open my eyes to this wonderful, funny, vulnerable male. You show me your scars, tell me about your past, your love for baking.” I still could barely believe that. “You gift me my favorite chocolates. Want to know my favorite flower. Save me. Protect me. You sweep me off my damned feet, then go and tell me you love me at the worst possible moment!”
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he breathed.
I removed the last bit of space between us and pressed my body to his, taking the time to eye every inch of his inked muscle before lifting my gaze to those consuming golden eyes. “You thought wrong.”
I boldly grabbed the back of his neck, shot to my tiptoes, and kissed him.
He froze for one infinitesimal moment. Shock washed through the bond, followed by scorching desire.
