Page 50 of The Ache That Stayed

“How long have you been there?” I asked, my pulse still racing.

“Long enough.”

Now that my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realised he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And I almost forgot to breathe. He looked different than he had earlier in the day. Broader. His shoulders looked heavier with muscle layered over muscle like he’d rebuilt himself out of anger and discipline, the kind that came from years of violence instead of a gym.

More dangerous. More… him.

Heat curled low in my stomach before I could stop it.

Ink covered most of his upper body now. More tattoos than the last time I’d seen him. I had never actually seen all of them before though.

The veins in his forearms stood out under the low firelight, dark ink wrapping around them. Some of the tattoos were from years ago. Others were new. The Trinacria on his arm was still there, but his ex-wife’s face was now replaced with a rose.

My eyes drifted to his chest before I could stop them.

His ribs moved slowly with each breath. My gaze caught on his left peck. Words in cursive script inked that I couldn’t really make out from where I sat.

Below it, the hard lines of his stomach disappeared into the sharp V of his hips, a faint trail of dark hair running down from his navel, disappearing into low-hanging grey sweats that clung to his hips like gravity was barely doing its job.

I swallowed hard. I could see the outline of his—

Nope. Not going there.

“See something you like?” he asked.

My gaze snapped upward. My cheeks burned with warmth so fast it felt like I’d been slapped.

“I’ve seen better,” I said, plastering a fake smile.

Was I ogling? Maybe.

I quickly looked away and took another bite of the chocolate.

Only then did it hit me that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

And he’d definitely noticed.

My nipples tightened instantly, the thin t-shirt doing absolutely nothing to hide it. I shifted in the armchair, suddenly very aware of my body and the way his eyes had dropped just long enough to notice.

He ran a hand through his hair. Once. Then again, slower this time, fingers gripping the top of it like he was trying to pull himself back under control.

He exhaled and leaned back slightly against the counter.

“Listen… about today,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I went a bit overboard.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. The memory of his fist slamming into the wall flashed through my head again.

“You think?” I said sharply. “You scared him.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “He’ll recover.”

“That’s not the point.”

His gaze slid to me again. “You let him get comfortable.”